When my husband Randy died in late fall, deciding what to do with his garden was way down on the list of necessary tasks. During the first few months, I cried with our daughters, planned a memorial, cried with my family, celebrated a quiet Thanksgiving, and panicked over not having bought Christmas presents.

As the calendar turned to a new year, the often rainy days and long nights deepened my sorrow. I found myself exhausted at the end of February, both physically and mentally.

Then the daffodils bloomed (开花) in the garden.

Years before, Randy had planted dozens of these lemon-yellow flowers. To him, they served as a reminder of hope, a promise that light and warmth would soon replace cold and dark. Looking at those dauffodils, I thought about how Randy had considered our garden a living work of art, carefully choosing plants so we’d see new blooms every month.

Then I noticed all the weeds that had taken root and spread everywhere. The neglect (疏于打理) showed, for Randy’s illness had lasted a couple of years, a time when he didn’t have energy for yard work the way he had before.

Faced with the neglected garden, I felt overwhelmed in the beginning. My daughters suggested I hire a service to clean everything up. I didn’t respond.

Every time I sat in the garden alone, the memories of the lively garden came flooding, like the numerous scenes in an unforgettable film. Many days Randy came home from work, changed into old clothes, and headed out the door to mow or prune (修剪). Orange dragonflies followed him around the yard as he worked. Honeybees buzzed among the flowers, birds sang beautiful songs, and gentle breezes carried the sweet smell of dirt. No matter how cold or wet it was, the fresh air and physical activity made him energized and refreshed. For Randy, the work was quiet and comforting, which was a relief, as well as a pleasure.

The days grew warmer and lighter, and I started the work myself.

Weeks later, my daughters returned to visit me.

3 . My father was a restaurant owner. My name is Vincent Lim. I’m a chef and restaurant owner. Running a Chinese restaurant is one of the hardest and most_________things in my life.

When we first arrived in Australia, my dad_________a Chinese restaurant. I would go there on a_________basis to help him out. And slowly I developed my_________for cooking. The hard work that my dad put into Chinese food makes me feel so proud that I am lucky enough to learn from a_________

The first dish that I ever learned to cook was the fried rice, which is the easiest but also the _________one to get right. From years of experience, I can_________you the difference between a good fried rice just from the feel and from the smell, without even taking a bite.

To lots of Chinese immigrants like us, the restaurant isn’t just a business. It’s a sense of _________. The wok hei (锅气)_________every ingredient in the wok, producing an appealing smell. The fragrances of the food__________the air and lingered around so much longer. Those memories, they become nostalgic (乡愁). The sense of home is what makes a__________good dish taste.

In 2017, my dad passed away. I realized that my love of cooking dishes was from my childhood. I __________the restaurant that I own today. Cooking was a__________way to my dad. I wanted to __________everything that he taught me. Cooking__________all the hard work and memories that we had.

An Outdoor Trip That Speaks Louder Than A Regular Class

One day, as Jack, a science teacher, stressed the pressing need for protecting Tangerine Darters, a kind of fish, students in his class seemed uninterested and bored. Jack continued, but his students showed little enthusiasm.

He paused for a moment, allowing the silence to settle in the classroom. Then he went on in a different way.

“Imagine,” Jack began, his voice filled with passion, “the feeling of wading (趟水) through the clear shallow waters of Pigeon River, surrounded by the gentle sunlight. Picture the colors of the Tangerine Darters as they gracefully swim through the currents, their orange bellies (肚子) shining like rays of sunshine, or in that moment, a Tangerine Darter in your hands, its orange belly shining in the sunlight.” He painted a vivid picture with his words. Curiosity lit in his students’ eyes as they bent forward, eager to know more.

Jack continued, “The darters are very picky about their habitats. The place where they live should be very clean, and slight pollution could drive them away or even endanger their very existence.”

As Jack spoke, his passion spread quickly among his students, who started to ask questions, wanting to know more about the Tangerine Darters. Inspired by their newfound interest, Jack had an idea. Why not take students to the Pigeon River, where they can witness the beauty of the Tangerine Darters firsthand?

A week later, they were on the trip to the Pigeon River in Canton, North Carolina, where the environment was well preserved in comparison with other industrial areas.

Sunshine bounced off the Pigeon River, and cool water flowed over rocks and boulders (卵石)—the preferred habitat of Tangerine Darters. With Jack, it was the first time that the students had stood in the shallow water, eager to see their target of this fish eco logy class field trip.

Suddenly, Jack bent and quickly caught a fish.

Seeing the students’ interested looks, Jack raised a question.

5 . I still remember my friends giving me the advice: Try something new. I was stressed and, of course, also on my phone too much. I was writing about food for work, so cooking didn’t really count as a hobby anymore, nor did reading, nor socializing, especially since all of my friends worked in my industry. I needed something in my life that existed apart from all that.

“Maybe something you can do with your hands.” The suggestion felt like an escape exit: Maybe a hobby could free me from my work. Cooking had once been the thing I did to relax when I got home from work, the thing I was curious about, and the thing that made my brain away from its standard complaints. The kitchen had once been a release, but now it was part of my professional life. It needed a replacement. A few months later, I dutifully signed up for a ceramics (制陶艺术) class at a studio near my apartment.

At the studio, I started as a lazy learner, but after a few months I became addicted, signing up for more classes when my term ended. I had a place to go in my free time and something to be curious about, and my goals were unrelated to outer forces: a boss, a job, a market, a reader. Unlike with writing, my progress was quantifiable (可量化的): Now I can make a vase this tall. Now I have made a pot. Now my handles are beautiful. Now I have made two things that more or less look like a pair.

Finally finding a hobby that was just for my own enjoyment was a release. I enjoy having something to do that didn’t involve a screen and therefore felt far from the style of work to which I was most accustomed — hands covered in clay cannot swipe (滑屏) very well. Making time for this also means carving out time, for creation and inspiration, and also for the rest that is required for me to reflect on my life. It is something more than a new hobby. This is the peace that everyone needs in our life.

Ten miles away stood a house with shiny red walls, a green garden and an apple tree. A young girl’s face would be seen reflecting from one of the large glassy windows. Her name is Maggie. Her eyes were sparkling and on her face there was a smile which could light a million candles. She seemed to be longing for a chance to play like a young child, but she had no strength in her legs because she and her family met with an accident, in which she lost both her legs.

But her spirit was strong. She would be inspired by seeing birds fly. The flying eagle would make her want to fly. She was lonely. She longed for a true friend who would talk to her and teach her to fly or at least tell her stories about soaring into the blue sky.

One evening, Maggie slowly rolled her wheelchair to the giant window and looked out to the many houses that lay across the road. Suddenly she heard someone singing and then could see an old man in a pilot suit singing in glory. The beautiful sound and the melody made the little girl happy. Suddenly he stopped and gazed up toward her. “What are you staring at?” he said angrily. “You think I’m a circus clown? (马戏团小丑)” “No, Sir. I was just listening to you. You sing very well,” she said. “I don’t need your praises. I don’t need anyone!” he shouted. He started to walk to his house and shut the door. Tears rolled down from her apple-red cheeks as the man shouted at her. She was lonely.

Next morning, Maggie pushed her wheelchair across the garden to the stone road as little children played hide-and-seek around her. Suddenly out of nowhere a loading truck came rumbling across toward her. Terrified, she tried to move away from its path but the wheels of her chair were stuck. “Oh my,” she thought as the truck came in her direction fast, with the driver unaware of the obstruction in front of him. She screamed loudly but in a split second she was pulled out of her wheelchair by someone and fell on the ground. She closed her eyes and shivered as the truck passed her whistling. As she opened her eyes, she could see a man standing beside her.

She gazed up to him and immediately recognized him as the man she saw singing last night.

Maggie got to know his name was Ken and that he was a retired pilot.

Eight-year-old Evan stood by the sidewalk watching as Mrs. Carter opened her flower shop. He felt relieved that the shop hadn’t closed forever. Two days ago, when he passed by, there was a closed sign on the door and a note saying Mrs. Carter was sick. Evan was worried that he would never be able to get his “dream job” if the shop remained closed for too long.

Mrs. Carter, an 85-year-old woman, spotted Evan looking in her shop’s direction and waved hello to him. Excitedly, Evan ran up to her and expressed his desire to work at the shop. Mrs.Carter laughed quietly, finding it amusing that an eight-year-old wanted a job. Evan confidently explained that since his dad passed away, he had learned how to do various tasks, like taking out the rubbish, making sandwiches, and assisting his mom, Stacey, with groceries. He didn’t want any payment for his work; instead, he simply wanted a bouquet (花束) for his mom’ s upcoming birthday. He believed in working hard for what he wanted, just as his mom had taught him.

Impressed by Evan’s determination, Mrs. Carter agreed to hire him. She asked if he knew how to tie ribbons around flowers, and when she heard Evan’s affirmative(肯定的) response, they got down to making bouquets. Evan was excited to assist Mrs. Carter every evening for a whole week, and his presence brought joy to her boring work.Customers found Evan adorable and entertaining, which resulted in increased flower purchases and booming business for Mrs. Carter.

On Evan’s last day, Mrs.Carter felt emotional. Their bond had grown strong, and she saw him as a grandchild. As she prepared a splendid bouquet for Evan’s mother, tears welled up in her eyes. She invited him to visit her shop in the future, and Evan promised to tell his mom about her.

With the bouquet in hand, Evan rushed home to celebrate Mom’s birthday.

As Evan handed his mom the bouquet, they were surprised to discover an envelope with several hundred-dollar bills inside.