Holly, my wife,cannot cook. She is capable of the process of cooking, but she cannot cook in the same way that an octopus (章鱼) cannot ride a bike.

One time, I walked into the kitchen to find Holly making toast. I generally feel safe eating toast that Holly has made because it boasts nothing but few steps. But this toast was a bit thin and tough.

“It’s a bit thin and tough,” I said. “What bread is this?”

“It’s the same bread we always have,” Holly said, pointing to the bag.

“Oh, my God!” I cried. “It has a best-by date of January 2009.”

“It was in the freezer,”Holly said. “The best-by date doesn’t count if the product is frozen.”

“But still there is a limit for frozen food,” I responded, holding up a slice of bread which felt like a stone.

“No, there isn’t,” she replied. “I once saw a show where scientists found a rare animal frozen in ice for millions of years. They melted it, cooked it, and ate it.”

“That is why it is called a show,” I cried.

“You never appreciate anything I do,” replied Holly.

“That’s not true,” I said. “I appreciate everything you do. You’re a beautiful, kind, thoughtful person. But if I ordered a hamburger at McDonald’s and they handed it to me, saying, ‘Sorry, it was a bit tough because the bread had been stored for nearly 10 years,’ I would assume there was something wrong with the restaurant staff.”

“It would probably be good with me,” responded Holly, holding out her hands.“But you would never know whether the guy at McDonald’s spent an hour in the kitchen making it for you and burned his thumb on a pan.”

“Fine,” I sighed, raising it to my mouth. “I’ll taste it.” Taking the brown and yellow bread, I had a strong burning feeling like having a mouthful ofred ants. I swallowed with effort as my eyes began to water.

“Yes,” said Holly. “We were out of cream, so I used pepper from Sichuan, China instead.”

What’s So Funny?

In 1990, during a performance of my stage play, I kept focusing myself on one particular member of the audience. While everybody else laughed, there she sat, staring at the floor, with her fingers in her ears. I’ll never forget her look of discomfort. That woman was my mother. I wish I could say her reaction that evening was an incident, but it was one of many I remember when I was first starting out as a playwright.

Although I’d established myself as a humourist, my mother never found me or my work particularly funny. We loved each other deeply, of course, but she was my hardest critic. “Is Drew really that funny?” she’d ask family members. To make matters worse, the feeling was mutual (相互的): though our social circle swore that she was funny, I never saw it. How could she be funny? My mother was supposedly very funny in her first language, Anishinaabemowin, but I didn’t speak it. One of the characteristics of the language is that it is structured for maximum amusement.

For a while I was convinced I would never make her laugh. Then, in 2005, I succeeded. I had published a book called, Me Funny. In it were dozens of essays deconstructing (解构) the humour in Anishinaabemowin. They cracked her up so much that she looked at me and declared, “Wow, that was funny!” I remember being relieved and very pleased.

In 2009, my mother passed away. I was in charge of planning the funeral along with two cousins. Because my mother was a shy woman, I can guarantee she would have found our group effort quite embarrassing. During the funeral, amidst the tears, family member after family member got up and recounted things she had done and said over the years. To my surprise, I found myself laughing. More and more stories about her surfaced. We laughed as we remembered her.

I couldn’t see my mother’s forest for my own trees. I wish I could have shared those laughs with her while she was alive, but I’m glad I finally made the connection.

Shelton Murray has been playing the didgeridoo(迪吉里杜管乐器) since he was five years old. Now 22, the musician will be travelling to the United States with the Australian Chamber Orchestra for the first time.

Mr. Murray comes from an Aboriginal (土著的) community and said his love of the didgeridoo had grown out of his culture. He was taught by his father Lazarus Murray from a young age, but said he was also inspired by his grandfather Peter Apaak Jupurrula Miller. ''My father learnt from David Blanasi. Then he taught me what he learnt from David,'' he said.

As the youngest member of a Tiwi Islander band called B2M (Bathurst to Melville) in the Northern Territory, Mr. Murray played the didgeridoo for the opening act of the Tina Arena Darwin concert in 2014. Now his didgeridoo skills have caught the attention of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, where he was invited to perform in the show The Reef Revisited, which will be touring the US next week.

''It's exciting for me to be travelling over to America, '' he said. Mr. Murray said there were challenges for young Aboriginal artists to break into the industry but said it is all about having the right attitude.

Richard Tognetti, artistic director of the Australian Chamber Orchestra, said the team was excited to have Mr. Murray join the 25 - person orchestra. ''He's bringing a really traditional approach. We respect the sound that he brings into the orchestra. We're used to the sound of a didgeridoo but playing it in LA, New York and Richmond Virginia will be interesting for the audience,'' he said.

Another member of the orchestra, Aboriginal musician Steve Pigram, said he was proud of Mr. Murray's achievement at such a young age. ''He's coming through that thing of performing in a reggae (popular music in the West Indies) rock band, same as what I did. But he's got to this kind of level a little quicker. Well it's taken me 40 years, '' he said.