The Asian elephant has been respected for centuries and is still used today for ceremonies and religious purposes. It is respected, not only because it plays a role in Asian culture and religion, but also because it is a key biological species in the tropical forests of Asia.

    The Asian elephant is the largest land mammal in Asian. It is smaller than the African elephant, with relatively smaller ears. Asian elephants have a single “finger” on the upper lip of the long trunk, while African elephants have a second on the lower tip. A number of adult male Asian elephants have no tooth, and the percentage of males carrying ivory(象牙）is different from only about 5% in Sri Lanka to 90% in south India. Asian elephants keep their ears in constant motion in order to free the heat they produce. The species is reported to have well-developed hearing, vision, and smell , and they are also fine swimmers.

    Asian elephants prefer to convey something to form groups surrounding 6 to 7 related females that are led by the oldest female. Like African elephants, these groups occasionally join others to form herds, although these associations are relatively temporary.

    More than two thirds of the day may be spent feeding on grasses, but large amounts of tree bark, roots, leaves and small stems are also eaten. Crops such as bananas, rice and sugar plants are favored foods. Besides, they need to drink at least twice a day so the source of water is quite important.

    The Asian elephant used to live from modern Irap and Syria to the Yellow River in China at first, but it is now found only from India to Vietnam, with a tiny population in the extreme southwest of China's Yunnan Province. More than 100,000 Asian elephants may have existed at the start of the 20^th century. The population is estimated to have fallen by at least 50% over the last 60-75 years.

    The private automobile (私家车）has long played an important role in the United States. In fact, it has become a necessary and important part of the American way of life. In 1986, sixty-nine percent of American families owned at least one car, and thirty-eight percent had more than one. By giving workers rapid transportation, the automobile has freed them from having to live near their place of work. This has encouraged the growth of the cities, but it has also led to traffic problems.

    For farm families the automobile is very helpful. It has made it possible for them to travel to town very often for business and for pleasure, and also to transport their children to distant schools.

    Family life has been affected（影响）in various ways. The car helps to keep families together when it is used for picnics, outings, and other shared experiences. However, when teenage children have the use of the car, their parents can't keep an eye on them. There is a great danger if the driver has been drinking alcohol or taking drugs, or showing off by speeding or breaking down traffic laws. Mothers of victims（受害者）of such accidents have formed an organization called MADD (Mothers Against Drunk Driving). These women want to prevent further tragedies (悲剧）. They have worked to encourage the government to limit the youngest drinking age. Students have formed a similar organization, SADD (Students Against Drunk Driving) and are spreading the same message among their friends.

    For many Americans the automobile is a necessity. But for some, it is also a mark of social position and for young people, a sign of becoming an adult. Altogether, cars mean very much to Americans.

    We've considered several ways of paying to cut in line: hiring line standers, buying tickets from scalpers (票贩子), or purchasing line-cutting privileges directly from, say, an airline or an amusement park. Each of these deals replaces the morals of the queue (waiting your turn) with the morals of the market (paying a price for faster service).

    Markets and queues—paying and waiting—are two different ways of allocating things, and each is appropriate to different activities. The morals of the queue, “First come, first served, have an egalitarian (平等主义的) appeal. They tell us to ignore privilege, power, and deep pockets.

    The principle seems right on playgrounds and at bus stops. But the morals of the queue do not govern all occasions. If I put my house up for sale, I have no duty to accept the first offer that comes along, simply because it's the first. Selling my house and waiting for a bus are different activities, properly governed by different standards.

    Sometimes standards change, and it is unclear which principle should apply. Think of the recorded message you hear, played over and over, as you wait on hold when calling your bank: “Your call will be answered in the order in which it was received.” This is essential for the morals of the queue. It's as if the company is trying to ease our impatience with fairness.

    But don't take the recorded message too seriously. Today, some people's calls are answered faster than others. Call center technology enables companies to “score” incoming calls and to give faster service to those that come from rich places. You might call this telephonic queue jumping.

    Of course, markets and queues are not the only ways of allocating things. Some goods we distribute by merit, others by need, still others by chance. However, the tendency of markets to replace queues, and other non-market ways of allocating goods is so common in modern life that we scarcely notice it anymore. It is striking that most of the paid queue-jumping schemes we've considered—at airports and amusement parks, in call centers, doctors' offices, and national parks—are recent developments, scarcely imaginable three decades ago. The disappearance of the queues in these places may seem an unusual concern, but these are not the only places that markets have entered.

    A couple of weeks ago,my 12-year-old daughter Ella,threatened to take my phone and break it."At night you'll always have your phone out and you'll just type,"Ella says,"I'm ready to go to bed,and try to get you to read stories for me and you're just standing there reading your texts and texting other people,"she adds.I came to realize that I was ignoring her as a father.

    Ella isn't the only kid who feels this way about her parent's relationship with devices.Catherine Steiner-Adair,a psychologist at Harvard,wrote The Big Disconnect: Protecting Childhood and Family Relationships in the Digital Age.For her book,Steiner-Adair interviewed more than 1,000 kids from the ages of 4 to 18.She talked to hundreds of teachers and parents.

    "One of the many things that knocked my socks off,"she says,"was the consistency（一致性）with which children—whether they were 4 or 8 or 18—talked about feeling exhausted and frustrated or mad trying to get their parents' attention,competing with computer screens or iPhone screens or any kind of technology."

    A couple of years ago,my daughter got a laptop for school.And because she was becoming more independent, we got her a phone.We set up rules for when she could use the device and when she'd need to put it away.We created a charging station,outside her bedroom,where she had to plug in these devices every night.Basically,except for homework,she has to put it all away when she comes home.

    Steiner-Adair says most adults don't set up similar limits in their own lives."We've lost the boundaries that protect work and family life,"she says."So it is very hard to manage yourself and be present in the moments your children need you."

    After my daughter's little intervention（介入）,I made myself a promise to create my own charging station.To plug my phone in—somewhere far away—when I am done working for the day.I've been trying to leave it there untouched for most of the weekend.

    Oct.15th was International White Cane Safety Day. You may have never heard of it, but it was a day to remember for Peng Baier, 17, of Nanjing Foreign Language School. After school that day, he visited his local Disabled Persons' Federation (残疾人联合会). He wanted to know about the sales and feedback (反馈) of his newly published book, How to Help a Disabled Person.

    Since he lives with his disabled grandparents, he understands that life can be hard for this group of people. Peng decided to write the book because he wanted to create a better life for disabled people in China.

    “Crossing the street is a big problem for them,” Peng said. “Speeding cars, people walking in a hurry, bikes on the sidewalk for the blind - accidents can happen everywhere. That's why we hardly ever see disabled people on the street, even though there are millions of disabled people in China.”

    Peng's book with pictures is easy to understand. It is a guide to the right and wrong ways to treat disabled people. The left-hand pages show the reader the right way; the right-hand pages point out mistakes that are commonly made.

    The teenager had 2,000 copies of his book printed. With the help of the Disabled Persons' Federation, he gave them to the disabled community.

    “The book is bilingual, so foreigners can also use it,” said Peng.

    Peng put great effort into the book. For example, he interviewed many disabled people to get first hand materials. He also studied textbooks from different schools for the disabled. Peng finally completed his handbook, but he still had the problem of getting it printed.

    How does a high school student raise money needed for that?

    With a smile, Peng said how he went about it. “I visited three local companies, dressed up in a suit and tie. I was lucky. The companies were warm-hearted and willing to give me a hand.”

    On the eve of our daughters' weddings, I gave both of them what I considered to be excellent marital advice: never leave your husband unsupervised （无人监督的） with pruning shears （修枝剪）.

    If only I had taken my own advice. I recently let my guard down. Thirty﹣some years of marriage can do that to a woman. Give a man pruning shears and electric trimmers （电动修剪器） and he will give new meaning to "armed and dangerous."

One day earlier this year, my husband said that the crab apple tree was dead.

    "Why do you think it is dead?" I asked.

    "Look at it. There's not a leaf on it."

    "There's not a leaf on anything. It's March," I said.

    "It looked sick last fall and with this bitter winter we had, I'm convinced it's dead."

    The truth is he's never liked the crabapple. Sure, it has beautiful blooms in the spring, but then it gets a disease, the leaves curl, and it drops those little apples that sit on the driveway.

    Each passing week he pronounced the tree dead. Eventually I began to believe him. Though he agreed it would be a regrettable loss, there was a twinkle in his eye. He armed himself a couple of weeks ago and began trimming. A branch here, a branch there, a small limb, then a large limb. I watched and then decided to check the wood on some of the branches closer to the trunk. I broke one off and saw green.

    The crabapple was not dead. It just hadn't had time to leaf out. The tree was now falling to one side, but it was not dead. I would have told him so, but he had moved on to a maple. Once the man starts, he can't stop. One trim leads to another.

    "Please, stop!" I called.

    He smiled and nodded, but he couldn't hear because he had started the hedge （树篱） trimmers and was getting ready to fix a line of hedges.

    Zip （飕飕声）, zip, zip.

    "What do you think?" he shouted.

    "It's supposed to be a privacy hedge; now all that will be private are our ankles."

    He started the trimmers again.

    "Stop!" I called, "Come back!"

    "Why?" he shouted.

    "You're in the neighbor's yard."