My aunt Helen is an expert on baseball. She is the one who taught me how to play well either as a pitcher (投手) or a batter (击球手). Also, she has always kept me spellbound by her stories of playing baseball as a batter in the 1940s — she was really good at swinging the bat. I love listening to her baseball story over and over. She always says, “Go after what you want. Don’t be afraid of failing. That was exactly what I did when I was young.”
And this is how her story goes.
In 1943, she was one of the young women trying out for the All-American Girls Professional Baseball League which was created to entertain baseball fans because many of America’s young men were fighting in World War Ⅱ.
Aunt Helen had heard rumors that a team would play right in South Bend, Indiana. She dreamed of what it would be like to win a championship for her hometown! She imagined a large flag hanging at the baseball field, and on it the name Helen Baker would be there for all to see.
On the day of the tryouts, Aunt Helen played baseball for hours with many young women. For this new league, some of the rules were different from the rules for regular soft ball. They still used a standard soft ball, but the bases (垒) and pitcher’s mound (投球区土墩) were placed at longer distances, for example.
About a week later, Aunt Helen collected the mail and found an envelope with her name written in blue ink. The envelope was postmarked from Chicago, in which the letter was from the leaders of the girls’ baseball league! Wild with joy, Aunt Helen tore it open and learned that she had been invited to the league’s main tryouts!
But as the days went by, Aunt Helen became worried about traveling to Chicago. “What if I went all that way and failed?” She asked her father as usual, hesitation clear in her tone. When the day of the tryouts was drawing near, she was too afraid to go.
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Paragraph 1: She locked herself in the bedroom for most of the day.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Paragraph 2: “Helen Baker!” Her name was called and it was her turn to try out.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________There are too many treasures in life we take for granted, the worth of which we don’t fully realize until they’re pointed out to us in some unexpected way. So it was with Mama’s minestrone soup (意大利浓菜汤).
There was no recipe for her minestrone soup. For our large immigrant family, Mama’s soup guaranteed we would never go hungry. It was a symbol of security. Its recipe was created spontaneously (非计划安排地) from what was in the kitchen. And we could judge the state of our family economy by its contents. A hearty soup with tomatoes, pasta, beans, carrots, celery, onion, corn and meat indicated things were going well. A water y soup suggested hard times.
At one time, however, Mama’s soup pot became a source of embarrassment to me, for I feared it would cost me a new friend I had made at school. Sol was a thin, dark-haired boy, and an unusual pal for me because his father was a doctor and they lived in the best part of town. Often Sol invited me to his home for dinner. The family had a cook in a white uniform who worked in a kitchen with shining utensils (厨房用具). The food was good, but I found it bland (清淡的), lacking the heartiness of my home food served from flame-blackened pots. Moreover, the atmosphere matched the food. Everything was so formal. Sol’s mother and father were polite, but conversation around the table was subdued (克制的). And no one hugged! In our family, warm hugs were a constant and if you didn’t kiss your mother, she demanded: “What’s the matter, you sick?” But at that time in my life, all this was an embarrassment.
I had known Sol would like to eat dinner at our house, but that was the last thing I wanted. My family was so different.
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Finally when Sol asked again if he could come to our house, I had to say yes.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________But to my amazement, I noticed Sol took a spoonful of Mama’s minestrone soup.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________After retiring, I had time to clean the storeroom. The old doors were hard to open, like I was unsure about my new life. Inside, it was a mess, with old belongings from years ago and even a family of foxes had lived there.
I pulled on work gloves, then moved a box of motor oil out of the way, intending to clear some space. I reached all the way back, and my hand hit something hard. What could that be? I pulled out a round metal tin (罐). With one finger, I cleared a thick coating of dirt from the top to uncover a green background with white flowers. Could the tin hold a hidden treasure?
Little by little, I removed the cover until it suddenly came off and fell to the ground. I held my breath. Inside were several yellowed envelopes. I opened one, and a sense of despair swept through me.
Just then, my wife Peg walked in. “What’s that?”
“Seeds (种子),” I said. Nothing but seeds.
Peg came over to examine the tin’s contents. “Look, here’s a letter.” She held up a faded envelope with a three-cent stamp and a postmark of May 13, 1940. Before I was born! The letter was addressed to the original owner of our house.
“‘I am sending you the seeds of the hibiscus (木槿) you admired when you stopped at our tourist home last year,’” Peg read. “‘Plant when the ground becomes warm, and do not be alarmed if they do not come up for several weeks — they are slow to grow.’”
“Huh,” I said. “Eighty years old. I wonder if they’ll still grow?” I had several hanging pots and a few flower beds, but I was no expert. I took a plastic box where I’d planted potatoes, shook the hibiscus seeds out of the envelope, pushed them into the soil and set the box in the sun.
“What are my chances?” I asked my neighbor, an experienced gardener. “Not very good,” he said, “but maybe… if they were packed right and kept dry and dark.”
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With the seeds planted, I checked the box every day, eager for any sign of life.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Just when I was about to give up, something astonishing happened.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________The Secret
“Your secret is safe with me” was Ming’s promise when I told him that I wanted to learn ballet, which was unusual for boys and must be laughed at by most people in my place. I even dared not tell my parents about it.
Ming was my best friend at school. Wearing the same type of school uniform, Ming looked older and bigger, but we were the same age. We grew up together in the same neighbourhood and our parents knew each other well. Ming was always the first one to hear stories from me. I trusted him on everything and anything. One afternoon after school, we met at the balance bars on the school playground as usual. It was just the two of us. I gathered up courage and told him about my secret.
Ming seemed slightly surprised, but he soon smiled and agreed to keep it a secret for me, as he had done other times. We were best friends after all. After a few push-ups, we headed for our own homes.
The next morning, in the school corridor, just as I was about to wave at him and say hi, I noticed something was different. As soon as he saw me, he dropped his head and continued to walk on, avoiding eye contact with me. In the classroom, I couldn’t help casting frequent glimpses at his side—he wasn’t looking at me. In fact, he remained quiet all day. When the school bell rang, he picked up his schoolbag and left the classroom in a rush. Was it because of my secret? What did he do to my secret?
I ate very little that evening. Mum frowned when she saw the food I’d left in the bowl. Dad threw me a disapproving look and asked me how my day was. “It was OK,” I replied, “lots of homework to do.” I stood up, ready to leave the table.
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“Wait!” Dad raised his hand and gestured me to sit down.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________“Ming will remain your friend,” Dad comforted me.
____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I was 11 years old when I asked my parents for piano lessons. We were in the impact of the recession (经济衰退). My mother had recently been out of work and so my father became the only bread earner for our family. A polite “no” was the answer.
That didn’t discourage me. I Googled the dimensions of a keyboard, drew the keys onto a piece of paper and stuck it on my desk. I would click notes on an online keyboard and “play” them back on my paper one — keeping the sound they made on the computer in my head. After a while I could hear the notes in my head while pressing the keys on the paper. I spent six months playing scales and chord sequences without touching a real piano. Once my mother saw it wasn’t a craze, in spite of the fact that she and father never wished their daughter to work in music, she borrowed some money from family and friends, and bought me 10 lessons.
I still remember the first lesson. I was struck by how noble and elegant the sound of the piano was, as I had become familiar with the artificial electronic sound. The teacher tried to explain where middle C was but I could already play all the major and minor scales (音阶), as well as tonic and dominant functions.
After eight lessons, I obtained the first grade piano certificate (证书). By the time I started secondary school, we couldn’t afford lessons again, so I returned to my paper keyboard. I passed grade three, then grade five, practicing only on my paper keyboard.
For the grades above that, there’s an expectation that you include a certain sensitivity into your playing. The head of music at my school said I could practice on the school’s grand piano. I would wake up at 5:30 a.m. to get there in time and play until lessons started. I’d skip lunch and then practice after school until the caretaker kicked me out. At home, I’d have dinner, do three hours of revision, and then mental practice until 1 a.m.
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One evening, when I was about 13, I came home, and my mother said she had a surprise for me.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________My father was very much against playing the piano, but when he heard my playing, something inside him changed.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I’m good at making excuses. I came up with a new one every time the idea of returning to college presented itself. I had enrolled in a university at 21 but later quit. As the years passed, I regretted not finishing my English degree. But I always comforted myself with excuses — I have three little ones who need me at home. I’m busy with the children’s school activities. I can’t go back to school at 50. Old dogs can’t learn new tricks.
The truth was that I was just plain scared to go back to school. What if I needed remedial (补习的) courses? What if a professor called attention to me? What if I walked into a classroom and there was nowhere to sit? What if I stood out in a sea of young faces?
After my children finished college, they insisted it was my turn, so I called Dalton State College and set up a time to take the Compass Test to see if I needed remedial courses. The next day, when I was on the highway heading there, Rachel, my middle child called. When she learned my destination, I heard the pride in her voice. “You’ve got this, Mama!”
That was all it took. Hot tears tumbled down my cheeks as she spoke words of encouragement to me. It turned out that I scored high on the English test but would need to take two remedial courses for the math section. But I didn’t care. After decades of excuses, I’d finally thrown my leg over the high fence of fear. I couldn’t wait to register for classes.
My first course was U. S. History. I’ve never been good with dates, but the professor calmed my nerves. “I don’t care about dates, but I expect you to know the names of significant individuals. For instance, who was the first person to set foot on the moon?”
“Neil Armstrong,” chorused several students.
“Does anyone know when that event took place?”
My heart leapt at the question, because I was celebrating my fifteenth birthday on that day!
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Since it might be the only question I could answer, I sheepishly raised my hand.
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Other fears didn’t turn into reality either.
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Isla and I were studying in the same school. We had been friends since we were six years old. I took Isla as a smart, funny friend, but not all students at our school did, especially the girl students. Girls in our school wore fashionable branded clothes, but Isla sewed hers and her curly hair and thick glasses made her look like a fish, which made her stand out like a sore thumb(招眼).
For me, sometimes I felt embarrassed to be around Isla, particularly when students said rude words about her hair, clothes, glasses—even about the fact that she got really good grades. Isla always seemed to be able to ignore what other students thought, but I couldn’t. I began to distance myself from her.
Our school had a tradition—there was a talent show every spring. Students would sing, dance, play musical instruments, and do whatever they could to show their talents. Being our graduation season in this senior school, this year’s talent show would be obviously different. It would be a huge night.
Ava, who was an outgoing girl, invited me to be on her dance team. “We win the talent show every year, and we expect a satisfactory graduation this year,” Ava said to me excitedly. “We need a new dancer. But only you, not her!” Ava pointed to someone behind me.
I didn’t need to turn around to see who she meant. “Oh, I see,” I said quietly. Ava had hardly headed out when someone tapped on my shoulder. It was Isla. When I saw her confused face, it was like waking up from a dream. Isla asked me eagerly, “Emily, are you going to take part in the talent show?” I hesitated without response. “That’s great, Emily!” Isla told me without waiting for my answer that she was also going to participate this year. I couldn’t believe what I had heard. I started to worry about her when I imagined that she was in front of a huge crowd, and that everybody would laugh at her.
Time passed quickly, and I had barely seen Isla since then. For me, I had to practice hard every day with Ava and the team to keep up since the other dancers had already known the steps.
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Ultimately, it was my turn to perform, and I felt extremely nervous.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________I stepped off the stage and expressed my thanks to Isla, who was ready to sing.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________It was Mr. Morgan’s first day as a new history teacher. He was giving the students a lecture on the Great Depression and World War II, when the door suddenly opened. A boy walked in with his eyes fixed on the floor and took his seat without speaking a word or looking up at the teacher. “Good morning, young man,” said Mr. Morgan, his voice was strict. “It’s 9:15, and you’re 20 minutes late for class. Do you have a good reason?” But the boy just sat without responding. “Could you please stand up and introduce yourself?” Mr. Morgan added. “I’m Archie,” replied the boy as he rose and looked up, rubbing his tired eyes. Archie looked very untidy and dizzy (头晕目眩的), as though he hadn’t slept at all the previous nights. “Nice to meet you, Archie. I’m your new history teacher. You’re late for class. Do you mind telling me why? You just walked in without excusing yourself, and I won’t entertain such behavior.” Archie hesitated for a while. “I’m sorry, sir. I overslept. I didn’t mean to come in late. I was just tired, sir,” he finished, unable to control his yawn, and the whole class laughed. “Silence!” Mr. Morgan demanded. “Archie, you cannot be late for class like this. Can I see your homework? I heard your previous history teacher gave you assignments every weekend. Show it to me, will you?” Archie handed over his notebook, and Mr. Morgan’s expression turned uneasy. “Umm, looks like you didn’t do your homework at all.” “I didn’t do it, sir,” the boy said sheepishly as the teacher looked through the rest of the pages. “Archie, what is this? You haven’t done any of your homework this whole term,” Mr. Morgan scolded. “I want to meet your parents tomorrow, alright? Or I’m taking you straightto the principal’s office. Is that clear?” “Yes, sir,” Archie murmured and sat on his seat.
But the boy didn’t show up the following day. The principal told him, “We’ve given Archie chances, but there’s no improvement. His presence is affecting our academic statistics.” Mr. Morgan started to worry.
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2．请按如下格式在答题卡的相应位置作答。
Mr. Morgan paid a visit to Archie’s home, only to discover the boy’s life was far more difficult than he thought.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Fifteen years later, successful Archie returned to his old school to thank Mr. Morgan.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Why Socks Help You Sleep Better
If you’re one of those people who has trouble falling asleep, listen up. You might fall asleep 15 minutes earlier and wake up far less during the night if you put on a pair of socks at bedtime.
To understand why you first need to grasp the relationship between core body temperature and sleep. During daylight hours, the human body hums along at an average temperature of 98.6 degrees Fahrenheit (37 degrees Celsius). But at night, your core body temperature dips as much as 2 degrees Fahrenheit (1.2 degrees Celsius) over the course of six or seven hours of sleep.
This gradual decrease in core body temperature, as it turns out, is a key part of the complicated neurobiological (神经生物学) dance of falling asleep and staying asleep. And the faster you can lower the core body temperature, the faster you will fall asleep. Researchers have show that warming the feet before going to sleep using a warm feet bath or by wearing socks promotes vasodilation (血管扩张), which in turn lowers the body’s core temperature faster than going to sleep with cold, bare feet.
Scientists suppose that socked feet have a neurological effect as well. Inside the brain’s “thermostat (恒湿器)” is a type of neuron called a warm-sensitive neuron (WSN) that increases its firing rate when there’s a temperature difference between the body’s core temperature and extremities like the feet. Research has shown that WSN firing rates go way up on the beginning or slow wave or deep sleep and gradually decrease prior to waking up. So WSNs may play a role in generating the sensation of sleepiness that helps us fall asleep and stay asleep. And if that is the case, warming up the feet before bed time gives WSNs an extra power.
In a small study, researchers found that wearing a pair of special sleeping socks not only sped up the beginning of sleep, but increased overall sleep time by an average of 30 minutes and cut nighttime waking periods in half.
If you are worried about becoming too warm while wearing socks in bed, look for ones made of natural breathable fibers.
___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________Ways to Stay Motivated
Many distance learners agree that the most difficult part of studying online is staying motivated. Because students must take the initiative to complete their courses completely on their own, without the physical presence of teachers and other peers, many students find it easy to become distracted and discouraged in their work. Don’t let this happen to you-plan ways for yourself to stay motivated before you’re tempted to stray from your books. Use the following motivational tips to stay on task.
Find a friend or relative who has similar interests or who would enjoy hearing about your studies and let them know what’s going on in your classes. You’ll understand the material better when you have a chance to explain it out loud and will be motivated to stay on task in order to keep up with the conversation.
Don’t rely on campus consultant; design your own map of completed classes and post it somewhere that is visible daily. There’s a certain satisfaction that comes with watching your goals be accomplished. When times get hard, you can always turn to your chart and see how far you’ve come.
You get rewarded for good credit and safe driving. Why shouldn’t you reward yourself for doing well in your coursework? Whether it be a night on the town, a new dress, or even a new car, setting up a reward system just may be the extra push you need to succeed. If you stick to your system, you may find yourself pleasantly surprised.
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