I walked to Mrs. Windsor's house and waited outside. She was working with another student, and I was not supposed to bother them by ringing the bell. I stood against the wall and daydreamed what I'd rather be doing. I had been tutored enough to read, understand, and even write some musical compositions, but I just didn't have a gift for it. Mrs. Windsor had offered to give me the lessons for free, so I felt my duty to try.

    The door opened and Wendy Barton came out. I walked in, sat down on the piano bench and began to sort through my sheet music. Today Mrs. Windsor introduced her niece Pasha to teach me. With a smile, Pasha sat beside me on the piano bench, opened my sheet music to the beginning page and asked me to play. I arranged my fingers on the keys. Then I frowned(皱眉) and concentrated to make the notes on the page match the finger movements. I had to admit I was a rather mechanical (呆板的) pianist.

    After about a page or two, Pasha gently put her hand on top of mine as if to calm my fingers. There was a long pause. "What are you hearing in the music?" I looked at her rather strangely and admitted I didn't know what she meant. "Like a story. Here, let me try and you listen," Pasha advised.

    She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her fingers dance lightly over the keys. Then, she began to play. "See, it begins here beside some kind of river. Hear the water flowing beside you?"

    Her fingers rose and fell gently on the keys. "Now the princess appears and she's picking flowers from the water's edge." A happy piece of music filled the air in time to Pasha's dancing fingers. "Oh, but she slips!" The music changed. "And our princess is being carried off by the fast-flowing stream. Quickly, the princess' horse sees her plight (困境) and races to the river's edge where he swims out to let her catch hold of him. Luckily, they make it to the bank." Pasha said.

    I played many pieces of music that afternoon, finding the stories in the music and learning that sometimes it takes a friend to pull you out of the river onto dry land again.

    Since 1989, Dave Thomas, who died at the age of 69, was one of the most recognizable faces on TV. He appeared in more than 800 commercials for the hamburger chain named for his daughter. “As long as it works”, he said in 1991, “I'll continue to do those commercials.”

    Even though he was successful, Thomas remained troubled by his childhood. “He still won't let anyone see his feet, which are out of shape because he never had proper fitting shoes,” Wendy said in 1993. Born to a single mother, he was adopted as a baby by Rex and Auleva Thomas of Kalamazoo in Michigan. After Auleva died when he was 5, Thomas spent years on the road as Rex traveled around seeking construction work. “He fed me,” Thomas said, “and if I got out of line, he'd beat me.”

    Moving out on his own at 15, Thomas worked, first as a waiter, in many restaurants. But he had something much better in mind. “I thought if I owned a restaurant,” he said, “I could eat for free.” A 1956 meeting with Harland Sanders led Thomas to a career as the manager of a Kentucky Chicken restaurant that made him a millionaire in 1968.

    In 1969, after breaking with Sanders, Thomas started the first Wendy's Old Fashioned Hamburgers, in Columbus, Ohio, which set itself apart by serving made-to-order burgers. With 6,000 restaurants worldwide, the chain now makes $ 6 billion a year in sales. Although troubled by his own experience with adoption, Thomas, married since 1954 to Lorraine, 66, and with four grown kids besides Wendy, felt it could offer a future for other children. He started the Dave Thomas Foundation for Adoption in 1992.

    In 1993, Thomas, who had left school at 15, graduated from Coconut Creek High School in Florida. He even took Lorraine to the graduation dance party. The kids voted him Most Likely to Succeed.

    “The Dave you saw on TV was the real Dave,” says friend Pat Williams. “He wasn't a great actor or a great speaker .He was just Joe Everybody.”

    Is there a magic cutoff period when offspring become accountable for their own actions? Is there a wonderful moment when parents can become spectators (旁观者) in the lives of their children and shrug, "It' s their life," and feel nothing?

    When I was in my twenties, I stood in a hospital corridor waiting for doctors to put a few stitches in my son's head. I was asked, "When do you stop worrying?" A nurse said, "When they get out of the accident stage." My mother just smiled faintly and said nothing.

    When I was in my thirties, I sat on a little chair in a classroom and heard how one of my children talked incessantly, disrupted (打断) the class, and was headed for a career making license plates. As if to read my mind, a teacher said, "Don't worry. They all go through this stage, and then you can sit back, relax, and enjoy them." My mother listened and said nothing.

    When I was in my forties, I spent a lifetime waiting for the phone to ring and the cars to come home, the front door to open.

    My friends said that when my kids got married I could stop worrying and lead my own life. I wanted to believe that, but I was haunted by my mother' s wan ( 淡淡的 ) smile and her occasional words, "You look pale. Are you all right? Call me the minute you get home."

    Can it be that parents are sentenced to a lifetime of worry? Is concern for one another handed down like a torch to blaze the trail of human frailties and the fears of the unknown? Is concern a curse? Or is it a virtue that elevates us to the highest form of life?

    One of my children became quite irritable recently, saying to me, "Where were you? I've been calling for three days, and no one answered. I was worried!!!"

    I smiled a wan smile.

    Born in Detroit, Michigan, on January 10^th, 1928. Philip Levine was formally educated in the Detroit public school system. After graduation from university, Levine worked a number of industrial jobs, including the night work in factories, reading and writing poems in his off hours. In 1953, he studied at the University of Iowa. There, Levine met Robert Lowell and John Berryman, whom Levine called his “one great guide”.

    About writing poems, Levine wrote: “I believed even then that if I could change my experience into poems I would give it the value and honor that it did not begin to have on its own. I thought too that if I could write about it, I could come to understand it: I believed that if I could understand my life——or at least the part my work played in it——I could write it with some degree of joy, something obviously missing from my life.”

    Levine published (出版) his first collection of poems. On the Edge in 1961, followed by Not This Pig in 1968. Throughout his life Levine published many books of poems, winning many prizes. A review said: “Levine writes poems about the bravery of men, physical labor, simple pleasures and strong feelings, often set in working-class Detroit or in central California, where he worked or lived.”

    He taught for many years at California State University, Fresno and served as Distinguished Poet in Residence for the Creative Writing Program at New York University. After retiring from teaching, Levine divided his time between Brooklyn, New York, and Fresno, California, until his death on February 14^th, 2015. His final poem collection, The Last Shift, as well as a collection of essays (短文) and other writings, My Lost Poets: A Life in Poetry, were published in 2016.

New discoveries and technological breakthroughs are made every year. Yet, as the information industry moves forward, many people in society are looking back to their roots in terms of the way they eat. A "locavore" movement has emerged in the United States. The movement supports eating foods grown locally and sustainably, rather than prepackaged foods shipped from other parts of the world.

Experts hold that eating local has many merits, and is expected to become a trend featuring sustainability. Erin Barnett is the director of Local Harvest, a company that aims to help connect people to farms in their area. By eating local, she argues, people have a better and more personal understanding of the impact their food consumption has on the rest of the world. "There is a way of connecting the point, where eating locally is an act that raises our awareness of sustainable living," Barnett says.

The United States' agricultural output is one of the highest in the world, says Timothy Beach, a professor of geography and geoscience at the University of Texas in Austin, Texas. "There's just no other place on Earth where the amount of input is so productive," Beach says of American agriculture. "Nobody can cut off the food we need."

However, the US food system is not sustainable because of its dependency on fossil (化石) fuels, says Beach. Equipment used on "extremely productive" farms is quickly consuming Earth's natural resources, particularly oil. Additionally, the production of agricultural supplements (补充剂)，such as fertilizer, uses large amounts of energy.

The world has used close to half of the global oil supply, Beach says, and the second half will be consumed at an even faster rate because of the growing population and economic development. Although many businesses are experimenting with wind, solar, and biofuel, Beach says there's nothing that we see on the horizon that can replace it. "There is no way on Earth we are using fossil fuels sustainably. Then we have to reconsider the impact of eating local," he says.