She was dancing. My crippled(跛脚的) grandmother was dancing. I stood in the living room doorway absolutely shocked.

I heard her sing when I opened the door but did not want to interrupt the beautiful song, so I just tiptoed (用脚尖走）to the living room. I looked at how her body bent beautifully, her arms greeting the sunlight that was pouring through the window. And her legs.... Those legs that had stiffly (僵硬地) walked with a cane (拐杖）now obeyed her perfectly with beautiful dancing shoes! No limping! No stiffness! Just beautiful, fluid motion! She used to be the pet of the dancing world but later she’d had her accident and it was all over. I had read that in an old newspaper.

She turned around in a slow circle and saw me standing in the doorway. Her song and beautiful movements ended. The sudden silence rang in my ears. Grandma looked so much like a kid caught with her hand in a cookie jar that I couldn’t help myself, and a slightly nervous laughter escaped. Grandma sighed and turned toward the kitchen. I followed her, not believing my eyes. She was walking with no difficulties in her beautiful shoes. We sat down by the table and cut ourselves big pieces of her delicious peach pie.

“So ....” I asked “ how did your leg heal (治愈) ?”

“To tell you the truth --my legs have been well all my life ,” she said.

“But I don’t understand!” I said. “Your dancing career..... I mean.... You pretended   all these years?”

“Very much so,” Grandmother closed her eyes and tasted the peach pie, “and for a very good reason.”

“What reason ?”

“ Your grandfather .”

“You mean he told you not to dance ?”

“No, this was my choice. I am sure I would have lost him if I had continued dancing. I weighed fame and love against each other and love won.”

She thought for a while and then continued.

By now I had forgotten about the pie and listened to grandma , fascinated.

I got off the bus and ran all the way home. It was officially Christmas vacation. Opening the door, a wave of warm air and smells of pine and oranges welcomed me. I smiled, removing my coat and bag-Christmas was just about here.

Just then I heard an exciting voice. "You're home! Come play with me!" Melissa, my baby sister, sat on the living room floor, surrounded by an army of Barbies. She looked at me eagerly, waiting for my response.

I was going to be in high school in just two years. I felt too old for Barbies and other childish things. I hesitated, trying to think of an excuse that wouldn't make her cry, when a sudden idea came to my mind. "I'll play with you," I said, "if you let me play with the red car." The red car was what Melissa loved most.

Melissa quickly grabbed the car. "No!" she screamed. She never let anyone else play with the car. "Well I said, pleased with my cleverness," "I guess I can't play with you today." As I started walking to my room, Melissa called out to me, "Have you got my Christmas present yet?"

"Not yet, but I will," I said. "I've got what I'm giving you," said Melissa She smiled and added. "it's going to be the best present ever!" "I' m sure it will," I said flatly. I still remembered the handful of candies she had wrapped and handed to me the year before.

The days leading up to Christmas went by quickly. The whole family spent Christmas morning exchanging gifts. I had bought Melissa a cheap toy cat at the local Dollar Store. It was not a surprise to her, but I was pleased that she liked it. When the process of exchanging gifts was over, Dad joked, "We need a dump truck for all of this wrapping paper." He held the broom, preparing to sweep the floor.

“Jennifer, do you hike?” Karen said to me. “Yes, I hike,” I replied. Karen’s slim figure and sun-kissed cheeks suggested she was a regular hiker.

“Great, do you want to come with us tomorrow? We will meet in front of Bobbie’s house at 6:30 before it is too hot, and we will go over to Thunderbird Mountain. It is about three miles in total. Does that sound OK?”

Three miles. I wasn’t sure how long that was, partly because I didn’t actually hike. I was somewhat familiar with the area where they planned to go, but our family had just moved from Oregon to Arizona. I walked our dog around the neighbourhood all the time before we moved here. But I wasn’t sure if I had gone three miles. Being new to town and excited about an invitation from women I wanted to befriend, I accepted, saying, “Sure. That sounds great. We all benefit from hiking.”

When this hiking conversation among my new friends occurred, I was at a monthly dinner for moms in my new neighborhood. The group was four women in their forties, all with high-school kids, jobs, a fondness for reading and music and tricks for simplifying work-life.

I was honored to be invited since making friends in my forties in a new town wasn’t easy. After this re-location for my husband’s career, making friends wasn’t as simple for me as it was for him. He came to the community for a full-time position at a busy university. Our teenaged son and daughter immediately plugged into school through sports and clubs. I was enormously grateful for the ease of the transition for my family, but nervous for myself. So, while at the monthly ladies’ gathering, when hiking came up, I just played along, wanting to try something new.

The next day, I got up early and carefully selected comfortable hiking clothes. When I arrived at the designated friend’s driveway a little early, Karen was standing there waiting. “Hey, Jennifer, I’m glad that you can come to hike,” she said cheerfully and hugged me. When the others joined us, we started walking. I was sweaty and a little out of breath before we even started going uphill.

“So, where did you hike in Oregon?” one of them asked, offering me a bottle of water.

By accepting the invitation to hike that day, I received a lot.

It is funny that our lives seem to go on, but our use of clothes often doesn’t. It was a few weeks ago when my sons showed me the hole in their jeans. Further inspection showed that both my sons’ pants were worn out and had holes. While shirts were in better shape, both of them had “grown” too well to wear them. Their bodies grew out and their shirts grew tight because they were in adolescence.

I spent the whole afternoon first at the second-hand shop, and then at the department store picking out new blue jeans and better fitting shirts. It was a lot of work and I was tired when I got home. I took off the tags and put up their new clothes and then I gathered up the old ones to throw them into the garbage can.

The jeans were more than garbage ready, but when I picked up their shirts to throw away, I felt a little push in my mind. I knew at once what it was. It was the good nature in us. The good nature let me know that most of the shirts were still in good condition to wear. They shouldn’t be deserted when someone less fortunate could use them. I smiled to myself and my good nature made me lay out the shirts.

I called out loudly, “Sons, help tidy up your clothes!” They felt confused and asked, “Mom, what are you doing?” I patiently explained what I wanted to do. And we checked carefully to see if any shirts were too old. I threw away some, but I put the rest back into a big bag for donation. As we put them in my car, I felt a joy in my heart.

Meanwhile, I also taught my sons, “Always listen to those little pushes in your mind. Always listen to your good nature. And they will always lead you to give more love and receive more joy. They will always lead you to be a better yourself.” My sons understood my words and were supportive of me doing something with second-hand clothes.

I decided to encourage more people to donate old clothes.

Now I’ve set up a charity to collect and hand out clothes.

Milo is a rescue dog, adopted by twenty-year-old Mary Swift. But the dog is also a rescuer.

One morning in November 2021, Swift was ready to go jogging as usual, with Milo following her happily. To her surprise, as soon as she opened the front door, Milo took off running towards the gate quickly. It was very unusual. He always ran after his master.

Outside the gate, Milo was looking around the neighborhood, looking a little alert. Suddenly, he ran straightly to the house across the street, barking loudly and sniffing around. He seemed unsatisfied with this house. He quickly ran to the one next door. He stopped there and turned to Swift, barking more loudly, with his tail swinging crazily. Swift followed him, shouting sharply “Stop, Milo!” Some passing neighbors were looking disapprovingly (不满地) at them.

Swift was kind of embarrassed. Not everyone wanted a strange dog on their property and liked hearing a dog’s barks in the quiet morning. She tried to get Milo to go back, but Milo seemed not to follow the master’s order. He started to scratch on the front door. Swift wondered, “Why is he trying to break into the house?” She looked at the house, which belonged to Sherry Starr, who was 85 years old and seldom walked out of her house. It was the time for her to trim her bushes in the garden. Somehow, she wasn’t there that day.

Although Swift was a little doubtful, she still tried to drag Milo away. But at this time she could hear a sound coming through an open upstairs window.

It was a voice yelling “Help”.