Last Christmas while staying with my parents, I 1 across some old love letters that my parents wrote to each other. These letters were all piled up in a basket, dirty and 2 with dust.3 to read and sort them, I asked them if I could take the letters back to my Illinois home. They agreed.

    As I carefully opened each letter, all of them delicate with age, I discovered a new page 4unknown to me in this private chapter of my parents' lives.

    My father used to 5 in the army. So his letters were full of frontline  6 of the things about the war. Each of my mother's letters was marked 7 her 1944 dark red lipstick kiss. I was 8 to these letters like a magnet (磁铁).

    Just six weeks after our Christmas visit, Daddy became very 9and was hospitalized. This time, he was fighting a 10 kind of war. As I sat by his bedside, we discussed the 11 . He told me how much receiving those lipstick-kissed letters had 12to him when he had been so far from home.

    It so happened that the next day would be February 14. From the 13letters I chose the card my father had sent Mother in 1944 and brought it to my father's bedside.

    At his bedside, I joked with him, saying 14, “Today is Valentine's Day, don't you want to send Mother a present?” He became more 15when I handed him the old 16. He carefully opened it and took out the card, and when he 17 it, his eyes were filled with tears.

    My father, in a voice tight with18read the loving19he'd sent to my mother fifty-six years earlier. And this time, he could read it to her 20.

    When Glen Kruger picked a small cat from an animal shelter, he did not expect much.  Yet right from the start, eight years ago, there was an uncommon connection between him and the small black cat.  He 1 her Inky.

     “ I grew up on a hundred-acre farm and had only cats 2  playmates ,” Kruger,

The seventy-year-old man , says. “My hearing was damaged by the 3of farm equipment , so I learned to connect with4.  They react to what they see and what you do.  ”

    Inky was a gentle cat, 5 the house with five other cats.  But on a January night in 2009,  Inky did6 that would set her apart from7 cats forever.

    Kruger had gone down to the basement to8 the wood stove for the night.  When he was finished, he 9 to the top of the stairs and reached to  turn off the lights. In doing so , he slipped and 10  his back against an old shelf.  The heavy shelf came crashing down and sent Kruger down the stairs.

    11 in a pool of blood on the basement floor, Kruger felt  12 going into shock（休克）.  He shouted for help , 13   his wife, Brenda , was asleep in their      

bedroom at   the opposite end of the house.  14  Kruger noticed Inky watching from the top of the stairs.

    “Go get Brenda, ” Kruger said to Inky.

    Inky 15  to the bedroom door and scratched 16  until Brenda opened it.  Then Inky led her to  the  17 Brenda found her husband 18  the stairs and called 911.  Kruger was rushed to the hospital. “I spent six months19  therd,”

    Says Kruger .  “Although I became lame , I was blessed. ” Since the accident, Inky has 20

    Left Kruger's side.

    We have been driving in fog all morning, but the fog is lifting now. The little seaside villages are1one by one. “There is my grandmother's house,” I say2across the bay to a shabby old house.

    I am in Nova Scotia on a pilgrimage(朝圣) with Lisa, my granddaughter, seeking roots for her, retracing(追溯)3 memory for me. Lisa was one of the mobile children4 from house to house in childhood. She longs for a sense of5and so we have come to Nova Scotia where my husband and I were born and where our ancestors6for 200 years.

We soon7 by the house and I tell her what it was like here, the memories8back, swift as the tide (潮水).

    Suddenly, I long to walk again in the9 where I was once so gloriously a child. It still10 a member of the family, but has not been lived in for a while. We cannot go into the house, but I can still walk 11 the rooms in memory. Here, my mother 12 in her bedroom window and wrote in her diary. I can still see the enthusiastic family13 into and out of the house. I could never have enough of being 14 them. However, that was long after those childhood days. Lisa15 attentively as I talk and then says, “So this is where I16 where I belong.”

    She has17 her roots. To know where I come from is one of the great longings of the human18 To be rooted is “to have an origin”. We need19origin. Looking backward, we discover what is unique in us; learn the 20 of “I”. We must all go home again—in reality or memory.

    My father was a self-taught mandolin player. He was one of the best string instrument players in our town. Dad loved to play the mandolin for his families, who enjoyed listening to his play and1the Tennessee Waltz, Hatbor nights, Silver Bells, and so on. Dad was always there,2his time and efforts to see that his family had3in their life. If he could give pleasure to others, he4especially his families. I had to mature into a man and have children of my own5I realized how much he had sacrificed.

    I 6 the United States Air Force in January of 1962. Whenever I come home on7I would ask Dad to play the mandolin. He could touch your soul with the 8 that came out of that old instrument. He seemed to 9when he was playing you could see his pride in his ability to play so well for his family.

    While working at Todd Steel, Dad was 10in an accident. He got the third index finger of his left hand 11 between two pieces of steel. The doctor who operated12the finger could not save it, and Dad ended up having the tip of the finger13. He didn't lose enough of the finger,14it wouldn't stop him picking up anything, but it did15his ability to play the mandolin.

After the accident, Dad would make16for why he couldn't play. We wore him down and17he said "Okay, but remember, I can't hold down on the strings18I used to".19 for the family it didn't make any 20that Dad couldn't play as well.

    It was a hot summer day. The sun was shining brightly and all could think of was1down with a scoop of my favorite ice cream. I decided to make a quick2to the newly opened ice cream parlor (冰淇淋店) close by for a mid-day3.

    As soon as I arrived there, I 4my ice cream in a fancy cone and asked the server to5two tubs of chocolate ice cream for folks at home.

    While waiting for my take-out, I was halfway through my icy treat and was enjoying the view of the two colorfully6ice cream flavors, sitting pretty one next to the other.

    Now that my to-go order was7, I headed to the payment counter to settle the bill. Surprisingly, the cashier had forgotten to8my ice cream,9only for the two tubs.

    The next few10passed by as I11between doing what was easy—clearing the bill and moving out, and doing what was right—12 the error. I knew if I didn't bring the error in the bill to his13, my ice cream would be charged against his14.

    That moment, my decision was made and I went and told him what he had 15. He looked at me in 16 and thanked me profusely for telling the error. Had it not been for my 17telling the error, he would have been 18. The smile of relief on his face made me smile, too.

    I came out of the ice cream parlor feeling really19about myself. I knew that day how wonderful it feels to do what is right20what is easy.

    I think I will never forget the special day in November. It was hotter than normal. This was the 1 my father and I had waited so long for, because we had been working towards this race for three years. Dozens of familiar faces from church and school flashed across my view. They had come 2 me. I saw worry and 3 on my father's face. Then the race began!

    For the first two and a half miles, I felt 4. I had never before been so ready for something. The weeks leading up to the race were filled with controlled 5 and a strict diet. My friends hadn't seen me in weeks, but they understood the 6required to make my dream a reality. As in all of my races，I didn't 7 out in the front. I loved the pleasure of passing people as my strength overtook their premature speed.

    Then without warning，my strength began to decrease. Neck and neck with one of my greatest competitors, I 8 see the finish line. I had begun the final dash into 9 when my knees became weak and my legs gave way. Nothing I could do would make them 10 weight.

    I watched as runners rushed by me. 11 I knew my dreams of victory were destroyed, I had to finish the race. However, my legs hurt badly. With all of the 12 left in me, I got on my hands and knees and crawled (爬), inch by inch, across the finish line. Voices, both 13 and familiar, cheered me on. They gave me the courage to keep 14 until the very end.

    The doctors were there in seconds, but my eyes searched the crowd for him. There was only one person I wanted to 15 to. I whispered, “I' m so sorry, Dad, I'm so sorry I 16 you.” He looked at me, saying, “You could never disappoint me. Sometimes these things just 17. All that matters is that you did your best.”

    “But we worked so 18. What about our dream?” He reached over for my hand and said, “Don't you know that you are my dream and it has come true?”

    It wasn't long before my running shoes were back on, marking a 19 path for my journey. I learned that all of the miles, the tears, the sweat, and the pain my dad and I experienced together were not for a 20. What I realized, though, was that to him, I was the greatest prize he had ever won.