Five years ago, when I taught art at a school in Seattle, I used Tinkertoys as a test at the beginning of a term to find out something about my students. I put a small set of Tinkertoys in front of each student, and said:"Make something out of the Tinkertoys. You have 45 minutes today and 45minutes each day for the rest of the week." A few students hesitated to start. They waited to see the rest of the class would do. Several others checked the instructions and made something according to one of the model plans provided. Another group built something out of their own imaginations.

    Once I had a boy who worked experimentally with Tinkertoys in his free time. His constructions filled a shelf in the art classroom and a good part of his bedroom at home. I was delighted at the presence of such a student. Here was an exceptionally creative mind at work. His presence meant that I had an unexpected teaching assistant in class whose creativity would infect(感染) other students.

Encouraging this kind of thinking has a downside. I ran the risk of losing those students who had a different style of thinking. Without fail one would declare, "But I'm just not creative."

"Do you dream at night when you're asleep?"

"Oh, sure."

"So tell me one of your most interesting dreams." The student would tell something wildly imaginative. Flying in the sky or in a time machine or growing three heads. "That's pretty creative. Who does that for you?"

"Nobody. I do it."

"Really-at night, when you're asleep?"

"Sure."

"Try doing it in the daytime, in class, okay?"

    As a young boy, I sometimes traveled the country roads with my dad. He was a rural mill carrier, and on Saturdays he would ask me to go with him. Driving through the countryside was always an adventure: There were animals to see, people to visit, and chocolate cookies if you knew where to stop, and Dad did.

    In the spring, Dad delivered boxes full of baby chickens, and when 1 was a boy it was such a fun to stick your finger 'through one of the holes of the boxes and let the baby birds peck on your fingers.

    On Dad' s final day of work, it took him well into the evening to complete his rounds because at least one member from each family was waiting at their mailbox to thank him for his friendship and his years of service. "Two hundred and nineteen mailboxes on my route." he used to say, "and a story at every one. " One lady had no mailbox, so Dad took the mail in to her every day because she was nearly blind. Once inside, he read her mail and helped her pay her bills.

Mailboxes were sometimes used for things other than mail. One note left in a mailbox read. "Nat, take these eggs to Marian; she's baking a cake and doesn't have any eggs. " Mailboxes might be buried in the snow, or broken, or lying on the groom:. bat the mail was always delivered On cold days Dad might find one of his customers waiting for him with a cup of hot chocolate. A young wrote letters but had no stamps, so she left a few button on the envelope in the mailbox; Dad paid for the stamps. One businessman used to leave large amounts of cash in his mailbox for Dad to take to the bank. Once, the amount came to 8 32,000.

    A dozen years ago, when I traveled back to my hometown on the sad occasion of Dad's death,  the mailboxes along the way reminded me of some of his stories. I thought I knew them all, but that wasn't the case.

    As I drove home, I noticed two lamp poles, one on each side of the street. When my dad was around, those poles supported wooden boxes about four feet off the ground. One box was painted green and the other was red, and each had a long narrow hole at the top with white lettering: SANTA CLAUS, NORTH POLE. For years children had dropped letters to Santa through those holes.

    I made a turn at the comer and drove past the post office and across the railroad tracks to our house. Mom and I were sitting at the kitchen table when I heard footsteps. There, at the door, stood Frank Townsend, Dad's postmaster and great friend for many years. So we all sat down at the table and began to tell stories.

    At one point Frank looked at me with tears in his eyes. " What are we going to do about the letters this Christmas?" he asked.

    "The letters?"

    'I guess you never knew. "

    "Knew what?"

    " Remember, when you were a kid and you used to put your letters to Santa in those green and red boxes on Main Street? It was your dad who answered all those letters every year. "

    I just sat there with tears in my eyes. It wasn't hard for me to imagine Dad sitting at the old table in our basement reading those letters and answering each one. I have since spoken with several of the people who received Christmas letters during their childhood, and they told me how amazed they were that Santa had known so much about their homes and families.

For me, just knowing that story about my father was the gift of a lifetime.

    Dining in a completely dark room, unaware what's on your plate while sitting next to a complete stranger may not sound like an ideal restaurant experience but it's certainly an intriguing way to spend a rainy night in London.

    Dans le Noir, close to London's financial district, is a restaurant full of blind waiters and waitresses who become your eyes around the restaurant, whose original Paris branch opened in 2004.

    In the bar with the light, you choose whether you want the fish, meat or vegetable, but the dishes themselves remain a secret, as do the ingredients of the “surprise” cocktails. Bags, coats and devices(设备) that light up, including watches and mobile phones, are kept in the bar. Placing your hand on the shoulder of your guide, you are led to a table in a black dining room that sets up to 60 people. And it is dark.

    The waiters tell you when the food is being placed down in front of you, then the fun begins, trying to get food into your mouth, then identifying just what it is that's on your plate, and finally whether you have missed any of it.

    It's also a great chance to break social convention and eat using your fingers. Those same fingers are also the only way you can tell how much wine you're pouring into your glass.

    The happy atmosphere in the dining room also made the night memorable. You can't really avoid talking to the person next to you at the long tables and guessing what the dishes are certainly provides adequate fuel for the conversations.

    All will be revealed at the end of the meal when you are led back out into the lit bar. Not only do you finally get to see what you've just been eating but also who you've been talking to for the last 90 minutes.

    When I was 8 years old, I decided to run away from home after a quarrel with my mother. With my suitcase(行李箱) packed and some sandwiches in a bag, I started for the front door.

    My mom asked where I was going. “I'm leaving home,” I said.

    “What's that you're carrying?” she asked.

    “Some clothes and food,” I replied.

    “If you want to run away, that's all right,” she said. “But you came into this home without anything and you can leave the same way.”

    I threw my suitcase and sandwiches on the floor and started for the door again.

    “Wait a minute,” Mom said. “You didn't have any clothes on when you arrived, and I want them back.”

    This infuriated me. I tore my clothes off — shoes, socks, underwear and all — and shouted, “Can I go now?”

    “Yes,” my mom answered, “but once you close that door, don't expect to come back.”

    I was so angry that I shut the door forcefully and stepped out of my home. Then I noticed down the street two neighbor girls walking toward our house. I was so shy that I saw the big spruce (云杉) tree in our yard and jumped under the low-hanging branches (树枝). A pile of dried-up brown needles (针状物) were beneath the tree, and you can't imagine the pain those sharp needles caused to my body.

    After I was sure the girls had passed by, I ran to the front door and knocked at it loudly.

    “It's Billy! Let me in!”

    The voice behind the door answered, “Billy doesn't live here anymore. He ran away from home.”

    Looking behind me to see if anyone else was coming down the street, I said, “Mom! I'm sorry. I'm still your son. Let me in!”

    The door opened and Mom's smiling face appeared. “Did you change your mind about running away?” she asked.

    “What's for supper?” I smiled back.

    Three-quarters of the world's coffee farms destroy forest habitat to grow coffee in the sun and typically use harmful pesticides (杀虫剂) and chemicals that poison the environment. When forests disappear, migratory (迁徙的) songbirds disappear, too. In order to deal with severe population and habitat loss, Smithsonian scientists created the Bird Friendly certification.

    Bird Friendly coffees are shade-grown, meaning the coffee is planted under trees, rather than on the land that has been cleared of all other plants. Coffee experts say shade-grown coffees taste better, because the beans ripen slower than coffee grown in the full sun, resulting in a richer, more complex flavor. Bird Friendly certified coffees grow under bio-diverse shade that provides habitat for migratory songbirds and other wildlife, stores carbon and fights climate change. Bird Friendly coffees are also certified organic, meaning they are grown without pesticides, which is better for people and for the planet.

    Bird Friendly producers can also earn more for their crops. The wood and fruit trees on shade coffee farms provide farmers with additional income. Every cup of Bird Friendly coffee purchased rewards these farmers with a little more money for being good stewards of the environment and encourages them to continue conserving Bird Friendly habitat.

    Buying Bird Friendly supports the Smithsonian Migratory Bird Center's conservation research aimed at understanding and protecting your feathered friends. You can purchase Bird Friendly certified coffees around the world and protect wildlife and habitat with every cup. Find a store or cafe near you, or better yet, have it shipped to your door when you order online.

    The secret to living longer could be as simple as picking up your walking pace, according to a new study. Researchers from the University of Sydney found that walking at a brisk (快的) or fast pace was associated with a risk reduction of 24 percent for any cause of death.

    This effect was even more obvious in older age group, with fast walkers over the age of 60 reducing their risk of death by a surprising 53 percent. Professor Emmanuel Stamatakis, who led the study, explained, "A fast pace is generally five to six kilometers per hour, but it really depends on a walker's fitness levels; an alternatives indicator is to walk at a pace that makes you slightly out of breath or sweaty."

    In the study, the researchers looked at the results of 11 surveys from 1994 to 2008, in which participants recorded their walking pace, as well as age, sex and BMI. The analysis showed that walking at an average pace was associated with a 20 percent risk reduction for all-cause mortality (死亡率) compared with walking at a slow pace, while walking at a brisk or fast pace was associated with a risk reduction of 24 percent.

    The researchers hope the findings will encourage the development of public health message about the benefits of walking pace. Professor Stamatakis added, "These analyses suggest that increasing walking pace may be a straightforward way for people to improve heart health and risk for premature mortality—providing a simple message for public health campaigns to promote.

    "Especially in situations when walking more isn't possible due to time pressures or a less walking-friendly environment, walking faster may be a good option to get the heart rate up—one that most people can easily add to their lives."