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When I was young， I spent some memorable time with my Great Aunt Toots who lived with my great grandparents her whole life. They were born， lived， and worked in a small coal mining town in Southern Illinois.
Although my great aunt was the town beautician， she called herself a “beauty operator.” She always wore white shoes， a white uniform-type dress， and a white coat to work. I thought she was some kind of doctor who operated on people’s beauty. Sometimes I would wait across the street from her shop， sitting on the bench with the old men outside the grocery store who worried sticks into 1）shavings with sharp pocket knives.
Ladies would go into my great aunt’s beauty shop often 2）hooded and 3）bedraggled， their heads bowed in shame or defeat. But soon 4）exclamations would 5）emanate from the other side of the large glass picture window that proclaimed “Lucille’s Beauty Shop”in golden， arched letters.
From my place nestled among the old men on the bench， I could hear the 6）eruptive laughter， the loud chatter， or the high pitched 7）squeals of disbelief at the latest gossip. Most of the old ladies were very hard of hearing and everyone spoke at top pitch above the dryers that blasted hot air across pinned curls. Great Aunt Toots would tease out their hair as much as she would tease out their stories. “Well I want you to hush！” someone might proclaim， which didn’t mean “hush” at all， and the delight would waft across the air like fresh baked bread on a winter’s day.
The ladies would emerge， light and fairy-like， with a new hairdo and primed with the latest small town news. The old men， their knives frozen in the air， would say loudly，“Mmmmm！” And the ladies would smile and pretend not to notice. But I could see that the compliments paid somehow drew everyone closer together. The whittling slowed for a bit after the ladies walked away， and the space was taken up with the wrinkled smiles of the old men. Everyone seemed a little better off.
I believe in giving compliments. Compliments are the very beginning of all good things. Where else can one get something so valuable that costs absolutely nothing to give？
When Great Aunt Toots finished for the day， we would walk home together. “The ladies looked pretty today，” I would say.
“I 8）fluff ’em， 9）buff ’em， and stuff ’em！” my aunt would say with a glint of pride and a twist of pure laughter in her tired voice. My Great Aunt Toots never learned to drive a car， never moved from the house in which she was born， never married， and never got a high school diploma. But looking back on her life’s work， I think she contributed far more than most to her community. Who can say how far-reaching her work was？
I observed at an early age the gift of giving a compliment. It’s like blowing a little air under a person and letting them rise up just a tiny bit even if only for a minute. There’s always something honestly good to say about everyone. I believe in finding that thing and then feeling good about saying it.
小时候，我曾和我的图茨姑姥姥共度过一些难忘的时光。她一生都和我的祖父母一起生活。他们都在伊利诺斯州南部的一个煤矿小镇出生、成长和工作。
虽然我的姑姥姥是镇上的美容师，但她却自称为“美丽操手”。她工作时总是穿着白色的鞋子、白色的制服裙和一件白色的外套。我想她就是某种为他人美丽形象而施以手术的医生。有时候，我会在她店子对面的街上等着，和一些老头儿坐在杂货铺门口的长凳上。这些老人闷闷不乐，用锋利的口袋折叠刀将木棍子削成刨花。
女士们会走进我姑姥姥的美容院，常常是戴着兜帽，发丝湿嗒嗒乱糟糟的，或害羞或沮丧地耷拉着头。但是不一会儿，赞叹声会从巨型落地玻璃窗的另一边传来。玻璃窗上赫然印着“露西尔美容院”几个金色弧形大字。
从我身处的地方，和老头们共坐的长凳上，我可以听到那边厢突然爆发出的笑声、高声的闲谈，或是论及家长里短时为表难以置信而迸发的高频尖叫声。大部分年迈的女士都耳背得厉害，每个人都扯着嗓门说话，以压过电吹风的热风吹过头上那发卷时的声响。图茨姑姥姥会逗弄她们的头发，就像她会调侃她们的故事一样。“呐，你就别说了！”有人可能会声明道，但其实这话一点儿都不是指“别说”的意思，那份喜悦会穿过空气飘散开来，如同冬日里新鲜出炉的面包。
女士们会顶着新发型走出门来，脑子里装满了最新的小镇消息，容光焕发、仙子一般。那些老头儿，他们的刀子冻结在空气中，他们会大声说出这样的话：“嗯—嗯—嗯—嗯—嗯！”女士们则会微笑起来，装作不在意。但我能够看到这些赞美的话不知何故把每个人都拉得更近了。女士们走后，削木头的活儿会慢下来，接着整个空间会被那些老头儿满布皱纹的微笑所占据。每个人看起来都更加快乐了。
我推崇授人赞美。赞美是所有好事的最初起点。一个人能从别的什么地方获得如此珍贵的东西呢？付出赞美完全无须代价。
当图茨姑姥姥完成了一天的工作，我们会一起走回家。“女士们今天看起来很漂亮呢，”我会说。
“我给她们吹松，给她们上油，给她们定型！”姑姥姥会这么说，话语里带着自豪的光芒，疲倦的嗓音中挤出一点纯净的笑声来。
我的图茨姑姥姥从来没学过开车，从来没搬出过她出生的那所房子，从来没有结过婚，也从来没有拿过一张高中毕业证书。但回首她一生的工作，我觉得她的贡献远多于镇上的大部分人。谁能说清她工作的影响力能传得多远呢？
年少时，我就观察到予人赞美的力量。那就像是在别人身下吹起一小股风，让他们抖擞一阵子，就算是一分钟也好。每一个人总会有闪光点值得我们诚心赞美。我乐于发掘他人的美善之处，给予赞美，心生快意。
Although my great aunt was the town beautician， she called herself a “beauty operator.” She always wore white shoes， a white uniform-type dress， and a white coat to work. I thought she was some kind of doctor who operated on people’s beauty. Sometimes I would wait across the street from her shop， sitting on the bench with the old men outside the grocery store who worried sticks into 1）shavings with sharp pocket knives.
Ladies would go into my great aunt’s beauty shop often 2）hooded and 3）bedraggled， their heads bowed in shame or defeat. But soon 4）exclamations would 5）emanate from the other side of the large glass picture window that proclaimed “Lucille’s Beauty Shop”in golden， arched letters.
From my place nestled among the old men on the bench， I could hear the 6）eruptive laughter， the loud chatter， or the high pitched 7）squeals of disbelief at the latest gossip. Most of the old ladies were very hard of hearing and everyone spoke at top pitch above the dryers that blasted hot air across pinned curls. Great Aunt Toots would tease out their hair as much as she would tease out their stories. “Well I want you to hush！” someone might proclaim， which didn’t mean “hush” at all， and the delight would waft across the air like fresh baked bread on a winter’s day.
The ladies would emerge， light and fairy-like， with a new hairdo and primed with the latest small town news. The old men， their knives frozen in the air， would say loudly，“Mmmmm！” And the ladies would smile and pretend not to notice. But I could see that the compliments paid somehow drew everyone closer together. The whittling slowed for a bit after the ladies walked away， and the space was taken up with the wrinkled smiles of the old men. Everyone seemed a little better off.
I believe in giving compliments. Compliments are the very beginning of all good things. Where else can one get something so valuable that costs absolutely nothing to give？
When Great Aunt Toots finished for the day， we would walk home together. “The ladies looked pretty today，” I would say.
“I 8）fluff ’em， 9）buff ’em， and stuff ’em！” my aunt would say with a glint of pride and a twist of pure laughter in her tired voice. My Great Aunt Toots never learned to drive a car， never moved from the house in which she was born， never married， and never got a high school diploma. But looking back on her life’s work， I think she contributed far more than most to her community. Who can say how far-reaching her work was？
I observed at an early age the gift of giving a compliment. It’s like blowing a little air under a person and letting them rise up just a tiny bit even if only for a minute. There’s always something honestly good to say about everyone. I believe in finding that thing and then feeling good about saying it.
小时候，我曾和我的图茨姑姥姥共度过一些难忘的时光。她一生都和我的祖父母一起生活。他们都在伊利诺斯州南部的一个煤矿小镇出生、成长和工作。
虽然我的姑姥姥是镇上的美容师，但她却自称为“美丽操手”。她工作时总是穿着白色的鞋子、白色的制服裙和一件白色的外套。我想她就是某种为他人美丽形象而施以手术的医生。有时候，我会在她店子对面的街上等着，和一些老头儿坐在杂货铺门口的长凳上。这些老人闷闷不乐，用锋利的口袋折叠刀将木棍子削成刨花。
女士们会走进我姑姥姥的美容院，常常是戴着兜帽，发丝湿嗒嗒乱糟糟的，或害羞或沮丧地耷拉着头。但是不一会儿，赞叹声会从巨型落地玻璃窗的另一边传来。玻璃窗上赫然印着“露西尔美容院”几个金色弧形大字。
从我身处的地方，和老头们共坐的长凳上，我可以听到那边厢突然爆发出的笑声、高声的闲谈，或是论及家长里短时为表难以置信而迸发的高频尖叫声。大部分年迈的女士都耳背得厉害，每个人都扯着嗓门说话，以压过电吹风的热风吹过头上那发卷时的声响。图茨姑姥姥会逗弄她们的头发，就像她会调侃她们的故事一样。“呐，你就别说了！”有人可能会声明道，但其实这话一点儿都不是指“别说”的意思，那份喜悦会穿过空气飘散开来，如同冬日里新鲜出炉的面包。
女士们会顶着新发型走出门来，脑子里装满了最新的小镇消息，容光焕发、仙子一般。那些老头儿，他们的刀子冻结在空气中，他们会大声说出这样的话：“嗯—嗯—嗯—嗯—嗯！”女士们则会微笑起来，装作不在意。但我能够看到这些赞美的话不知何故把每个人都拉得更近了。女士们走后，削木头的活儿会慢下来，接着整个空间会被那些老头儿满布皱纹的微笑所占据。每个人看起来都更加快乐了。
我推崇授人赞美。赞美是所有好事的最初起点。一个人能从别的什么地方获得如此珍贵的东西呢？付出赞美完全无须代价。
当图茨姑姥姥完成了一天的工作，我们会一起走回家。“女士们今天看起来很漂亮呢，”我会说。
“我给她们吹松，给她们上油，给她们定型！”姑姥姥会这么说，话语里带着自豪的光芒，疲倦的嗓音中挤出一点纯净的笑声来。
我的图茨姑姥姥从来没学过开车，从来没搬出过她出生的那所房子，从来没有结过婚，也从来没有拿过一张高中毕业证书。但回首她一生的工作，我觉得她的贡献远多于镇上的大部分人。谁能说清她工作的影响力能传得多远呢？
年少时，我就观察到予人赞美的力量。那就像是在别人身下吹起一小股风，让他们抖擞一阵子，就算是一分钟也好。每一个人总会有闪光点值得我们诚心赞美。我乐于发掘他人的美善之处，给予赞美，心生快意。