【推荐1】Do you remember the name of your kindergarten teacher? I do. Her name was Mrs. White. I don’t remember much about what we learned in her class, but my mother once told me we used to write a lot. And I would bring back what I wrote and she would see there were so many mistakes. But no red corrections. And always a star. Sometimes even a Good! That would make my heart soar with happiness. But it worried my mother, so when she went to meet Mrs. White for one of those Parent-Teacher meetings, she asked her why she never corrected my mistakes, why she never red-pencilled in the right spellings of words or pointed out grammatical errors.

Mrs. White explained the children were just beginning to get excited about using words, about forming sentences. She didn’t want to dampen that enthusiasm with red ink. Spelling and grammar could wait. The wonder of words wouldn’t ... And maybe she didn’t say it exactly like that, but I grew up learning to use words with loving confidence like that.

I look back now and think she must have been a rather extraordinary teacher—to allow the joy, wonder and excitement of expression to flower—however faultily like that.

I used to misspell “beautiful” a lot. Never could I quite remember that the “e” went before the “a”. Eventually the e’s and a’s settled into their right places of their own accord. I’m glad I didn’t wait on them though. Pretty is easier to spell but it doesn’t hold as much as you mean sometimes.

And thanks to Mrs. White, I had no qualms about writing what I meant even if I couldn’t quite spell it out. Because Life isn’t Pretty. It’s Beautiful.

【推荐2】Success in high school is often a stepping stone to a bigger success in life.    1    However, in addition to hard work, there are a number of time-tested ways you can employ to do better in high school.

Find successful friends. Students who make friends with those who do well in school will improve their grades too.     2    In addition, such students can also cooperate by sharing notes and helping each other understand study material.

    3    Even if you know the material, it is always better to take notes just in case you may forget something. Additionally, taking notes makes your attention focused during class time. Also, rewrite and organize your notes the same day to help you remember the material.

Reduce stress. Stress causes you to become tired. Furthermore, stress can also affect your overall health. By learning to deal with stress in high school you will acquire a life-long habit of keeping your stress level low. Stress reduction activities may include dances, walking and relaxation.     4    

Manage your time. Time is the most important resource people have. Make sure you use it well. Focus on what's really important—your study and some exercise for your body.     5    A good tool to use to manage your time better is a schedule. Try to plan your day in advance and stick to this plan.

【推荐3】There was once a professor of medicine, who was very strict with the students. Whenever he took the chair on the exam committee (担任考试委员会主席), the students would be in fear, because he was seldom pleased with the answers they gave. A student would be lucky enough if he or she could receive a good mark from him. At the end of the term, the students of medicine would take their exam again. Now a student entered the exam room and got seated before the committee. This student was a little nervous as he knew it would not be so easy to get through the exam at all.       

The professor began to ask. The student was required to describe a certain illness, his description of which turned out to be OK.

Then the professor asked about the cure (药剂) for illness, and the student, too, answered just as right.

“Good,” said the professor, “and how much will you give the patient?”

“A full spoon”, answered the student.

“Now you may go out and wait for what you can get”, said the professor. At the same time, the committee discussed carefully the answers the student had given. Suddenly the student noticed that there was something wrong with his last answer. “A full spoon is too much,” he thought to himself. Anxiously he opened the door of the room and cried, “Mr. Professor, I’ve made a mistake! A full spoon is too much for a patient. He can take only five drops.”

“I’m sorry, sir.” said the professor coldly, “But it’s too late. Your patient has died.”

【推荐1】My mother was never truly happy in Connecticut finding the winter bitter cold and the culture provincial (偏狭的). Though she grew up in New Jersey, she moved to San Francisco in her early twenties, met and married my dad out there. After I was born, they decided to return east, closer to their own parents. But she never let go of her love for the Bay Area.

California was always part of the conversation when I was a kid. I ate meals off a map-of-the-world placemat (餐垫), and Mom taught me to identify San Francisco before I learned where Hartford was. She told us stories of perfection on a single city, fantasizing about retiring out west. My dad would play along, but his heart wasn’t in the same place.

While my mother’s status in the nonprofit world advanced, her desire to move back to her favorite place grew strong. She applied for jobs in the Bay, underwent bicoastal Skype screenings, even traveled out for a couple of interviews on a whim (心血来潮). Sometimes her cover letters disappeared, other times she made it down to the final two candidates. With each rejection, she promised to make her next job application even stronger.

This past May, I relocated from San Francisco to New York for a job. A few weeks later, Mom called me. Her pursuit had finally paid off. She’s been offered a vice president position at a public health nonprofit in Oakland. A few weeks later, she packed up her baggage and left Connecticut for good.

Our lives are more semblable than ever these days. We’re both discovering our new homes, making friends. We’re looking for a good yoga studio to join, reading the same books and chatting about the plots by text message. I emailed her photos from my trip to Burning Man and she replied with stories about her new coworkers who go every year.

There’s even time for the occasional dating disaster.

Perhaps that’s the paradox (悖论) of growing older. Things will always change, and they can change immediately—my mother is proof. But an individual’s own power to create change always stays the same. Everything can change, and therefore nothing ever really changes.

Now when I’m out west for a visit, Mom meets me at a station with her big bag. We stop by the Grand Lake farmers market, picking out the freshest seasonal ingredients, before hiking up the hill to her new apartment. One of these days, I’ll actually cook her dinner.

【推荐3】My six-year-old granddaughter stared at me as if she were seeing me for the first time. “Grandma, you are an antique(古董),” she said. “You are old. Antiques are old. You are my antique.”

I was not satisfied to let the matter rest there. I took out the Webster’s Dictionary and read the definition to Jenny. I explained, “An antique is not only old, it’s an object existing since or belonging to earlier times...a work of art... a piece of furniture. Antiques are treasured,” I told Jenny as I put away the dictionary. “They have to be handled carefully because they sometimes are very valuable. In order to qualify as an antique, the object has to be at least 100 years old.”

“I’m only 67,” I reminded Jenny.

We looked around the house for other antiques, besides me. There was a desk that was handed down from Rone aunt to another and finally to our family. “It’s very old,” I told Jenny. “I try to keep it polished and I show it off whenever I can. You do that with antiques.”

There was a picture on the wall bought at a garage sale. It was dated 1867. “Now that’s an antique,” I said with pride. “Over 100 years old.” Of course it was marked up and scratched (刮坏) and not in very good condition. “Sometimes age does that, but the marks are good marks. They show living, or being around. In fact, sometimes, the more an object shows age, the more valuable it can become.”

Our tour of antiques continued. There was a vase on the floor. It had been in my house for a long time. I was not certain where it came from but I didn’t buy it new. One thing about antiques, I explained to Jenny, was that they usually had a story. They’d been in one home and then another, handed down from one family to another. They’d lasted through years. They could have been thrown away, or ignored, or destroyed, or lost. But instead, they survived.

For a moment, Jenny looked thoughtful. “l don’t have any antiques but you,” she said. Then her face brightened, “Could I take you to school for show and tell?”

“Only if I fit into your backpack,” I answered. And then Jenny’s antique lifted her up and embraced her in a hug that would last through the years.