Peter Byford was born in a stone house in Honley，and when he was tiny his dad，a former miner，got a job in the textile trade and the Byford's moved to Skelmanthorpe.Life was tough but fun，and young Peter spent his days in the rolling countryside，rafting on the river，making tree camps or playing on his own with his model railway and soldiers.

     His world was rocked by tragedy when his mother died，which destroyed young Peter，a shy child who suddenly had to grow up fast.Though grieving，he went up the road to live with his aunt and uncle，and returned home much too young to face the next challenge，that of looking after his dad，who had lost an arm in an accident in a factory.

     By then he had taken the nickname as Biff.The younger Biff struggled at school because of his shyness，but loved the music lessons and became friends with a classmate whose brother had a guitar.At the same time a young man who had a banjo(班卓琴)moved into the house opposite where he lived and he taught young Biff how to play it.The seeds had been sown and music began to influence his life.

     But even so，his working career began，in typical fashion for 1960s West Yorkshire.After a short time as an apprentice(学徒)carpenter，he went to work in the local weaving factory.And this was where Biff Byford，soon to become a legend in the world of rock，first learned to sing.The machines would run all day，clickety­clack，clickety­clack.The noise was incredible，and the workers would spend their time trying to lip read each other.

     It was just so noisy in there.It was really heavy metal.The only thing to do was sing to yourself.So sing to himself he did，the melodies(旋律)locking in place in his head，not to be forgotten.His dream first exploded into a rocking reality.

    When I was young, I had an old neighbor named Dr. Gibbs. He didn't look like any doctor I'd ever known. He never shouted at us for playing in his yard. I remembered him as a neighbor who was nicer than anyone else in the neighborhood. When Dr. Gibbs was happy, he was planting trees. And his life's goal was to make it a forest.

    Dr. Gibbs had some interesting theories about planting. He talked about trees that weren't watered would grow deep roots in search of water. So he never watered his trees. He planted an oak (橡树) and, instead of watering it every morning, he beat it with the rolled-up newspaper. I asked him why he did that, and he said it was to get the tree's attention.

    Dr. Gibbs died a couple of years. Every now and then, I walk by his house and look at the trees that he planted twenty-five years ago. They're very strong now.

    I planted a couple of trees a few years later. I watered them regularly and took good care of them. Whenever a cold wind blows, they shake their leaves and branches.

    The funny thing about those trees of Dr. Gibbs was that difficulty seemed to help them in ways comfort and ease never could.

    I start every summer with the best of intentions: to attack one big book from the past, a classic that I was supposed to have read when young and ambitious. Often the pairings of books and settings have been purely unthinking: "Moby Dick" on a three-day cross-country train trip: “The Magic Mountain” in a New England beachside cottage with no locks on the doors, no telephones or televisions in the rooms, and little to do beyond row on the salt pond. Attempting "The Man Without Qualities" on a return to Hawaii, my hometown, however, was less fruitful: I made it through one and a quarter volumes (册), then decided that I'd got the point and went swimming instead.

    But this summer I find myself at a loss. I'm not quite interested in Balzac, say, or “Tristram Shandy.” There's always War and Peace, which I've covered some distance several times, only to get bogged down in the "War" part, set it aside for a while, and realize that I have to start over from the beginning again, having forgotten everyone's name and social rank. How appealing to simply fall back on a favorite once more into “The Waves” or “Justine,” which feels almost like cheating, too exciting and too much fun to properly belong in serious literature.

    And then there's Stendhal's “The Red and the Black,” which happens to be the name of my favorite cocktail of the summer, created by Michael Cecconi at Savoy and BackForty. It is easy to drink, and knocking back three or four seems like such a delightful idea. Cecconi's theory: "I take whatever's fresh at the green market and turn it into liquid." The result is a pure shot of afternoon in the park, making one feel cheerful and peaceful all at once, lying on uncut grass with eyes shut, sun beating through the lids…

    I live on the West Coast of British Columbia with my husband and three children. Our day started like any other day. My husband left for work in the north of the town, which is an hour and a half's drive. The younger children caught their bus to school ten minutes away. Our oldest attends high school and is a 40-minute drive away. I work at home in the office, working on the computer.

    It was November 2006 and the news had reported gusty winds. When the winds started to get strong I shut the computer down and tried to phone my husband. I left a message telling him the winds were blowing at 80 to 90 km/hr. As I hung up the phone, I heard a tree crack. I went outside and stood in the driveway. Another tree exploded and my heart was racing.

    When the school bus carrying the youngsters arrived, I ran to get them. No sooner had we made it to the house than another tree exploded. The children were clearly scared, so I loaded them up into the car and we parked in the middle of the yard, where no trees could land on us, it was starting to get dark.

    My oldest son didn't come home on the bus and my husband was stranded at work. I called the high school and reached my son. He said he was stranded and didn't know what to do. I called a friend in town for help. He managed to get my son home to me. Finally, my husband managed to get home.

    We had been prepared for such events, as we had a generator, candles, a wood stove, fresh water, batteries and two freezers full of food. We were without power for five days. But we didn't panic we had all the emergency equipment we needed. Thankfully, none of our neighbours were injured, but the damage was extensive. We are witnessing climate change. We need to be prepared.

    Family sizes are shrinking around the world. In many countries, families are having fewer than two children. Smaller families mean many children now grow up with fewer cousins. This is hard to imagine, as I come from a large extended family with 23 first cousins on one side and 25 on the other.

    Sometimes when I can't sleep, I try to name all my relatives. Of course, almost all of those cousins have married and had children and now their children are having children. With extended families growing so large and spreading so far, get-togethers have nearly become a thing of the past.

    One of the last gatherings on my father's side was at the home of a cousin who has a place in the country on top of a hill. A tent was set up, holding long tables creaking(嘎吱作响) under the weight of fried chicken, potato salad and chocolate cake. A fishing hole waited nearby for the kids. Vehicles poured in from every direction, parking on the drive, the grass, wherever they could find a spot. There was talking and laughing and joking and food.

    While such gatherings had grown infrequent, we were all happy to be together. Although some of us had not seen one another since so-and-so's wedding or somebody's father's funeral, most people were still easy to recognize. Three sisters who sat together all had the same beautiful skin their mother had. The cousin with bright blue eyes who raced her horse as a teenager still had bright blue eyes. An older cousin who gave me piano lessons when I was young and naughty seemed to have forgiven me. We share a gene pool of people who work hard and laugh often.

    It was very dark when the last set of taillights disappeared into the night. As we gathered our things, said our goodbyes and prepared to leave, a cousin called to me saying, "Don't forget where you come from." I never could. And I'd never try.

I remember that it was a fall morning when the orchestra (管弦乐队) teachers came into Miss Newell's third-grade classroom. "You have hands for the viola(中提琴)," Miss Ciano told me. I was excited because my hands were finally good for something. I told my parents I wanted to play, and naturally, they agreed.

Since I first touched the viola, I haven't been able to put it down. Ignoring the difficulty, I am pulled closer to it each day.

Classical music is truly my best friend. It is the trusted friend of every man, woman and child. Various feelings are expressed in classical music. I discovered that when I was eleven and played a cello concerto (大提琴协奏曲) of Bach in a competition, the first movement was joyful, but the second movement was mysterious and full of pain. From the piece, I learned that music expresses not only feelings, but also sudden mood changes. By listening to classical music, I know that someone else shares these feelings. Since I am lucky enough to be able to play classical music, I am comforted by it when I am upset. It gives me a way to escape from my problems for a short period. Classical music can express my joy, sadness and anger.

Now look back at that fall day in the third grade and think how gullible I was for believing that anyone, even music teachers, could tell whether hands were perfect for a certain instrument. I'm certain they told me I had " viola hands" not because they were fortune-tellers(算命师), but because there was a lack of violists in our district. Classical music is one of the best things that ever happened to mankind. If you get introduced to it in the right way, it will become your friend for life.