【推荐1】Isadora Duncan is considered by many to be the progenitor of modern dance. To Duncan, classical ballet, with its strict rules of posture and formation, was “ugly and against nature”. She refused to accept traditional ballet steps, preferring to emphasize improvisation (即兴创作), emotion, and the human form. She said, “I spent long days and night in the studio seeking that dance which might be the expression of the human spirit through the body’s movements.” By making connections between human emotion and the movements of dance, Duncan hope to make dance a form of high art rather than simple entertainment. She developed free and natural movements inspired by the classical Greek arts, folk dances, social dances and natural forces. She drew on a number of sports moves, including skipping, running, jumping, leaping, and tossing. The athleticism and classical roots of her style are reflected in her innovative costume choice of a Grecian tunic (束腰外衣) and bare feet, which allowed for a physical freedom that could not be achieved in the traditional ballet costumes and pointed shoes that limited dancers. With time, she gained a very wide following and set up several schools in Europe and the United States.

Duncan’s fame, however, did not bring her wealth. In the later years of her life, her financial situation worsened, and finally she had to live in apartments rented by friends and supporters. Duncan also received criticism for some of her personal opinions.

In spite of the problems, Duncan is remembered today for her artistic achievements: the creation of modern dance and its high place among the arts. While Duncan’s own schools no longer exist, her style of dance continues to be practiced. Her life inspired novels, ballets, and films, and her likeness was included in the sculpture created by Antoine Bourdelle over the entrance of the Théatre des Champs-Elysees.

【推荐3】My mother, a nurse at Stony Brook University Hospital, worked at night so that she could come home in time to send me to school. She'd sleep during the day and be ready when we returned home before heading out again in the evening. This went on for 23 years. She never complained (抱怨). No matter how tired she was, she always had enough energy to be my mom.

She often had to work on Christmas, Christmas Eve or New Year's Eve, and sometimes Thanksgiving, which made me upset. However, before holidays she always decorated the inside and outside of our house. She'd also have cookies baking in the oven, a holiday-themed movie in the VCR, and music playing throughout our house for us. But when it was time to go to work, there was no room for debate. “Why do you have to work on this day of all days?" I'd ask sadly. "They need me, too, dear son," she'd respond, compassion (同情) in her tone.

For a long time I didn't understand why she should care so much about those sick strangers. Recently, as my grandmother became ill, I found myself spending more time in hospitals. The scenes I saw in the hospital made me see the different side of my mother. The nurses checked heart, blood and oxygen levels, made sure patients were comfortable. They lifted patients in and out of bed and helped them to the bathroom. Beyond their duties, the nurses displayed consideration for each patient.

What I saw helped me to understand why my mother was devoted to her occupation. I was filled with more admiration for my mother.

【推荐2】Growing up, I understood one thing about my dad: He knew everything. In my teen years, he taught me things I’d need to know to survive in the real world: how to drive a stick shift, how to check the car tyre’s (轮胎) pressure, and the correct knife to use to cut a cantaloupe.

When I moved out on my own, I called him at least once a week, usually when something broke in my apartment and I needed to know how to fix it: the toilet, the air-conditioning, the wall, once, when I threw a shoe at a terrifying spider.

But then, eventually, I needed him less. I got married, and my husband had most of the knowledge I lacked about gutter (排水沟) cleaning and water heaters and nondestructive insect removal. For everything else, we had Google. I didn’t know when it happened, but our conversations turned into six words when I called. Me: “Hi, Dad.” Him: “Hi, sweet. Here’s Mom.”

I loved my dad, of course, but I wondered at times if maybe he had already shared everything I needed to know. Maybe I’d heard all his stories. Maybe, after knowing a man for 40 years, there’s nothing left to say. Then, two summers ago, my husband, our four kids and I moved in with my parents for three weeks while our house was being painted. They owned a lake house, and my dad asked me to help him rebuild the bulkhead (舱壁). It was a hard and manual job. We got wet and sandy. But as we put the new bulkhead together piece by piece, my dad knew exactly what went where. I looked at him, “How do you know how to build a bulkhead?” “I spent a summer in college building it on the Jersey Shore.”

“You did?” I thought I knew everything about my dad, but I never knew this. I realized that maybe it’s not that there’s nothing left to say. Maybe it’s just that I’ve spent my life asking him the wrong questions. That day, my dad talked about what he had learned and what he could do excitedly. We chatted and chatted for a long time.

A few weeks later, after my family and I moved back into our painted house, I called my parents. “Hi, sweets,” he said. “Here’s Mom.” “Wait, Dad,” I said. “How are you?” We ended up talking about everything he was working on. To anyone else, it would sound like a normal conversation between a dad and his daughter. But to me, it was novel and a new beginning. I spent the first part of my life needing to talk to my dad. Now I talk to him because I want to.