6 . What are your plans for the summer vacation? Here are three summer camps in 2020. You can choose for your summer vacation. If you join the summer camps, you will feel excited and enjoyable.

7 . Jeff was diagnosed in 2010 with multiple myeloma (多发性骨髓瘤). It is a disease that is usually noticed when grandpa falls and breaks his hip. The average patient is in his early 70s. But Jeff was only 50 when diagnosed.

“I wondered why me, as a young guy?” Jeff says. But his relative youth and good health has put him in a position to fight the disease in his way.

In January Jeff and his wife Ramona will join a team climbing to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro to raise awareness and funds for the Multiple Myeloma Research Foundation. It’s an adventure he’s dreamed about since the 4th grade.

Jeff will be one of four in the group who are myeloma patients not willing to be threatened by cancer. He and Ramona have raised nearly $18,000 toward their combined goal of $20,000.

Still, he’s confident that his earlier marathon training has prepared him to climb the highest free-standing mountain in the world. “I just have to deal with it and understand my limitations.” he says.

What Jeff sees is a clear future. “Having cancer narrows the focus about what we want to do and who we want to do it with.” he says. He and Ramona now ask themselves, “How do we go out and live the most fulfilling lives? Who are the most important people in our lives? What brings us joy?”

Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is their next adventure, but Jeff knows it won’t be just a personal accomplishment. “I do these things for all the people who can’t.” he says.

Jeff is certain that his passion for hiking and adventure will take him to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro and that his story will inspire those with multiple myeloma to keep sight of who they are beyond their diagnosis.

I have a fifteen-year-old son. He    1     (be) a perfect boy. I love my son with all my heart.

Last summer he worked to earn money for his new bicycle instead of     2     (ask) money from me. Then he spent hours and hours on it. Later I bought him a pair    3    glasses and gloves. My son rode the bicycle with the glasses and the gloves, and he looked so cool. He dreamed of taking part in a race and winning.

On November 10, my birthday, when I went to the kitchen to start the milk and bread in the morning, I     4     (notice) a beautiful guitar on the table, beside which was a card. It said, “Happy birthday to my    5     (wonder) mother, all my love, your son.” I was very    6    (surprise) and then began to sob (抽泣). I remembered once I joked to my family that I wished    7     (learn) to play the guitar to make my life more colorful. I had forgotten it, but my son remembered. He took it    8     (serious), and bought one for me as my birthday gift. When I wondered     9     my son could buy this expensive gift, I realized that my son sold his bicycle to get me     10     guitar.

I’d been bored by everything associated with English courses and the idea of being a writer had never come to me until in my third year in high school when our English class was taken over by Mr. Fleagle. Mr. Fleagle was said to be very formal, dull, prim (古板的) and hopelessly out of date. He wore primly severe glasses; his wavy hair was primly cut and primly combed. He had a primly pointed jaw, a primly straight nose, and a prim manner of speaking that was so correct, so gentlemanly, that he seemed a comic antique (古董).

I prepared for another unfruitful year without enjoyment in that dull subject with Mr. Fleagle. I found English grammar dull and difficult. I hated the assignments to turn out long, lifeless paragraphs that were painful for teachers to read and for me to write.

Late in the year, Mr. Fleagle handed out a homework sheet offering us a list of topics. None was quite so simple-minded as “What I Did on My Summer Vacation,” but most seemed to be almost as boring as I had expected. I took the list home and did nothing until the night before the essay was due. Lying on the sofa, I finally faced up to the unwelcome task, took the list out of my notebook, and scanned it.

Then my eyes stopped on the topic “The Art of Eating Spaghetti.” Vivid memories came flooding back of a night in Belleville when all of us—Uncle Allen, my mother, my father and my cousin Doris were seated and Aunt Pat served spaghetti for supper which was still a little known foreign dish in those days. Neither Doris nor I had ever eaten spaghetti, and none of the adults had enough experience to be good at it. However, it was a night that I would never forget.

Suddenly I wanted to write about that, about the warmth and good feeling of that night.

Two days later the graded articles were returned.