I am a proud mother of three children, my last little one being delivered in the middle of this pandemic (疫情). She was born in August and her name is Aida.

Shortly after having Aida, my mother-in-law Ann showed me something she learned from her friend’s mother in an art class she attended weekly, She had showed me how to knit (编织) a scarf.

I spent a lot of time breastfeeding my sweet little girl, so I had some extra time to do something with my hands throughout the day. I enjoyed making the scarf so I purchased tons of yarn (线) since it was winter. I wanted to make scarves for my three children as Christmas gifts.

There was a new family that moved in down the street. The only daughter of the family was Jane, a shy girl, aged 14, the same age of my oldest son David. It seemed that she came from a financially disadvantaged family, for she always wore old clothes. Worse still, in such cold days, she had no more clothes to wear and trembled with cold.

Due to the pandemic, society was thrown into crisis mode. Schools were closed, food supplies and deliveries were suspended and children were stuck at home. In such discouraging time, however, they became good companions, talking and playing at home or around the houses.

It was dreadfully cold this winter. Every time David came back from outside, with red face, he always cried, “Mum, it is freezing outside!” Then, he came over to see whether I finished the scarf. I could tell how impatient he was to wear my scarf sooner! I had to speed the project to satisfy his expectation. But David comforted me by saying he could wait a few days. What a kind and considerate boy he was! Then my great art project finally was accomplished on the morning ahead of Christmas.

Emily White was born seventeen years ago with so many birth problems in her body. Some of her organs, bones and muscles were out of shape. No one expected her to survive. She did make it but with her strange body figure, everyone could recognize her, even from a distance.

In Emily White’s hometown, there was a yearly outdoor performance in the school auditorium (大礼堂). It had been performed for so many years and actually had become one of the most important events of the Christmas season for many of the town’s people.

Many people tried out each year for it, but so many were turned away. It can only include the most excellent people in the field.

Emily had a beautiful singing voice. Last year she went to Mrs. Owens — her music teacher to ask to join in the performance. Without letting her sing, Mrs. Owens took a look at Amy’s body and said, “Child, you just don’t fit. Everyone would stare at you and that would make you uncomfortable. It would make them uncomfortable, too.”

Without singing a single note, Emily was sent back through the door of the choral room. Hurt and upset, she decided never to try out again. But Mrs. Owens then retired.

This year, there came a new music teacher, Mr. Buttler. He heard about Emily and suggested that she have a try.

Emily didn’t want to be rejected again, so she hesitated a little about it. As Emily struggled, the door was pushed open and Mr. Buttler called, “Emily, you’re next.” Although kind of nervous, Emily did as Mr. Buttler told her to do. Mr. Buttler sat by the piano to keep Emily company. When Emily finished her testing performance, she thanked Mr. Buttler and knew the result would be posted on the door of the choral room the next day.

Emily couldn’t sleep that night. She was suffering from the feelings that she didn’t fit and the great need to be accepted. By the next morning, her stomach was even in pain because of stress.

Paragraph 1: The next day, Emily nervously glanced at the list on the door of the choral room.

Paragraph 2: Finally, the day of performance came.

A cactus (仙人掌) stood all alone in the desert, wondering why it was stuck in the middle of the desert. “I do nothing but stand here all day,” it sighed. “What use do I have? I am the ugliest plant in the desert. My spines (刺) are thick, my leaves are tough, and my skin is uneven. I can’t offer shade or juice to the passing travellers. I don’t see that I am of any use at all.” All it did was stand in the sun day after day, growing taller and fatter. Its spines grew longer and its leaves grew tougher. It truly was strange-looking.

“I wish I could do something useful,” it signed. By day, hawks (鹰) circled high overhead, and the cactus called, “What can I do with my life?” Whether they heard or not, the hawks flew away. At night the moon floated into the sky and cast its pale light on the desert floor. “What can I do with my life?” the cactus called. The moon only stared coldly as it continued its course.

A lizard (蜥蜴) passed by, leaving a little trail in the sand with its tail. “What worthy deed can I do?” the cactus called. “You?” the lizard smiled, pausing a moment. “You can do something. Just wait for the right moment. The hawks circle their ways overhead, making beautiful patterns for us all to admire. The moon hangs high like a lantern at night, so we can see our ways home to our loved ones. Even I, the lowly lizard, have something to do. I decorate the sands with these beautiful trails as I pull my tail along. And you, you will show us your beauty some day.”

It went on year after year, and the cactus grew old.

The desert hadn’t known such a flower of it.

I was 28 years old, the age when most young people have their eyes firmly fixed on the promise of success but I was a failure. Six years earlier, fresh from college, I had joined a dramatic producing company, and had been going into small towns and rural communities producing country­style musical comedies. But, in the summer of 1940, the country was in a depression, radio had changed people’s tastes, and part­time shows weren’t all that big any more. So, jobless and with nothing else in sight, I went back home. Later I got a job as a recreation­room director in my hometown. It paid $50 a month, for which I was grateful, but it sure was a dull job.

I felt so frustrated with my plan to be a dramatic star. Restless and dissatisfied though I was, it was nice, in a way, to be back home. I tried to teach some of my town’s children music and drama. And when I got a chance, I’d try my luck as a performer myself. I’d dress up as a country girl and tell little stories and jokes that I’d picked up during my years living around country folk. I gave this country girl a name — Minnie Pearl.

One October afternoon I was in the recreation room, waiting for the children when a banker friend, Jim Walker, came in and said, “We’re going to have a bankers’ meeting here. I understand you’ve been teaching some children dramatics and dancing and singing. Would you let the children entertain the bankers?” I said, yes. Suddenly, he turned and added, “Oh, by the way, the speaker from Chicago is flying here. If he’s late, would you mind doing that Minnie Pearl thing?” I told Jim I’d do it.

That night the children sang and danced to old­time, popular songs when I was backstage. After we finished the performance, Jim came to me. “The speaker’s not here yet. You’ll have to help us.” “All right,” I told him, “just give me a minute to dress up.”

Then I went out in front of the hundred or so men in the audience.

Then I walked off the stage into the audience, and a banker greeted me.

Welcome to China in the coming winter vacation,

Yours,

Li Hua

10 . “Two centuries ago, Lewis and Clark left St. Louis to explore the new lands acquired in the Louisiana Purchase,” George W. Bush said, announcing his desire for a program to send men and women to Mars. They made that journey in the spirit of discovery. America has ventured forth into space for the same reasons.

Yet there are vital differences between Lewis and Clark’s expedition and a Mars mission. First, they were headed to a place where hundreds of thousands of people were already living. Second, they were certain to discover places and things of immediate value to the new nation. Third, their venture cost next to nothing by today’s standards. A Mars mission may be the single most expensive non-wartime undertaking in U.S. history.

Appealing as the thought of travel to Mars is, it does not mean the journey makes sense, even considering the human calling to explore. And Mars as a destination for people makes absolutely no sense with current technology.

Present systems for getting from Earth’s surface to low-Earth orbit are so fantastically expensive that merely launching the 1,000 tons or so of spacecraft and equipment a Mars mission would require could be accomplished only by cutting health-care benefits, education spending, or other important programs—or by raising taxes. Absent (缺乏)some remarkable discovery, astronauts, geologists, and biologists once on Mars could do little more than analyze rocks and feel awestruck (敬畏的) staring into the sky of another world. Yet rocks can be analyzed by automated probes without risk to human life, and at a tiny portion of the cost of sending people.

It is interesting to note that when President Bush unveiled (公开) his proposal, he listed these recent major achievements of space exploration: pictures of evidence of water on Mars, discovery of more than 100 planets outside our solar system, and study of the soil of Mars. All these accomplishments came from automated probes or automated space telescopes. Bush’s proposal, which calls for reprogramming some of NASA’s present budget into the Mars effort, might actually lead to a reduction in such unmanned science—the one aspect of space exploration that’s working really well.

Rather than spend hundreds of billions of dollars to hurl (投) tons toward Mars using current technology, why not take a decade or two or however much time is required researching new launch systems and advanced propulsion (推进力)? If new launch systems could put weight into orbit affordably, and advanced propulsion could speed up that long, slow transit (运输) to Mars, the dream of stepping onto the red planet might become reality. Mars will still be there when the technology is ready.