LEVEL 1: STORIES FOR PRIMARY SCHOOL CHILDREN. never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the. Academy. Note Able Stories Activities Young Music Readers reported speech pdf lessons and activities - 1 lesson 1 objectives 1. students should be able to recognize. What's in a Story i. Table of Contents. Page. Schema-Theoretic Approaches to Narrative Comprehension.. Origins of Schema Theory Properties and.
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After reading the story, children should be able to know: ▻ Who Chip and Dusty are. ▻ Where Chip and Dusty can be found. ▻ How they can get sick. Analysis of Able and Disabled Sixth-Grade Readers' Knowledge of Story Structure: A Comparison. Article (PDF Available) · January with 16 Reads. entitled The Geranium: A Collection of Short Stories and consists of the first six .. able to obtain its release only with the help of Jacques Maritain, who wrote.
Cognition, 21, 37— Google Scholar Bowler, D. Theory of mind in Asperger's syndrome.
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Frith Ed. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Communication and theory of mind in autism: A test of relevance theory. Does the autistic child ever have a theory of mind? The homograph task: A test of weak central coherence in autism. Google Scholar Hobson, R. Beyond cognition: A theory of autism. Dawson Ed. New York: Guilford. On acquiring knowledge about people, and the capacity to pretend: A response to Leslie. Psychological Review, 97, — Google Scholar Kaplan, J.
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Some implications of pretence for mechanisms underlying the child's theory of mind. Astington, P. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
I found it was difficult to change the world, so I tried to change my nation. When I found I couldn't change the nation, I began to focus on my town. I couldn't change the town and as an older man, I tried to change my family.
Now, as an old man, I realize the only thing I can change is myself, and suddenly I realize that if long ago I had changed myself, I could have made an impact on my family. My family and I could have made an impact on our town. Their impact could have changed the nation and I could indeed have changed the world.
Author: unknown monk around AD The law of the garbage truck One day I hopped in a taxi and we took off for the airport. We were driving in the right lane when suddenly a black car jumped out of a parking space right in front of us. My taxi driver slammed on his brakes, skidded, and missed the other car by just inches! The driver of the other car whipped his head around and started yelling at us.
My taxi driver just smiled and waved at the guy. And I mean, he was really friendly. So I asked, 'Why did you just do that? This guy almost ruined your car and sent us to the hospital!
He explained that many people are like garbage trucks. They run around full of garbage, full of frustration, full of anger, and full of disappointment. As their garbage piles up, they need a place to dump it and sometimes they'll dump it on you. Don't take it personally, just smile, wave, wish them well, and move on. Don't take their garbage and spread it to other people at work, at home, or on the streets. The two hospital patients Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.
One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back. The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on holiday. And every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed began to live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and colour of the world outside.
The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every colour of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.
As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man couldn't hear the band - he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Days and weeks passed.
One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and, after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.
Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the world outside. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it for himself.
He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window. The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you. Her husband had always been a tender and loving soulmate before he had left for the wars but, ever since he returned home, he was cross, angry, and unpredictable. She was almost afraid to live with her own husband. Only in glancing moments did she catch a shadow of the husband she used to know and love. When one ailment or another bothered people in her village, they would often rush for a cure to a hermit who lived deep in the mountains.
Not Yun Ok. She always prided herself that she could heal her own troubles. But this time was different. She was desperate. As Yun Ok approached the hermit's hut, she saw the door was open. The old man said without turning around: "I hear you.
What's your problem? His back still to her, he said, "Ah yes, it's often that way when soldiers return from the war. What do you expect me to do about it? Come back then. There is a potion that will restore your husband to the way he used to be, but you should know that it requires an unusual ingredient.
You must bring me a whisker from a live tiger. He turned his back. As you can see, I'm very busy. How could she get a whisker from a live tiger? The next day before dawn, she crept out of the house with a bowl of rice covered with meat sauce.
She went to a cave on the mountainside where a tiger was known to live. She clicked her tongue very softly as she crept up, her heart pounding, and carefully set the bowl on the grass. Then, trying to make as little noise as she could, she backed away. The next day before dawn, she took another bowl of rice covered with meat sauce to the cave. She approached the same spot, clicking softly with her tongue. She saw that the bowl was empty, replaced the empty one with a fresh one, and again left, clicking softly and trying not to break twigs or rustle leaves, or do anything else to startle and unsettle the wild beast.
So it went, day after day, for several months. She never saw the tiger thank goodness for that! Then one day as she approached, she noticed the tiger's head poking out of its cave.
Glancing downward, she stepped very carefully to the same spot and with as little noise as she could, set down the fresh bowl and, her heart pounding, picked up the one that was empty.
After a few weeks, she noticed the tiger would come out of its cave as it heard her footsteps, though it stayed a distance away again, thank goodness! Another month went by. Then the tiger would wait by the empty food bowl as it heard her approaching. As she picked up the old bowl and replaced it with a fresh one, she could smell its scent, as it could surely smell hers.
Not a week later, the tiger allowed her to gently rub its head, and it purred and stretched like a house cat. Then she knew the time had come. The next morning, very early, she brought with her a small knife.
After she set down the fresh bowl and the tiger allowed her to pet its head, she said in a low voice: "Oh, my tiger, may I please have just one of your whiskers? She stood up, speaking softly her thanks, and left, for the last time. The next morning seemed endless. At last her husband left for the rice fields. She ran to the hermit's hut, clutching the precious whisker in her fist. Bursting in, she cried to the hermit: "I have it!
I have the tiger's whisker! With pride she handed him the whisker. The hermit examined it, satisfied himself that it was indeed a whisker from a live tiger, then flicked it into the fire where it sizzled and burned in an instant. Tell me, is a man more vicious than a tiger? If a dangerous wild beast will respond to your gradual and patient care, do you think a man will respond any less willingly?
Then she turned and stepped down the trail, turning over in her mind images of the tiger and of her husband, back and forth. She knew what she could do. Source: Korean fable The hedgehogs It was the coldest winter ever. Many animals died because of the cold. The hedgehogs, realizing the situation, decided to group together to keep warm. This way they covered and protected themselves; but the quills of each one wounded their closest companions. After awhile, they decided to distance themselves one from the other and they began to die, alone and frozen.
So they had to make a choice: either accept the quills of their companions or disappear from the Earth. Wisely, they decided to go back to being together.
They learned to live with the little wounds caused by the close relationship with their companions in order to receive the heat that came from the others.
This way they were able to survive. The best relationship is not the one that brings together perfect people, but when each individual learns to live with the imperfections of others and can admire the other person's good qualities. The fence There once was a little boy who had a bad temper. His father gave him a bag of nails and told him that every time he lost his temper, he must hammer a nail into the fence.
The first day the boy had driven 37 nails into the fence. Over the next few weeks as he learned to control his anger, the number of nails hammered daily, gradually dwindled down. He discovered it was easier to hold his temper than to drive those nails into the fence. He told his father about it and the father suggested that the boy now pull out one nail for each day that he was able to hold his temper. The days passed and the young boy was finally able to tell his father that all the nails were gone.
The father took his son by the hand and led him to the fence. The fence will never be the same. When you say things in anger, they leave a scar just like this one. Make sure you control your temper the next time you are tempted to say something you will regret later. Your influence on the universe I read the first chapter of "A Brief History Of Time" when Dad was still alive, and I got incredibly heavy boots about how relatively insignificant life is, and how, compared to the universe and compared to time, it didn't even matter if I existed at all.
When Dad was tucking me in that night and we were talking about the book, I asked if he could think of a solution to that problem. What would that mean? And it has existed for million of years. And you changed it! Tell me. I'm just talking about moving that one grain of sand one millimetre. Affronted, the factory owner demands an itemised version. The sovereign had dinner and went to bed. Wishing to show their generosity, they placed a huge goatskin bottle before his door and agreed to fill it up with milk for the royal breakfast.
The villagers all had to milk their goats and then each of them had to tip his bucket into the container. Given its great size, each of them said to himself that he might just as well dilute his milk with a good quantity of water without anyone noticing.
To the extent that, in the morning, such a thin liquid was poured out for the king and his court that it had no taste than the taste of meanness and greed. One frog was fat and the other skinny. One day, while searching for food, they inadvertently jumped into a vat of milk.
They couldn't get out, as the sides were too slippery, so they were just swimming around. The fat frog said to the skinny frog, "Brother frog, there's no use paddling any longer. We're just going to drown, so we might as well give up. Somebody will get us out. After a while, the fat frog said, "Brother frog, there's no use. I'm becoming very tired now. I'm just going to stop paddling and drown. It's Sunday and nobody's working.
We're doomed. There's no possible way out of here. Keep paddling. Something will happen, keep paddling. The fat frog said, "I can't go on any longer. There's no sense in doing it because we're going to drown anyway. What's the use? He gave up. And he drowned in the milk. But the skinny frog kept on paddling. Ten minutes later, the skinny frog felt something solid beneath his feet. He had churned the milk into butter and he hopped out of the vat. He was in the news because of his most recent catalogue of cake designs; Klaschka is a pastry specialist.
Of course, Austrian pastries are famous the world over. Herr Klaschka insists he is not a Nazi. There is a market in Austria in for cakes with babies raising their arms in Nazi salutes, cakes with swastikas on them? There are parties where people serve such cakes? Maybe birthday parties for babies? Which is why Herr Klaschka was happy to bake them.
And not only in Austria. You may remember the case of the Campbell family from New Jersey. When Kurt Waldheim was exposed as a war criminal his popularity rose. The store refused their request. And the reason was that Mr. Campbell wanted the cake to read "Happy birthday Adolf Hitler".
Well, you get the point. He would have happily baked a cake for the Campbell family. So what does all this have to do with Passover? This week, when we are forbidden to eat Sachertore or Linzer tort or even the delightfully named Punschkrapfen, we might want to pause and think about something we say every year at the Passover seder: 'In every generation it is the duty of man to consider himself as if he had come forth from Egypt'.
Because in this generation, as in all others, there are those who order custom-made swastika cakes. There are those who name their children after Adolf Hitler. And there are others who fire anti-tank missiles at school busses with Jewish children in them.
Because there are those who are building nuclear weapons, having told the world that their intention is to wipe the Jewish state off the face of the earth. Because people like that make Pharaoh look like a nice guy. Because getting out of the house of bondage, out of slavery in Egypt, was not the end of the story for the Jewish people, but was the beginning.
Source: Eric Lee Peace of mind Once Buddha was walking from one town to another town with a few of his followers.
This was in the initial days. While they were travelling, they happened to pass a lake. Do get me some water from that lake there. When he reached it, he noticed that some people were washing clothes in the water and, right at that moment, a bullock cart started crossing through the lake. As a result, the water became very muddy, very turbid. The disciple obediently went back to the lake. This time he found that the lake had absolutely clear water in it. The mud had settled down and the water above it looked fit to be had.
So he collected some water in a pot and brought it to Buddha. You let it be Your mind is also like that. When it is disturbed, just let it be. Give it a little time. It will settle down on its own. It will happen. It is effortless. When there is peace inside you, that peace permeates to the outside.
It spreads around you and in the environment, such that people around start feeling that peace and grace. Jumping the queue Today, a true tale of heroism that takes place not in a war zone, nor a hospital, but in Victoria station in London in , during a tube strike.
Behind him: this detail matters. The interloper proves immune to polite remonstration, whereupon Edwards is seized by a magnificent idea. He turns to the elderly woman standing behind the queue-jumper, and asks her if she'd like to go ahead of him. The bus finally pulls up, and Edwards hears a shout from the front of the line. It's the elderly woman, addressing him: "Young man! Do you want to go in front of me?
Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit not a vegetable. Wisdom is knowing not to include it in a fruit salad. The starfish Once a man was walking along a beach. The sun was shining and it was a beautiful day. Off in the distance he could see a person going back and forth between the surf's edge and and the beach.
Back and forth this person went. As the man approached, he could see that there were hundreds of starfish stranded on the sand as the result of the natural action of the tide. The man was stuck by the the apparent futility of the task.
There were far too many starfish. Many of them were sure to perish. As he approached, the person continued the task of picking up starfish one by one and throwing them into the surf. As he came up to the person, he said: "You must be crazy. There are thousands of miles of beach covered with starfish. You can't possibly make a difference.
He then stooped down and pick up one more starfish and threw it back into the ocean. He turned back to the man and said: "It sure made a difference to that one! Inside the small boat were several large yellowfin tuna. The American complimented the Mexican on the quality of his fish.
I have a full and busy life, senor. You should spend more time fishing and with the proceeds you could download a bigger boat and, with the proceeds from the bigger boat, you could download several boats. Eventually you would have a fleet of fishing boats. Instead of selling your catch to a middleman, you would sell directly to the consumers, eventually opening your own can factory.
You would control the product, processing and distribution. You would need to leave this small coastal fishing village and move to Mexico City, then LA and eventually NYC where you will run your expanding enterprise. When the time is right, you would announce an IPO - an Initial Public Offering - and sell your company stock to the public and become very rich.
You would make millions. Then what? Move to a small coastal fishing village where you would sleep late, fish a little, play with your kids, take a siesta with your wife, stroll to the village in the evenings where you could sip wine and play your guitar with your amigos A funny fellow, a philosopher named Diogenes.
He had views not unlike those of the Buddha. According to him, possessions and all the things we think we need only serve to distract us and get in the way of our simple enjoyment of life.
So he had given away everything he owned and now sat, almost naked, in a barrel in the market square in Corinth where he lived, free and independent like a stray dog. Curious to meet this strange fellow, Alexander went to call on him. Dressed in shining armour, the plume on his helmet waving in the breeze, he walked up to the barrel and said to Diogenes: 'I like you.
Let me know your wish and I shall grant it. Gombrich Testing for gossip In ancient Greece, Socrates was reputed to hold knowledge in high esteem. One day an acquaintance met the great philosopher and said, "Do you know what I just heard about your friend?
It's called the Triple Filter Test. That's why I call it the triple filter test. The first filter is Truth. Have you made absolutely sure that what you are about to tell me is true?
Now let's try the second filter, the filter of Goodness. Is what you are about to tell me about my friend something good? You may still pass the test though, because there's one filter left: the filter of Usefulness. Is what you want to tell me about my friend going to be useful to me? The magnificent four-day journey traverses one of the last wilderness areas in the North Island.
The first expedition was led by "Buzz", an American guide with a great deal of rafting experience and many stories to tell of mighty rivers such as the Colorado. With a leader like Buzz, there was no reason to fear any of the great rapids on the Motu. The first half day, in the gentle upper reaches, was spent developing teamwork and co-ordination. Strokes had to be mastered, and the discipline of following commands without question was essential. In the boiling fury of a rapid, there would be no room for any mistake.
When Buzz bellowed above the roar of the water, an instant reaction was essential. We mastered the Motu. In every rapid we fought against the river and we overcame it. The screamed commands of Buzz were matched only by the fury of our paddles, as we took the raft exactly where Buzz wanted it to go.
At the end of the journey, there was a great feeling of triumph. We had won. We proved that we were superior. We knew that we could do it. We felt powerful and good. The mystery and majesty of the Motu had been overcome. The second time I went down the Motu. It seemed that it would not even be possible to hear his voice above the noise of the rapids. As we approached the first rapid, he never even raised his voice. He did not attempt to take command of us or the river.
Gently and quietly he felt the mood of the river and watched every little whirlpool. There was no drama and no shouting. There was no contest to be won. He loved the river. We sped through each rapid with grace and beauty and, after a day, the river had become our friend, not our enemy. The quiet Kiwi was not our leader, but only the person whose sensitivity was more developed than our own. Laughter replaced the tension of achievement. Soon the quiet Kiwi was able to lean back and let all of us take turns as leader.
A quiet nod was enough to draw attention to the things our lack of experience prevented us from seeing. If we made a mistake, then we laughed and it was the next person's turn. We began to penetrate the mystery of the Motu. Now, like the quiet Kiwi, we listened to the river and we looked carefully for all those things we had not even noticed the first time.
At the end of the journey, we had overcome nothing except ourselves. We did not want to leave behind our friend, the river. There was no contest, and so nothing had been won. Rather we had become one with the river. It remains difficult to believe that the external circumstances of the two journeys were similar.
The difference was in an attitude and a frame of mind.
At the end of the journey, it seemed that there could be no other way. Given the opportunity to choose a leader, everyone would have chosen someone like Buzz. At the end of the second journey, we had glimpsed a very different vision and we felt humble - and intensely happy. The mouse trap A mouse looked through the crack in the wall to see the farmer and his wife open a package. He was devastated to discover it was a mousetrap.
Retreating to the farmyard, the mouse proclaimed the warning: "There is a mousetrap in the house! There is a mousetrap in the house! Mouse, I can tell this is a grave concern to you, but it is of no consequence to me. I cannot be bothered by it. Mouse, but there is nothing I can do about it but pray.
Be assured you are in my prayers. I'm sorry for you, but it's no skin off my nose. That very night a sound was heard throughout the house - like the sound of a mousetrap catching its prey. The farmer's wife rushed to see what was caught. In the darkness, she did not see it was a venomous snake whose tail the trap had caught. The snake bit the farmer's wife. The farmer rushed her to the hospital and she returned home with a fever. Everyone knows you treat a fever with fresh chicken soup, so the farmer took his hatchet to the farmyard for the soup's main ingredient.
But his wife's sickness continued, so friends and neighbors came to sit with her around the clock. To feed them, the farmer butchered the pig. The farmer's wife did not get well; she died. So many! The mouse looked upon it all from his crack in the wall with great sadness. So, the next time you hear someone is facing a problem and think it doesn't concern you, remember: when one of us is threatened, we are all at risk.
We are all involved in this journey called life. We must keep an eye out for one another and make an extra effort to encourage one another. Each of us is a vital thread in another person's tapestry. A foot has no nose Of the many interactions I had with my mother those many years ago, one stands out with clarity. I remember the occasion when mother sent me to the main road, about twenty yards away from the homestead, to invite a passing group of seasonal work-seekers home for a meal.
She instructed me to take a container along and collect dry cow dung for making a fire. I was then to prepare the meal for the group of work-seekers. The thought of making an open fire outside at midday, cooking in a large three-legged pot in that intense heat, was sufficient to upset even an angel. I did not manage to conceal my feelings from my mother and, after serving the group, she called me to the veranda where she usually sat to attend to her sewing and knitting.
Looking straight into my eyes, she daid "Tsholofelo, why did you sulk when I requested you to prepare a meal for those poor destitute people? It means: you cannot detect what trouble may lie ahead of you. Had I denied this group of people a meal, it may have happened that, in my travels some time in the future, I found myself at the mercy of those very individuals.
As if that was not enough to shame me, mother continued: "Motho ke motho ka motho yo mongwe". The literal meaning: "A person is a person because of another person". Source: "African Wisdom" by Ellen K. Kuzwayo From Russia with love When the Soviet Union collapsed in , the communications trade union for which I then worked received several delegations from the emergent nations and we ran courses for them on how market economies operated and how free collective bargaining was conducted.
As is my practice when lecturing to foreign audiences, I had my visual aids translated into the vernacular, so I used overhead slides in Russian, although of course I spoke in English and had an interpreter. I cannot read the cyrillic alphabet and know very little Russian, so I just worked through my slides in order.
However, there came a point when I could tell from the statistical data on the latest slide that, for the previous ten minutes, I had been speaking to the wrong slide. British students would have pointed this out in seconds, but none of the Russians had said a word. I was perplexed and asked why nobody had told me that I had been speaking to the wrong slide.
Eventually one brave soul volunteered an answer and the interpreter translated: "In our country, no one challenges the teacher". Author: Roger Darlington Virtually no competition While professional soccer is still struggling to find a firm foothold in the United States, in the s the North American Soccer League marked the brave first attempt to introduce the game to American sports fans.
While most teams had only limited success at best, one did manage to break through to genuine mainstream popularity - the New York Cosmos. It was the brainchild of Steve Ross, a passionate soccer fan who was also a major executive at Warner Communications. Max Ross told his son Steve: "In life there are those who work all day, those who dream all day, and those who spend an hour dreaming before setting to work to fulfil those dreams.
Go into the third category because there's virtually no competition". He's enjoying the wind and the fresh air - until he notices the other waves in front of him, crashing against the shore. It sees the first wave, looking grim, and it says to him: "Why do you look so sad? We're all going to crash! All of us waves are going to be nothing!
Isn't it terrible? You're not a wave, you're part of the ocean. We are to stand, facing away from our classmates, and fall backward, relying on another student to catch us. Most of us are uncomfortable with this, and we cannot let go for more than a few inches before stopping ourselves. We laugh in embarrassment. Finally, one student, a thin, quiet, dark-haired girl whom I notice almost always wears bulky, white fisherman sweaters, crosses her arms over her chest, closes her eyes, leans back, and does not flinch, like one of those Lipton tea commercials where the model splashes into the pool..
For a moment, I am sure she is going to thump on the floor. At the last instant, her assigned partner grabs her head and shoulders and yanks her up harshly. Some clap. Morrie finally smiles. Sometimes you cannot believe what you see, you have to believe what you feel. And if you are ever going to have other people trust you, you must feel that you can trust them too - even when you're in the dark. Even when you're falling". Source: "Tuesdays With Morrie" by Mitch Albom Everyone can play At a fundraising dinner for an American school that serves learning disabled children,the father of one of the students delivered a speech that would never be forgotten by all who attended.