Scientists can’t predict earthquakes. But toads(蟾蜍)might be able to.

In the spring of 2010, Rachel Grant, a researcher in life sciences, was studying a population of toads in a large dry lake in central Italy. Common toads reproduce once a year, sometimes traveling great distances to gather at their breeding(繁殖)grounds, and Grant was looking at whether her subjects were using the cycles of the moon to coordinate their romantic encounters.

In the previous three years, she had watched the toads increase in number when the moon grew from new to full. But that year was different. The moon became almost full, and suddenly the toads were gone. “It went from there being 90 to 100 toads down to six, and then to one, and then zero,” says Grant.

“I was at a loss. Did somebody come and disturb them? Did somebody run through with a tractor? But that didn’t seem right. Toads get run over by cars all the time, and that doesn’t make them run away,” she says.

Five days after the toads disappeared, she had a possible answer: an earthquake struck in the middle of the night. The 6. 3-magnitude quake was the deadliest to hit Italy in nearly 30 years, killing roughly 300 people and leaving tens of thousands homeless.

Grant stayed to count her toads in spite of the aftershocks. When a full moon rose three days after the quake, a few toads risked a return. But then their numbers dropped again, remaining low until two days after the last aftershock-a full 10 days after the first quake. “It’s never been reported to have happened before,” says Grant. “Once they’re breeding, then they’re breeding. That’s it. “

The question now, says Grant, is whether seismologists(地震学家)can do anything with her research to try to predict the next big one. “A lot of people are asking, “Can we use them as a kind of monitoring tool, keep one at home and watch to see if they run away? “ says Grant. “That’s obviously not going to work. “ But she’s hoping something might.

I was standing in a class of wild 14-year-old girls as they threw paper and howl with laughter. They wouldn’t listen to me. І was 22 and І never wanted to teach. І wanted to be a writer. When the bell finally rang, I rushed out of the classroom, red with anger. The other teachers weren't surprised. “That's 4B, the worst class in school,” one said.

But I couldn't give up. I needed the job. So, I abandoned formal lessons. Instead, I brought topics for class discussion. One of the liveliest talks was about the arguments they had with their parents. They paid attention and shared about their lives. Then I encouraged them to write down their stories. Most wrote about families with little money and big problems. As time went on, their stories became a bridge between us. I admired their humor, toughness and insight, and I think they appreciated my interest in their lives.

The musical My Fair Lady was playing in the West End, but they had never seen a live stage performance. I suggested taking them to see it. They thought I was joking. No teacher had ever done that. A few weeks later, 4B and I were sitting in the theater. They loved the music, the costumes and the characters. It was the highlight of their year, and they talked about it for days.

Near the end of the semester, someone knocked on the door of the staff room. The two most rebellious(叛逆的) girls in 4B were there—with flowers.

Several years later, for the first time in my life, I stopped dreaming and started writing. My first story was titled "My Fair Ladies". Teaching wasn't the end of my writing career; it was the beginning.

With the holidays approaching, I sit down at my kitchen table to begin addressing holiday greeting cards.

In front of me are neatly organized piles: red and green cards with shining trees, white envelopes, various colored pens and books of postage stamps. Everything is in place to begin when I’m interrupted by a judgemental “What is that?” from my youngest daughter, Charlotte. Her eyes have just landed on my rather time-worn address book.

My address book is close to 40 years old. Its faded cover was once quite lovely, but now it is crisscrossed with tape (缠满了胶带) , and an elastic band (橡皮筋) just about keeps the bits and pieces of paper together, which are trying their best to escape confinement (束缚) .

“You still use that old thing. You know there are apps for that?”. Charlotte continues.

Written’ on these pages are the names of people who were once important in my life. This includes the names of old friends and contacts for employers and past neighbors. There are people, I came across for a short while and then never saw again, such as a guy who was cycling across Canada to raise. funds for cancer research. And, of course, there are lots and lots of family, contacts.

When I flip through the pages, I wonder what has become of many of the people—I refuse to scratch out any names (even if they have died) . All of these people were once important in. my life, but many of them have been lost to time.

My internal musings finish, I return to the present and respond to my daughter, “Yeah, darling, I know. Why don’t you show me an app to improve this mess sometime?”

“All right, Mom. Maybe next week.”

Just as I thought, she’s already moved on. It’s a good thing I have my contacts down on paper. And no matter what, I will always treasure this old, dog-eared address book as a way to remind me of who I was and the people who shaped who I’ve become.