Two years ago, my husband took a new job, requiring us to move from our home in Texas to Washington, D. C. It wasn’t an easy move.

The family part was the problem. No one would be moving with us. All our children were grown and on their own. This move would be different, just the two of us, my husband and me.

When we sat down for dinner in our new, empty house, I thought the quiet was going to swallow me whole. I didn’t know how to survive this transition.

Then the dreams began.

At first, I tried ignoring them. After all, how many times can a person be accepted to graduate school, run away from the opportunity, and hope to knock on the door again?

I had discovered my passion for writing thirty years ago while working on my English undergraduate degree. I fell in love with children’s literature and knew that’s what I wanted to do with my life: write for children. But life kept me busy, and my dream was put on the back burner.

Two decades later, I thought working toward my Master of Fine Arts(MFA)would get me back into writing. So I applied and was accepted into a program. The workload, however, seemed daunting (令人望而却步的) in light of our constant moves and busy family life, . so I gave up again.

The dreams never stopped. One morning, I awakened from dreaming that I had contacted a university’s writing department, asked to rejoin, and was accepted. The dream had shaken me. So I reached for my cell phone and dashed off (匆匆写成) an e-mail asking what I would need to do to reapply. Later that afternoon, my cell phone rang. It was the program director. By the end of our five-minute conversation, after I explained the tum of events in my life, the dreams, and how I needed the program, she invited me back. I would begin course work in January, exactly as my dream foretold.

I am in the last semester of earning my MFA in Writing for Children. The program has helped me grow in ways I never realized I needed to grow.

Has the road been easy?

I’ve learned that not everything we view as a setback (挫折) is truly a setback.

I was eight years old and wasn’t aware of all the arrangements being made for our journey as a family to London in 1950. My mother was in great pain and wished to visit specialists in London. My father reluctantly had to sell our property in Queensland. The day before we boarded the ship, Father unwillingly said goodbye to his five-year-old cattle dog, Spider, who was loved by us all. Father’s friend Sandy was to be his guardian while we were overseas, as he had been getting to know Spider for many weeks.

Six weeks later, an airletter arrived from Sandy, giving my father the news that Spider had run away just two weeks after we had sailed. Sandy had advertised constantly on ABC and other regional newspapers. Despite many “sightings”, the dog was never found. It seems Spider just kept running and searching for us. As he was cattle dog, my father thought he would shoe or dingo-trapped, because of his appearance. But our family thought that Father held a secrets hope that Spider was still alive.

We sailed back to Australia two years later and re-established our home. My father immediately began his own search for Spider. One cold winter’s Saturday morning eight months after our return, my father had a call from an elderly lady living on her own on the outskirts of the town. As she told my father on the telephone, it was “just glimpses of a dingo-type dog in the shadows” of her disused tennis court. That was enough for my father to interrupt my homework.   

We set off in his blue and black Jensen car which he had brought back from England. It was hardly the right vehicle for the rough roads we travelled that day. Five and a half hours later, we found the run-down old property. Sadly, she told my father that the “dingo dog” hadn’t been around for a few days. My father had a strange look in his eye. He put two fingers to his lips and did his special whistle for Spider.

8 . It all began on a cold, rainy day．

Sarah, a poor single mother, was ________ to make ends meet. While waiting for the bus with her two children, Sarah ________ an old man sitting on a nearby bench. He was shivering (颤抖), his ________ jacket providing little protection against the freezing weather.

Sarah ________ the man and offered him her coat. She knew it would make her cold, but the thought of this stranger ________ while she had something to give was too much to bear. ________ by her selflessness, the man thankfully accepted the coat and gave back a smile. Little did Sarah know that her simple act of ________ would make a huge difference.

A man, who saw the heartwarming ________, took a photo and shared it on social media. The post quickly became a ________, with thousands of people sharing and commenting on Sarah’s ________. Encouraged by her, people began organizing events to ________ those less lucky. Schools added lessons on the ________ of helping others, and businesses started a “pay it forward” project, where people could buy more and leave the ________ meal for those in need.

Reflecting on this unbelievable journey, we can ________ our individual power, which may create an effect that would ________ reach every corner of the globe.

Debra, a five-year-old cousin of mine, often annoyed me. She wished me to stay with her, talk to her and teach her dancing. I hated it and never taught her to dance. That hot July afternoon, Debra annoyed me again.

Our big family all gathered together at a friend’s outdoor wedding. The children were running around and playing games. The afternoon couldn’t have been better. My friends and I gathered together and excitedly talked about our up-and-coming freshman year. Debra desired to join us, but what could a five-year-old kid contribute to our conversations?

I left the table where we were sitting, leaving behind my mother, my grandmother and Debra. I walked inside the house and greeted everyone inside before making my way to the bathroom. As I was washing my hands, there was a big knock and the bathroom door burst open. It was an older cousin of mine, Sylvia. With a look of fear, anxiety and shock, she rushed to find towels. I figured one of the kids was injured while playing. “There has been a bad accident outside,” she told me and rushed out.

What kind of accident? Was anyone hurt? I left the bathroom. A woman approached and told me that a guest who was leaving the party had lost control of his car. Then I heard a voice calling my name. It was my mother. She told me, “Debra has been badly hurt. Come and help rescue her!” My heart dropped to my feet. I was struck by the sudden thought that I might lose her.

I hurried outside. Tables and chairs were overturned everywhere by the runaway car. I was in shock. My mother quickly drove our car around and laid down the backseat. But where was Debra? I saw her parents running from a room with a piece of board, perfectly Debra’s size. I didn’t see my tiny cousin until she was put onto the board and laid in the car, crying. Her new white dress had blood, and on her left shoe was a tire (轮胎) mark.

Together, we hurried to drive towards the hospital.

“She’ll walk again as long as you take good care of her,” the doctor told us.

In our weekly staff meeting, our editor Ashley was not pleased with the quality of our reporting. “Our readership is way down. We need better stories for this Thursday’s school newspaper. Does anybody have any ideas?” she said.

I handed her my article about our basketball team beating Deerfield High School the previous night by one point. “Sports stories are fun,” she said, “but not good enough for the front page. We need something to really get people ‘s attention.”

After our meeting, we left the newsroom together and heard someone screaming, “Perry is missing!” Perry was a big red parrot and had been our school mascot (吉祥物) for ten years. He played an important role in students’ lives, both in and out of class. He had also been a constant presence at school events, inspiring a sense of unity among students.

Everyone gathered around Perry’s empty cage, heartbroken. Suddenly, a student from the crowd came over and showed me a photo. “You’re a reporter for the school paper, right? I happened to take this yesterday,” he said. In the photo was a Deerfield High School basketball player with something large hidden under his shirt around the size of a parrot.

“He must have stolen Perry to get back at us for winning the game!” Ashley cried. We hurried back to the newsroom, agreeing to run the photo on the front page with the headline “Deerfeld Stole Perry.” “This is just the story we need. Everyone will read it,” Ashley said confidently.

After she left, I took a closer look at the photo. The clock in the background read 4:15 pm, but our game against Deerfield hadn’t started until 4:30 pm. Why would the boy have taken Perry before we even played? An uneasy feeling came over me that we might have falsely accused someone.

I went to Perry’s usual caretaker to ask if he knew Perry was missing. ”He’s not missing. He’s retired. He’s ready for some quieter days,“ he said. Learning the truth, I immediately told Ashley and suggested writing a story to say goodbye to Perry.

To my surprise, Ashley insisted on reporting the “Deerfield Stole Perry” story.

On Thursday, the paper came out with the headline “Bye-Bye, Perry” on the front page.