One summer, Aunt Betta and Uncle Bill invited me to travel with them back home to Pennsylvania. I had never been1Los Angeles and was eager to meet our relatives.

    Our first night, we drove through the desert, and then through roads cut through hills. The next day we went through the Rocky Mountains. It was2driving up long inclines（斜坡） with abrupt U-shape turns on the steep hillsides, then driving3slowly with great caution. Beyond Colorado, we drove through miles of 4, where I saw actual food being grown. I5some of the crops.

    In one small town we passed through, Aunt Betta decided I needed new6and took me to a country 7. I was used to8dresses and skirts. Now I had my first pair of jeans, a flannel shirt, shorts and a T-shirt. I loved them all.

    9 we reached our destination. Uncle Bill's aunt had a perfect little two-story house. The first thing I 10was a bed in a cute little room — for me! I looked forward to that. It would be like sleeping in a dollhouse. In the backyard, I saw red things11the back fence. Uncle Bill's uncle said, "I think you never ate a 12tomato in L.A." I hadn't. He 13picked one for me.

    I met all my new aunts, uncles and cousins. My cousins taught me how to do cartwheels (恻手翻) in the big front yard. Country people have more14, I thought.

    All the adults cried when we 15, but I took home all the 16of everything I'd seen. Back in L.A., my lungs hurt when I took a deep breath. I 17 the fresh air. I dreamed of homegrown tomatoes. My country clothes seemed out of 18, but I wore them anyway.

    I was two weeks late starting19, but I told my teachers only that I'd been in Pennsylvania and decided to 20all the rest to myself. If only they could have experienced everything that I did!

    I come from one of those families where you have to yell at the dinner table to get in a word. Everyone has a strong1 and talks at the same time, and no one has a2leading to heated arguments. We often talk or even debate with each other on different topics.

    3 a family like mine has made me more 4 about the world around me, making me tend to 5 anything any one tells me. But it has also made me realize that I'm not a good listener. And when I say “listening”, I'm not 6 to the nodding-your-head-and-politely-answering-Uh-huh-or-Ooh-I-see variety. I mean the kind of listening where you find yourself deeply 7 with the person you're speaking with, when his story becomes so 8that your world becomes less about you and more about him. No, I was never very good at that.

    I spent summer in South Africa two years ago. I worked for a good non-profit 9 called Noah, which works 10 on behalf of children affected by AIDS. But 11 you asked me what I really did in South Africa, I'd tell you one thing: I listened, and I listened. Sometimes I 12 but mostly I listened.

    And had I not spent two months 13, I might have missed the 14moment when a quiet little girl at one of Noah's community centers, orphaned（孤儿）at the age of three, whispered after a long 15 “I love you.”16 that summer, I knew how to hear. I could sit down with anyone and hear their 17 and nod and respond at the18 time—but most of the time I was 19 about the next words out of my own month. Ever since my summer in South Africa, I have noticed that it's in those moments when my mouth is closed and my20 is wide open that I've learned the most about other people, and perhaps about myself.

    The friendship between us lasts forever. Mary Allen was my best friend— 1a sister. We did 2together, piano lessons, movies, swimming, horseback riding, and 3.

    When I was 13, my family moved. Mary and I kept in4through letters, and we saw 5on special occasions—like my wedding and 6.Soon we were busy7children and moving to new homes, and we wrote less8.One day a card that I 9came back stamped "Address Unknown". I had no 10how to find Mary.

    Over the years, I thought of Mary often. I wanted to11stories of my children and then grandchildren. I needed to share my sorrow when my brother and then my mother died. There was an 12place in my heart that only a friend like Mary 13fill.

    One day I was reading a newspaper 14I noticed a picture of a young woman 15looked a lot like Mary and whose last name was Wagman—Mary's married name. "There must be thousands of Wagmans, " I thought, but I wrote to her 16.

    She called as soon as she got my letter. "Mrs Tobin！" she said 17, "Mary Allen Wagman is my mother." Minutes later I heard a voice that I 18at once, even after 50 years. We laughed and cried and asked about each other's lives.

    Now the empty place in my heart is 19, and there's one thing that Mary and I know20 we won't lose each other again!

    I grew up with a fat dad ­ 450 pounds at his heaviest. Every week he would try a new diet, and my family 1 eating whatever strange food he was trying at that moment. By the time I was nine, I was a(n) 2 on losing weight. I spent four weeks 3 only small bowls of white rice at home. What I remember most about those years is that I 4 felt hungry ­ hungry for food, hungry for someone to care for me and I 5 to be cared for.

    But on Friday nights, I was 6 hungry. My grandfather would take me to his home for the 7. There was always a pot of something cooking on the 8. It was at my grandmother's house that I learned what true 9 was.

    After my third-grade year, my family had to move away from hometown, and leave my grandmother and her delicious food 10. There would be no more special weekends at my grandmother's house. It was total 11 for survival. In this new city, I felt extremely lonely and lost, and I missed my grandmother 12.

    My grandmother knew just how I felt and she knew the 13. Every week, she would send me a card with a $20 bill, a recipe and a list of what to buy at the market. It kept us 14, and her recipes filled my body and soul.

    Over the years, I have 15 to better understand my father's 16 with weight and 17 growing up in such an unhealthy eating environment, I found a 18 for a career as a nutrition (营养) consultant.

    Today, food is no longer a 19 that keeps my father and me apart, but a bridge that keeps us connected. And now I am the one 20 sending recipe cards to my father's house, just as my grandmother did for me.

    I was once a dropout. I know how powerfully a 1 can influence the life of a person who does not 2 herself. I quit school at sixteen to work. Years later, I had a(n) 3 and couldn't work for months. I felt depressed. With an unemployable father and a mentally ill mother to support, I couldn't 4 to give up.

    Searching the ads, I found a notice that our local community college offered free work 5. One requirement was a high-school diploma or GED certificate. Years ago, I got my GED certificate, but with 6 scores. I felt certain that I had little to 7 other than a willingness to 8. After my physical injury healed, I went to meet Ruby Martin, the advisor who would 9 me.

    I sat 10 waiting while Mrs. Martin looked over my score sheet. I was 11 to hear her blame me for wasting her valuable time. She looked at me for a long moment 12 she spoke.

    "Why did you apply for this 13?" she asked. "Why aren't you applying to college?"

    With my face burning with 14, I could only whispered, "Because I am 15."

    "Didn't anyone ever explain these 16 to you?" she asked. I just shook my head. For the next hour, she explained how the GED scores are based on, and that my 17 were very high indeed. She convinced me that I was not only not stupid, but that I would 18 an excellent candidate for the training program.

    I regained my 19. Later, I got a bachelor's degree and became a teacher just like her. To teach is to touch a life. It was Ruby Martin who touched my life 20.

    The day we brought Julie home I knew that we were in quite a ride. She was more than just a 1. Though the smallest one in the house, she didn't let that 2her from trying to show off. It made me 3that she would walk up to the bowl of dog food and bark away a dog ten times her 4. She never once begged, but she wasn't afraid to ask for 5either. Too many times I found my toes being tickled(使发痒) by her tongue until I 6moved her up to my lap.

    Julie didn't mind being petted but wouldn't 7being carried around like a doll. The kids soon learned just how to 8her: with both love and respect. Julie loved a good dog treat and a 9touch. When it came to haircuts and baths, however, she wasn't afraid to show her 10about them with a gentle growl(怒吼声).

    Julie lived on and on while some of my younger dogs had 11over the years, but her 12slowly got worse and worse. She lost weight and had trouble 13. She became both blind and deaf and we had to 14her carefully when we were walking her. Sometimes she slept so 15that I was afraid that she had finally passed away. Yet, she always 16her head when I gently touched her old body. That was until last night.

    I buried Julie in the woods behind my home with 17eyes and hurting heart. I asked myself why I had taken so many dogs into my 18over the years when the 19of losing them was so great. As I was walking home remembering Julie, I came to 20the answer: the love was always far greater than the pain.