Buying folk art paintings has been a passion of mine. I found some pieces recently. The problem was that I could only afford one and I was having trouble in deciding which one to buy.

The first painting was a work of Bill Dodge. He created it in 1962 and named it First Trolley to Van Nuys. The painting shows the center of a town, with a lot of people in the windows and on the street.

Thomas Chambers is one of America’s most famous folk artists. The painting of him shows a fishing scene with villagers and boats. It may have great value in the future. But it doesn’t suit my taste.

Alligator Fisher is a folk art painting created in 1940.The blue of the bayou(海湾) is very calming and the trees give it a very Southern feel. There is a house in the painting and I like this one very much. It reminds me of Louisiana, where I was born.

A Letter from My Mother is one that I found during a journey. The look on the girl’s face is so serious and sad. The painting itself is great; it just makes me feel sad. I had no idea where this folk art painting should hang.

At last, I decided to buy the one that can give me a good mood every day. What is more important than a good mood?

Many people ask me what I think is my favorite invention.I find it very hard to answer them, because there are so many things in my life that I could choose.

However, I have chosen a pen.Do you think it’s surprising?

I know that to most people a pen is very boring, but, to me, it stands for possibility (可能性).There are so many things you can do with a pen.You could write a novel or a song, record information, or draw a picture.

For me, a pen is like the beginning of something amazing.Every day, I write a new page with my pen, and I am slowly paving a path for my future.Maybe I will be a scientist and change the world with my discoveries.Maybe I’ll become a musician and touch people’s hearts with my music.Or perhaps I will be a writer and move people through words ...or a teacher can help children grow into the people they will become.

There are so many endless possibilities as to what I will do with my life, but I know that with my pen in my hand, I will write a good future for myself. Tell me what future YOU will write for yourself!

Maybe no one forgets their first bicycle and there is no exception to a woman like me. Mine was a Schwinn coaster bike, second-hand, painted a distinctive red and yellow by its previous owner. I remember riding too fast down the big hill on Springfield Avenue. I knew at once that the world was mine to explore.

A couple of years later, when I was 11, my grandmother visited from England, bringing me a bike. It was a shiny dark green, with three gears (齿轮) and hand brakes. As the owner of the first English bicycle my neighbors had ever seen, I was, for a time, almost a star.

Unlike my coaster bike, it was light and responsive — riding it felt like flying. I rode it past big stone houses with their huge yards and trees. I rode past brick row houses. I rode alone and with groups of friends.

That beloved bike went with me to college, carrying me to the library and to classes. Beyond transport, it was often a prop (道具): pushing it along as I walked the college paths made me feel less self-conscious. Somehow, conversation flowed more easily on either side of a bike.

After college, I lived abroad for a time. Returning from London, I discovered to my horror that my parents had sold my bike. They didn’t even know who had bought it.

For years after that, I didn’t have a bicycle that was specifically mine. Teaching in a New England prep school, I simply rode whatever bikes its graduates had left behind. I rode around the little town on bikes which slipped in and out of gear, with brakes that often failed.

I did not take any of those bikes with me when I moved south to the coastal town where I now live. But after a while I missed riding. Finally, on a fall day, I bought a bicycle. Called a comfort bike, it has wider tires than my old bike and seven gears. But it is green — a brighter green bike.

Still, I was a bit apprehensive. I was out of practice and a lot older. I brought the bike home and put on my helmet — I’d never worn a helmet before. Then I got on the bike. After a tentative, slightly shaky start, I fell exactly as I was on that long-ago day on Springfield Avenue: free. Soon I was riding along. It seemed that everyone I passed smiled and waved or call out, great day for a bike ride! And I knew they all remembered their first bike and how it had set them free. I wanted to call back to them, “I still can!”