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    I believe in the power of holding on. What do I mean by holding on? Hugging, or holding on, is the power we possess when we put our arms around someone. It can change relationships, makes a patient a person, an acquaintance a friend.

    My grandmother taught me about holding on, whenever she gathered me in her strong, loving Irish arms. She always hugged even when her back became curved .My mother hugs my children the same way—heart open and arms wide, breathing them into her soul.

    Once I became aware of its power, I started experimenting: I held my mother-in-law a moment too long then moved onto my sisters-in-law, aunts, nieces, nephews, and cousins. I tried it with a friend who had made my life rich with laughter, but I was too embarrassed to tell her, and acquaintances that I wanted to be friends with. Some were bothered, others accepting, but all had one thing in common—the next time I hugged them, they hugged me back.

    For me, holding on has become more than a physical interaction; it has become a way of thinking. My answer to life's dilemmas and tough choices, it's a mixture of acceptance, forgiveness, and patience—not always easy or understood but it guides me to be quiet and listen, look for the good, have a sense of humor and laugh, stop worrying and be patient because if I let it, something will change.

    I've often wondered how different my life would have been if I hadn't learned the power of holding on. If during that time in my life, when I was crumbling into myself, my mother had stopped holding on to me, I might have missed something so vital to my existence. I believe that a hug is like a battery charger—a good one can keep me going for a long time.

    Feeding birds is a popular way to watch wildlife. But experts say it might put wild birds at risk.

    Feeding birds is not necessary for their survival except in extreme weather conditions. Feeders(喂食器)can definitely help birds get through that kind of weather. But most birds eat insects and show little interest in bird feeders. For those birds, we can grow native plants in a natural environment. Birds which are fond of eating seeds will be more likely to come to feeders if there is some cover nearby. This lets them feed and then fly to protective areas, such as in trees.

    The most common mistake people make with their bird feeders is that they put feeders in places where birds are easily frightened by passers-by, risk being hurt by cats, or risk flying into windows.

    So set up a bird feeder at least one meter away from a window. That way, if a bird gets frightened, it won't get killed when it hits the glass. Owners of cats should keep them inside home so they can't hurt the birds.

    Some birds are more aggressive at feeders. They eat a lot and do not leave much food for other birds. A solution is to put the food in more than one place by using different kinds of seeds or fruits. This can also increase the number and diversity of birds in your neighborhood. But don't feed wild birds anything salty, like potato chips, or food that could choke them, like bread.

    Pay attention to food quality and freshness. Unprotected food left too long in feeders will turn moldy(发霉), which can kill wildlife.

    Another word of advice: Always provide a supply of clean water for birds, but use care when looking for the right birdbath. If the birdbaths are too deep for birds, putting a few large stones in the water can give the birds a place to sit.

    People need to relax and enjoy themselves. One way they can have a good time is to watch a baseball game or another sports event. Even thousands of years ago, groups of people gathered to watch skilled athletes (运动员).

    Over 2000 years ago in Greece, certain days in the year were festival days. These were holidays when people stopped work and enjoyed themselves. They liked to watch athletes take part in races and other games of skill.

The most important festival was held every four years at the town of Olympia. It was held in honor of the Greek god Zeus (宙斯). For five days, athletes from all parts of the Greek world took part in the Olympic Games. At the Olympic Games, people could watch them box, run, jump and so on. There was a relay race between two teams of men in which a lighted torch (火矩) was passed from runner to runner. The Olympic Games were thought to be so important that cities which were at war with one another had to stop fighting. People were allowed to travel to the games safely. Thousands of people came to Olympia from cities in Greece and from her colonies (殖民地) in Africa, Asia and Italy. They met as friends to cheer their favorite athletes and to enjoy themselves.

    A few weeks ago, a 71-year-old man pulled his car to the roadside in Northwest Portland and stopped. He rolled down the window, turned off the engine and stared at a house.

    The place, distinguished by three gables, is partially hidden by hedges and trees. Most people who pass by would never notice it. And if they did give it a glance, they'd probably think it's a nice house in a nice neighborhood. Nothing more.

    The house, in the 2500 block of Northwest Westover Road, is known as the Bessie & Louis Tarpley House. Built in 1907, it's listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

    The current owner is Barbee Lyon, 79.

    He and his first wife took possession in 1975. When they divorced, he bought out her share.

    A retired lawyer, Lyon learned Louis Tarpley, the home's first owner, had also been a Portland lawyer. Setbacks in Tarpley's life led to the house auction(拍卖) in the late 1920s.

    "I'm only the fifth owner of the home," Lyon said.

    A previous owner was Frank Masco.

    He and his wife, Esther, and their nine children had lived across town in a tiny house needing constant repairs. In the mid-1950s, the elder Masco wanted to move to a bigger house and one closer to work. A docker (码头工人), he was on-call 24 hours a day and had to quickly get to the Willamette River docks.

    He found a home on Westover Road. At the time, many people wanted to live in new construction in the suburbs. The Westover house was offered at a deep discount.

    And later the family moved on several times, finally living in Vancouver.

    One Sunday in July 2019, Charley Masco drove to Portland for an appointment at a computer store. When it ended, he traveled the familiar route to Westover Road, pulled over and looked at that home.

    He decided to do something bold. He got out of his car and walked up the steps and rang the doorbell. He waited. No response. Nervous, he thought it was a mistake to do this and considered turning around and walking back to his car.

Barbee Lyon opened the door and saw a stranger.

    "I'm not selling anything," Masco said quickly. "I just want you to know I once lived here."

    Lyon opened the door wide.

    "Come in."

    And for the first time since 1966, Masco stepped into his childhood home.

    Every room looked as Masco had remembered it: The built-in china hutch in the dining room, the hanging lights above the table and, in the kitchen, a massive wood-burning stove where his mother used to cook family meals. It was as if he had walked into his own museum.

    Lyon told Masco he'd never done major structural remodeling, which meant Masco knew his way around the home.

    It was as if he had never left.

    There, on the top floor, was the window he and his siblings quietly opened to sneak out at night and return before their parents knew they were gone. The loft where friends daydreamed about the future. The living room – no TV ever allowed – where the family gathered to share music, play cards or just talk with each other.

    Then they all walked to the basement.

    In the far corner, Masco saw his father's old wooden workbench. And above it, baby food jars. Masco had forgotten about them.

    He explained that his father had nailed lids from the jars to a rafter, filling the glass with different size screws, nuts and bolts, and then screwing the jars back into the lids to give him easy access while working.

    Masco thought about his father, his mother and three of his siblings who have died. He thought about his father, tinkering in the basement, while his mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner.

    He thought about the 71-year-old man he was and the boy he had once been.

    Kruse, Lyon's wife, reached up and unscrewed a jar. She handed it to Masco, believing it belonged to this stranger.

    Masco thanked her.

    He clutched the small bottle to his chest.

    "My dad," he said quietly. "This is my dad."