File Name: hard headed and soft hearted .zip
- Hardheaded & Softhearted: Lessons from the Boardroom to the Break Room
- Hard Headed Woman
- "A Tough Mind and a Tender Heart"
- Hard Headed Soft Hearted Woman
Hardheaded & Softhearted: Lessons from the Boardroom to the Break Room
With my red blanket wrapped tightly about my crossed legs, I was thinking of the coming season, my sixteenth winter.
On either side of the wigwam were my parents. My father was whistling a tune between his teeth while polishing with his bare hand a red stone pipe he had recently carved. Almost in front of me, beyond the centre fire, my old grandmother sat near the entranceway. She turned her face toward her right and addressed most of her words to my mother.
Now and then she spoke to me, but never did she allow her eyes to rest upon her daughter's husband, my father. It was only upon rare occasions that my grandmother said anything to him. Thus his ears were open and ready to catch the smallest wish she might express. Sometimes when my grandmother had been saying things which pleased him, my father used to comment upon them.
At other times, when he could not approve of what was spoken, he used to work or smoke silently. On this night my old grandmother began her talk about me. Filling the bowl of her red stone pipe with dry willow bark, she looked across at me.
Waiting for my answer, she stooped forward and through the long stem drew a flame into the red stone pipe. I smiled while my eyes were still fixed upon the bright fire, but I said nothing in reply. Turning to my mother, she offered her the pipe. I glanced at my grandmother.
The loose buckskin sleeve fell off at her elbow and showed a wrist covered with silver bracelets. Holding up the fingers of her left hand, she named off the desirable young women of our village. Then she too began speaking of what I should do. Do not dislike a long hunt.
Learn to provide much buffalo meat and many buckskins before you bring home a wife. There is not one of them who won his title in his sixteenth winter. My son, it is a great thing for some brave of sixteen winters to do.
I knew well the fame of my warrior father. He had earned the right of speaking such words, though even he himself was a brave only at my age. Refusing to smoke my grandmother's pipe because my heart was too much stirred by their words, and sorely troubled with a fear lest I should disappoint them, I arose to go. Drawing my blanket over my shoulders, I said, as I stepped toward the entranceway: "I go to hobble my pony. It is now late in the night. Nine winters' snows had buried deep that night when my old grandmother, together with my father and mother, designed my future with the glow of a camp fire upon it.
Yet I did not grow up the warrior, huntsman, and husband I was to have been. At the mission school I learned it was wrong to kill. Nine winters I hunted for the soft heart of Christ, and prayed for the huntsmen who chased the buffalo on the plains. In the autumn of the tenth year I was sent back to my tribe to preach Christianity to them. With the white man's Bible in my hand, and the white man's tender heart in my breast, I returned to my own people.
Wearing a foreigner's dress, I walked, a stranger, into my father's village. Asking my way, for I had not forgotten my native tongue, an old man led me toward the tepee where my father lay.
From my old companion I learned that my father had been sick many moons. As we drew near the tepee, I heard the chanting of a medicine-man within it. At once I wished to enter in and drive from my home the sorcerer of the plains, but the old warrior checked me. While talking he scanned me from head to feet. Then he retraced his steps toward the heart of the camping-ground. My father's dwelling was on the outer limits of the round-faced village. With every heart-throb I grew more impatient to enter the wigwam.
While I turned the leaves of my Bible with nervous fingers, the medicine-man came forth from the dwelling and walked hurriedly away. His head and face were closely covered with the loose robe which draped his entire figure.
He was tall and large. His long strides I have never forgot. They seemed to me then the uncanny gait of eternal death. Quickly pocketing my Bible, I went into the tepee. Upon a mat lay my father, with furrowed face and gray hair. His eyes and cheeks were sunken far into his head.
His sallow skin lay thin upon his pinched nose and high cheek-bones. Stooping over him, I took his fevered hand. A light flashed from his listless eyes and his dried lips parted. Then again the wave of joy and recognition receded. He closed his eyes, and his hand dropped from my open palm to the ground. Looking about, I saw an old woman sitting with bowed head. Shaking hands with her, I recognized my mother. I sat down between my father and mother as I used to do, but I did not feel at home.
The place where my old grandmother used to sit was now unoccupied. With my mother I bowed my head. Alike our throats were choked and tears were streaming from our eyes; but far apart in spirit our ideas and faiths separated us.
My grief was for the soul unsaved; and I thought my mother wept to see a brave man's body broken by sickness. Useless was my attempt to change the faith in the medicine-man to that abstract power named God. Then one day I became righteously mad with anger that the medicine-man should thus ensnare my father's soul. And when he came to chant his sacred songs I pointed toward the door and bade him go!
The man's eyes glared upon me for an instant. Slowly gathering his robe about him, he turned his back upon the sick man and stepped out of our wigwam. On a bright day, when the winged seeds of the prairie-grass were flying hither and thither, I walked solemnly toward the centre of the camping-ground.
My heart beat hard and irregularly at my side. Tighter I grasped the sacred book I carried under my arm. Now was the beginning of life's work. Though I knew it would be hard, I did not once feel that failure was to be my reward. As I stepped unevenly on the rolling ground, I thought of the warriors soon to wash off their war-paints and follow me.
At length I reached the place where the people had assembled to hear me preach. In a large circle men and women sat upon the dry red grass. Within the ring I stood, with the white man's Bible in my hand.
I tried to tell them of the soft heart of Christ. In silence the vast circle of bareheaded warriors sat under an afternoon sun. At last, wiping the wet from my brow, I took my place in the ring. The hush of the assembly filled me with great hope. I was turning my thoughts upward to the sky in gratitude, when a stir called me to earth again. A tall, strong man arose. His loose robe hung in folds over his right shoulder. A pair of snapping black eyes fastened themselves like the poisonous fangs of a serpent upon me.
He was the medicine-man. A tremor played about my heart and a chill cooled the fire in my veins. Scornfully he pointed a long forefinger in my direction and asked, "What loyal son is he who, returning to his father's people, wears a foreigner's dress?
Before the eyes of the crowd the cunning magician turned my honest heart into a vile nest of treachery. Whose ear was so acute that he caught the hissing of snakes whenever the young man opened his mouth?
This one has not only proven false to you, but even to the Great Spirit who made him. He is a fool! Why do you sit here giving ear to a foolish man who could not defend his people because he fears to kill, who could not bring venison to renew the life of his sick father?
With his prayers, let him drive away the enemy! With his soft heart, let him keep off starvation! We shall go elsewhere to dwell upon an untainted ground. When the sun lowered in the west and the winds were quiet, the village of cone-shaped tepees was gone. The medicine-man had won the hearts of the people. Only my father's dwelling was left to mark the fighting-ground.
Hard Headed Woman
He has served on the board of directors of several technology companies. Belluzzo worked for HP for 23 years, with his last role being executive vice president of their computer division. These actions were controversial at the time. In February , he became president and chief operating officer of Microsoft, running the day-to-day business during the critical CEO transition from Bill Gates to Steve Ballmer. After leaving Quantum, Belluzzo began working with Italian Startups in both the US and Italy, becoming an investor in several companies. In he became a partner at Venture Capital firm Innogest Capital. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia.
"A Tough Mind and a Tender Heart"
It was most notably recorded as a rock and roll song by Presley as part of the soundtrack for his motion picture King Creole , and was included on the record album of the same name. In it went to No. The song has also been recorded by Wanda Jackson , among others. Cat Stevens recorded a different song of the same name, on his album Tea for the Tillerman.
A nation of soft minded men is purchasing its own spiritual death through an [ installment ] plan. It is tough minded enough to resist evil. It is tender hearted to resist with love. It [ avoids ] the complacency and the donothingism of the soft minded and the violence and bitterness of the hard hearted. Introduction: open with quote from French philosopher.
Hardeaded principles are: a.
Hard Headed Soft Hearted Woman
With my red blanket wrapped tightly about my crossed legs, I was thinking of the coming season, my sixteenth winter. On either side of the wigwam were my parents. My father was whistling a tune between his teeth while polishing with his bare hand a red stone pipe he had recently carved.
Lessons from the Boardroom to the Break Room. This little book captures their wisdom in capsule form, designed to guide readers along the path to a point where IQ meets EQ and quality of life results. When head Hardheaded Softhearted. This little book captures their wisdom in capsule form, designed to guide readers along the path to a point where IQ. Then she stuck the ring back in the box and shoved it into her pocket, picking up her wine and returning to the living room to wait for Robert to come home.
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Наконец он нашел его и снова выстрелил. Пуля ударила в закрывающуюся дверь. Пустое пространство зала аэропорта открылось перед Беккером подобно бескрайней пустыне. Ноги несли его с такой быстротой, на какую, казалось ему, он не был способен.