I still remember the last Christmas Granny spent with us. It began in the middle of November on a cold, windy day. I remember the wind because Granny’s grey hair was a mess when she arrived. That was also the day Granny moved in. Somehow, at the time, I didn’t know she was sick. Maybe I was too young, maybe she hid it too well, or maybe I was just too excited that Christmas was on the way.

After Granny moved in, she spent most of her time on the brown sofa by the fire. Sometimes she was quiet, but she seemed happy. When I wrote a letter to Father Christmas telling him about the presents I wanted, Granny made an effort to help me. Her hand was slightly shaky, but she wrote “Father Christmas, the North Pole” on the envelope.

After breakfast, Auntie Kath and my cousin David arrived. While Mum, Dad and Auntie Kath got lunch ready. David and I played outside. We raced around the garden and rolled a big snow ball to make a lovely snowman. Granny stayed inside by the fire. I remember catching her eye through the window.

“Come outside. Granny,” I called, but she just waved.

Lunch was late, but it was a loud and exciting affair.

A few weeks after that Christmas, Granny passed away. I think of her often though, especially at Christmas. Each year, I take out the music box she gave me. Inside I keep Granny’s paper hat and the letter she helped me write that Christmas. Mum gave the letter back to me some years ago when I no longer believed in Father Christmas. When I think about what makes Christmas so magical, it’s not just gifts and Father Christmas that come to mind. It’s also my memory of Granny. Now I’m the one who makes sugar biscuits each year, and I always make one in a G-shape — G for Granny.

The weather was ideal. There could not have been a more perfect day for a garden party. The gardeners had been up since dawn,cutting the lawns and sweeping them until the grass seemed to shine. As to the roses, you could not help feeling they understood that roses are the only flowers that impress people at garden parties.

Breakfast was not over before the men came to put up the big tent.

“Where do you want the tent put, mother?"

“My dear child, it is no use asking me. I'm determined to leave everything to you children this year. Forget I am your mother. Treat me as an honored guest."

But Meg could not possibly go and inspect the men. She had washed her hair before breakfast, and sat drinking her coffee with a green towel round her head, and a dark wet curl stuck onto each cheek. Jose,the butterfly,came down in a silk petticoat and a kimono jacket.

“You will have to go,Laura,you are the artistic one."

Off Laura went, still holding her piece of bread and butter. It is so delicious to have an excuse for eating outside and, besides, she loved having to arrange things; she always felt she. could do it so much better than anybody else.

Four men carried poles covered with rolls of canvas and they had big tool bags on their backs. They looked impressive. Laura wished now that she was not holding that piece of bread and butter,but there was nowhere to put it and she couldn't possibly throw it away. She blushed(脸红） and tried to look severe and even a little bit short-sighted as she came up to them.

＂Good morning,"she said,copying her mother's voice. But it sounded so awful that she was ashamed, and hesitated, like a little girl, “Oh-erm-have you come -is it about the tent?”

“That's right, miss,” said the tallest of the men, and he moved his tool bag, pushed back his straw hat and smiled down at her."That's it.”

My mother is the only living person who has never used email to send a letter. In all her life, she has never turned on a computer, opened an email account and touched the Internet. She has a phobia (恐惧症) about technology. When Dad was deadly sick she began to use a cell phone. Mom is far from the information age. She likes the way of her living. In 1955 she met her new husband. Since then she has lived in Silicon Valley. The man is an expert who is rich in computer technology.

Mom is still that farm girl, and she is proudest of it. She sees her friends and her life “real”. She shows no interest in the information and technology life. My mother experienced Depression, World War Ⅱ and the Cold War. She enjoyed country music on The Sons of the Pioneers, a Canadian broadcast. But she had no way to listen to the radio. In the age when a lot of people were moved by Churchill for the first time with radio broadcasts, she only experienced them monthly.

In her early twenties, Mom had worked in the field before she was a wife. Thus family and church became her life’s center. She was never really interested in television, though I think she enjoyed a few of the TV series we had watched before, like All in the Family. Computers, the Internet and mobile phones are simply not parts of her life. Mom disagrees with the opinion that technology can make the life easier. In her life, she sees online music, email and information which are “unreal”．

However, I can partly understand. I like to read the books in my schoolbag. And also I am a child who enjoys the online books and music. I’ve written down my love­hate feelings with my computer. Mom’s technophobia surely plays a role here, but it works for her. She’s the happiest as she is.