The first week is always a bit hard in my writing classes. I'm unfamiliar 1 the students, most of them trying to 2 themselves to their new environment. When Jennifer 3 me with a question on the second day, I was 4 for the chance to connect at least one name with a face.

    Her writing wasn't perfect, 5 her effort was. She worked hard and pushed herself to achieve. She was excited to 6, which made me enjoy teaching her. I didn't 7 then how much she would also teach me. One Friday afternoon, Jennifer stopped by after class. She wasn't asking a question 8a paper I'd returned. 9, she said quietly: “I didn't attend classes yesterday. I was at the health center the whole day.” I gave her a sideways look, 10. “It was just a virus (病毒). I'm fine now,” she 11 me. Then she was gone.

    Two nights later, her father called to tell me that Jennifer would be 12a few classes. She had been in hospital with meningitis (脑膜炎). I heard from him again a few days later, and again after that. Her condition grew 13. We made trips to the hospital room. I was 14 frightened when I saw the pale, thin and weak girl who, only ten days earlier, had displayed life and warmth in my classroom.

    A week later, Jennifer herself called me to tell me she was on the road to 15. “I'll be back to school one day,” she said. “I have no 16 that you'll be with us.” I told her, 17 tears. I remembered what her father had said in his first phone call: “school 18 everything to Jenny.”

    Then five weeks later, I walked into my classroom to find Jenny in her seat,   19.   She 20 all of her missed homework, completed with thought and excellence. The strength of her will to overcome shone out of her pale, weak, eighteen-year-old face.

    That morning, I got on the train as always. I was a publishing director and was reading my newspaper 1. But that day, I read it very 2. I thought I must be tired. At the office, I sat down, turned on my 3 and found I couldn't read the message on the screen.

    Finally, worried4 drove me to hospital. There, confirmation came that I suffered from aphasia(失语症), a condition that5 it's difficult or impossible to receive and produce language.

    I was back at home a week later, and my6was to get better and return to work in a couple of months. I started 7a speech therapist(治疗专家) three times a week, and was given homework to help 8my vocabulary and grammar. After a month, my own speech became 9—“Could you pass the salt?” “Shall we go for a walk?” — but I couldn't have a conversation. I couldn't read the newspaper.

    For 25 years, I was used to a(n) 10 day of meetings, and bringing three manuscripts home with me each night. I didn't feel 11 to say goodbye to my old self.

    In the darkest months, I devoted myself to12. I would spend hours writing a description of something 13 like a pencil. I couldn't 14novels or newspapers, so I tried reading poetry, and found the shorter lines easier to 15. My speech came back, and I learned how to read again,16 much more slowly. I spent more time with my family, and 17myself to slow down.

    Now, 10 years later, my relationship with my 18 is deeper than ever. We have19 to be very patient with each other. I'm no longer a high-achieving publisher or someone who2010 books a week. I'm a family man with aphasia, and if I read 10 books a year, that's good.

    Many years ago, my dad was facing a serious heart condition. He was1 to do a(n) steady (稳定的) job. Sometimes he fell suddenly ill and had to be 2 to the hospital.

    He wanted to do something to keep himself busy, so he 3to volunteer at the local children's hospital. My dad loved kids. It was the perfect 4 for him. He ended up working with the 5 children. He would talk, play, and do arts with them.

    One of his 6 was a girl with a 7 that paralyzed (使瘫痪) her from the neck down. She couldn't do anything, and she was very 8My dad decided to try to 9 her. He started visiting her in her room,10 paints, brushes and paper. He 11the paper up, put the paintbrush in his mouth and began to12 He didn't use his hands at all. All the while, he would tell her, “See, you can do anything you set your 13to.”

    At the end of the day, she began to paint using her 14 and she and my dad became friends. Soon after, the little girl was sent 15because the doctors felt there was nothing else they could do for her. My dad also 16 the children's hospital for a little while because he became ill. Some time later, after my dad had 17 and returned to work, the little girl who had been paralyzed came in, but this time she was18She ran straight over to my dad and hugged him really tight. She gave him a 19she had done using her hands. At the bottom it 20“Thank you for helping me walk.”

    My dad said sometimes love is more powerful than the doctor.

    I sat down at my desk and tried to focus on my studies. In just seven more days, finals would be over and all the students in my college 1 would be leaving to   go home-2 me. I would be moving 3 to another dormitory for the Christmas break.

    I had no 4. I was a student from Pennsylvania attending college in Utah and my family of ten couldn't 5 to pay for my ticket home. The only 6 I was even able to attend college was that I had received several scholarships.

    I started at the white snow dancing through the air. This would be my 7 Christmas away from home. I felt so 8 that I could weep. 9 I swallowed down the ache that was rising in my throat, my phone rang suddenly. I reached over and picked it 10.

    “Hello?”

    “Hi, Teddi. This is Elsie.” What was my boss from high school grocery job 11 me for? “All the workers here 12 that you weren't able to make it home this year.13 we bought you a ticket. You're coming home!”

    I screamed.

    Fifteen minutes later I was off the14and jumping up and down for 15. Neighbors came over to see what the 16 was all about.

    “I'm going home for Christmas! My17 at my high school job bought me a ticket!” I told them.

    Christmas 18, I was awoken by laughs and screams of joy. The smell of roasting turkey and the wrapping paper（包装纸）that grew higher and higher filled me with love and 19. The kindness of some special fiends 20 me to have the best Christmas ever.

Be a Traveler, not a Tourist

    Last summer, I had just enough money saved to buy a golden ticket—a 3-month train pass that would take me to the furthest reaches of Europe. Excited for my journey, I packed all the necessities —except the 1.

    While the convenience of the Internet was definitely a contributing factor to my 2 not to take with me the few expensive kilograms of out-of-date information, this was not the only reason why I decided to fly alone.

    To be honest, my main 3 with the guidebook is that I find it 4 the pleasure of a journey—like bossy aunt who is always telling you what to do, 5 she doesn't always know what is the best.

    Experience has taught me that there is an obvious 6 between a tourist and traveler.

    While waiting in a queue, I met a man who had a checklist. He showed me his list of “Top 20 Things To Do in Italy” and 7 off in a loud American accent that he'd seen everything Italy has to offer in just four days.

    The problem I had with this man's 8 to travelling was that he was too 9 information provided by his guidebook. He was lost in the 10 attractiveness of the “must-sees” and 11 to all the wonders and adventures that might happen during the 12 trip.

    So, 13 any guidebook, I traveled to Estonia, the tiny Baltic country bordering Russia. In the 14 of advance plans as guidebooks would suggest, I had no choice but to turn to some friendly faces for advice. I 15 myself first and then asked them what was happening around the town. When this 16 an invitation to a beautiful Estonian home by a river where I 17 a 110-degree wood-stove sauna, 18 picked forest-mushrooms and the good 19 of our five newfound Estonian friends, I was most glad that I had left my “bossy 20” at home.

    It was our first Thanksgiving in the new house and I wanted everything to be perfect. But my plan for everyone to do some preparation work had been1by my husband's business trip. Even worse, a project for me that week had2two days of planned vacation. By Wednesday, my task of a table with fresh flowers,3drinking glasses and various homemade desserts had already4, I just hoped that I'd find a clean tablecloth and eight5forks.

    In my perfect Thanksgiving, there wouldn't be any orange in my salad because It hadn't made the grocery list. There would be no perfect family photos to record that day because I hadn't got the broken camera6. Someone had brought home the wrong toilet paper, which was the last straw that made me7.

    I don't remember what my son asked me as he was doing some cleaning,8I do remember twisting into that mean-and-tight mom-face before making an9. This combination of noise and anger is a universal signal to kids everywhere that they might as well10me. But he didn't.

    Instead of disappearing from view, my second-grader turned11the cleaning machine and walked across the room to12me. He never said a word. He just13his arms around me, making me feel14of myself until today.

It turned out a(n)15Thanksgiving. The people I loved gathered around my table and dined just one choice of the pie. My dad used a mismatched fork without16. My daughter drew a picture of us where everyone smiled.

    My son took a(n)17to teach me that sometimes we need a hug most when we are18huggable. This is the best gift you can give: One size19all and no one ever minds if you20.