“Have a nice day！” may be a pleasant gesture or a meaningless expression. When my friend Maxie says “Have a nice day” with a smile, I know she sincerely cares about what happens to me. I feel loved and safe since another person cares about me and wishes me well.

    “Have a nice day. Next！” This version of the expression is spoken by a salesgirl at the supermarket who is rushing me and my groceries out the door. The words come out in the same tone (腔调) with a fixed procedure. They are spoken at me, not to me. Obviously, the concern for my day and everyone else's is the management's attempt to increase business.

    The expression is one of those behaviors that help people get along with each other. Sometimes it indicates the end of a meeting. As soon as you hear it, you know the meeting is at an end. Sometimes the expression saves us when we don't know what to say.  “Oh, you just had a tooth out? I'm terribly sorry, but have a nice day. ”

    The expression can be pleasant. If a stranger says “Have a nice day” to you, you may find it heart­warming because someone you don't know has tried to be nice to you.

    Although the use of the expression is an insincere, meaningless social custom at times, there is nothing wrong with the sentence except that it is a little uninteresting. The salesgirl, the waitress, the teacher, and all the countless others who speak it without thinking may not really care about my day. But in a strange and comfortable way, it's nice to know they care enough to pretend they care when they really don't care all that much. While the expression may not often be sincere, it is always spoken. The point is that people say it all the time when they like.

    This contest from the Winchester Poetry Festival is intended for “surprise and delight”. However, don't try to surprise and delight them with a short story or a photo of your cat dancing in a Tutu. Stick to a poem of up to 40 lines.

    Closing: Quarterly.

    Prizes: £1,000, £500, £250.

    Entry Fee: £5.

    Starts Theatre One-Act Play Competition

    This annual contest from Strerts Theatre in Cornwall is for plays for up to four adult actors, with a running time of between 25 and 35 minutes. Plays can be on any theme; you need to be 18 or over to enter.

    Closing: Annually.

    Prizes: £100 plus performance of your play in Sterns Studio.

    Entry Fee: £7.

    Artificium Short Stories & Poetry Prizes

    This one from Artificium, a journal of new fiction and poetry, has two categories: Short Stories and In Brief. The former is for stories of between 2,000 and 8,000 words in any genre（体裁）. The latter is for poetry of between 500 and 1,000 words.

    Closing: End of each month.

    Prizes: £200, £100, £50.

    Entry Fee: £5 for one, £9 for two.

    PENfro Open Poetry Competition.

    This contest from the PENfro Book Festival is for poems of up to 40 lines on any subject and in any style. Costa Award winning poet Jonathan Edwards, whose taste in poetry is broad-ranging, will be judging.

    Closing: End of each month. Prizes: £300, £100, £75. The top ten winners will be invited to read their works at a spoken word event at which Jonathan Edwards will present the prizes.

    Entry Fee: £4.

    Tiny as they are, bats have the ability to “see” in the dark by using a special skill called echolocation(回声定位法). They make noises and wait for sound waves, or an echo, to bounce(反弹) back off objects. They can tell the distance of various objects by how quickly the sound waves bounce back off them. If no sound bounces back, they can then fly forward.

    This special ability has been simulated in the human world for a long time, such as in submarines and planes, whose sonar(声呐) systems are somewhat similar to echolocation. But apart from helping vehicles “see” where they are, what if blind people could use echolocation for themselves? It turns out, some already are.

    American Daniel Kish, who is blind, is known as “Batman”. This isn't because he walks around in a cape and a mask, but because he has a bat-like ability to locate where he is through sharp clicks he makes by moving his tongue against the roof of his mouth. Kish is so skilled at echolocating that he can ride a bike and hike on his own.

    Recently, research carried out at the University of Durham in England shed some light on the power of human echolocation.

    Kish worked with a group of scientists who studied the way blind people listen to the echoes that they produce from clicks.

    The team, which conducted experiments with other volunteers, found that people were capable of hearing even very faint echoes, ones far fainter than had been previously thought.

    Speaking to The Independent, Lore Thaler, lead scientist of the group, said, “We found that in some conditions, they were really faint – about 95 percent softer than the actual clicks, but the echolocators were still able to sense this.”

    Andrew Kolarik of the University of Cambridge is another expert in echolocation. Reacting to the Durham study, he told BBC News that echolocation “can be very useful at providing information at face or chest height” and could help people “avoid objects like low hanging branches that might not get detected by the cane or a guide dog”.

    Although Kish's skill is remarkable, there's hope for other blind people who want to use echolocation. According to BBC News, echolocation is a skill blind people can acquire and develop, just like learning a language. As Kolarik said: “Teaching echolocation skills could provide blind people with the means of exploring new places.”

    Is any economist so dull as to criticize Christmas? At first glance, the holiday season in western economies seems a treat for those concerned with such vagaries(奇思遐想)as GDP growth. After all, everyone is spending; in America, retailers make 25% of their yearly sales and 60% of their profits between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Even so, economists find something to worry about in the nature of the purchases being made.

    Much of the holiday spending is on gifts for others. At the simplest level, giving gifts involves the giver thinking of something that the recipient would like--he tries to guess her preferences, as economists say--and then buying the gift and delivering it. Yet this guessing of preferences is not easy; indeed, it is often done badly. Every year, ties go unworn and books unread. And even if a gift is enjoyed, it may not be what the recipient would have bought if they had spent the money themselves.

    Interested in this mismatch between wants and gifts, in 1993 Joel Waldfogel, then an economist at Yale University, sought to estimate the difference in dollar terms. In a study, he asked students two questions at the end of a holiday season: first, estimate the total amount paid(by the givers) for all the holiday gifts you received; second, apart from the sentimental value of the items, if you did not have them, how much would you be willing to pay to get them? His results were gloomy: on average, a gift was valued by the recipient well below the price paid by the giver.

    In addition, recipients may not know their own preferences very well. Some of the best gifts, after all, are unexpected items that you would never have thought of buying, but which turn out to be especially well picked. And preferences can change. So by giving a jazz CD, for example, the giver may be encouraging the recipient to enjoy something that was ignored before. This, a desire to build skills, is possibly the hope held by many parents who ignore their children's desires for video games and buy them books instead.

    Finally, there are items that a recipient would like to receive but not purchase. If someone else buys them, however, they can be enjoyed guilt-free. This might explain the volume of chocolate that changes over the holidays. Thus, the lesson for gift-givers is that you should try hard to guess the preference of each person on your list and then choose a gift that will have high sentimental value.

Queen Rider

    Bonnie Wyndham got out of her mother's car and looked at Almonside School. "I'll make you sorry I've come here," she told her, pleasantly. Her mother was getting out of the other door at the time so she didn't hear, but Bonnie wouldn't have cared if she had. Her mother knew her feelings. Mrs. Wyndham looked about her. Almonside was a funny school, all bits and pieces, buildings hidden away amongst the trees on a wooded hillside; very confusing at first sight. Then she saw the signs on a post: science block, gymnasium, riding centre ...

    "Riding centre," said Bonnie, showing a sudden interest. "Headmaster's study," said her mother. "This way."

    Bonnie followed her mother along a broad drive that curved between trees.

    "I wish you'd walk beside me instead of following me like a dog," said Mrs. Wyndham wearily, but she didn't seem to expect Bonnie to do so.

    A few minutes later, her mother was talking to Bonnie's new headmaster in his study, while Bonnie herself sat and waited outside the door. Suddenly, Bonnie jumped up. "Why should I just it here?" she said to herself. "I'll be thrown out before very long, anyway," she said mentally to the door, "so why not get it over and done with?" She left the building and headed for the riding centre in the direction indicated by the sign.

    There was a nice old building where the horses were kept, and a large structure for indoor riding. Bonnie looked about her, but there was no one in sight. There was a certain reverence about her manner as she approached the animals. Bonnie treated horses with respect. The horses were very well looked after, she could tell that at once.

    Almost every stall was occupied, and she wandered along looking carefully at each horse and judging it. "They know what they're doing here," she told a small pony as she ran a finger along its nose. It was the next horse that pulled her up short. "But aren't you the best of the lot!" she said. He was brown with a touch of white. Lively, probably, but Bonnie liked that. "You know, I have the feeling we've met before," said Bonnie, stroking his neck.

    "It was in my dreams and I was riding you to victory in some big competition." Over the stall was his name: Maverick.

Suddenly, she couldn't resist the temptation to ride the horse. "I wonder where I can find a bridle for your head, and a saddle for your back. Can't be far away." The room containing all the riding equipment was — Bonnie was delighted to discover — unlocked. Absorbed in the pleasurable task of putting a saddle on Maverick's back, she forgot all about her mother and the headmaster. When she sat up high on the big horse outside the building, she felt like a queen, mistress of all she could see. Her nickname at her previous school had been Queen Bee, and she laughed delightedly as she remembered it. You're the best horse I've ever sat on, Maverick, ' she said admiringly, "and when I say that I'm not kidding, I can assure you, because I know about horses, even if I don t know about anything else."

    She nudged him into a walk, then into a trot. "If I stay here, I think you and I could be great friends," she confided. She went round and round the paddock. The rhythm was exhilarating, a little breeze whipping smartly past her cheek and making it glow. She could tell Maverick trusted her, and she felt certain that he'd jump well.

Growing up on a tobacco farm, Emma Avery was used to hard times. When she was seven, her family's farmhouse burned to the ground. Her father made a temporary shelter, where eight people had to sleep in two beds. As soon as Emma and her four brothers and two sisters were big enough, they were out in the fields.

Emma would find her comfort in school, even as a C student, thanks to one teacher. When she moved on to middle school, Emma was alarmingly far behind her classmates. She kept her head down, trying not to be noticed, struggling to catch up, and feeling like an outsider.

Then one day, when Emma was 16, a teacher named Mr. Potts changed everything. Looking his students in the eye, Mr. Potts said, "Being a C student does not mean you do not have a valuable contribution to make. Some of you have to work in the fields in the evening and do not have time to study. But if you do your best, you have a gift to give."

The teacher's words made Emma believe she could do well, and she worked harder. In the end she won a scholarship to St. Paul's College, graduated with a degree in elementary education in 1967, and got a job in the public-school system. Then, at George Washington University, she received a master's in education in 1970, and afterwards in the same year she married Ron Smothers.

Over the next six years, Emma taught in public schools in Miami. In 1976, after saving $10,000, she opened her first restaurant in Los Angeles. Eventually Emma stopped teaching, and her business expanded to six restaurants.

In gratitude for what she has been able to achieve, Emma donates a lot. She has no idea how much money she's given away. She says, "Those I want to help are the C students who just need help, direction and confidence."