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A--New Year’s Day B--Valentine’s Day C--Lantern Festival D--Carnival E--April Fool’s Day F--Easter G--Maple Syrup Festival H--Mother’s Day I--Father’s Day J--Dragon Boat Festival K--St. Patrick Day L--Moon Festival M--Nurse Day N--Pumpkin Day O--Halloween P--Labor Day Q--Thanksgiving Day R--Christmas Day S--Bank Holiday T--Spring Festival 中秋节 ( )护士节
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Charley Foley calls into the Mater Misericordia Hospital to visit his wife. "How are you feeling" he asks, sitting at the bedside, close to Dolly who is smiling up at him, her black hair resting against the white pillows. "I’m fine," Dolly says, quietly. She looks old and tired to Charley; she is deathly pale and has black pouches under her eyes. When she slips her fingers into Charley’s he notices two ugly brown liver spots on the back of her small hand. "You look tired," Charley says. " Aren’t you sleeping" "I was a bit restless last night. " Dolly does not mention the pain: she doesn’t want to upset her husband. "Any word from Linda" she asks. "She phoned again last night. I told her you were grand. I said there was nothing to worry about. " Linda, their eldest, teaches in a university in Galway. Linda will come home for the holiday in August. Their son, Colin, and his children live in Australia. Cohn hasn’t been told that his mother is unwell. Colm’s a worrier: it’s best he’s not upset. Charley gazes dreamily across the chattering hospital ward, bright with pale afternoon sunlight. Other visitors are doing their duties, gathering around the sick, bringing flowers and fruit, offering words of hope and comfort. " Have you seen the doctor again" Charley asks his wife. "Tomorrow maybe. " "Any idea how long they’ll keep you in" Dolly turns away and coughs into a tissue, then settles back. She takes Charley’s hand again. "They’ll let me know on Monday. They have to do lots more tests. They won’t let me home until they know. I’m song to be such a bother. " Dolly’s small chest heaves under her heavy nightdress. Charley thinks of a frightened bird. Sweet Dolores Delarosa he used to call her long ago when they were courting, mocking her sorrowful eyes and the way she took everything too seriously. He can’t help wondering if she made herself sick with worry. Poor Dolly Delarosa! "Don’t let them budge you until you’re absolutely better," he says. "Are you managing all right, darling" "Grand. " Charley is eating out and staying away from the house as much as possible. He’s managing all right. The minutes pass in heated tedium. Charley is watching the visitors and glancing at the small alarm clock beside his wife’s bed. He can hear its distant ticking and still recall the irritating ring when it dragged his wife from bed at the crack of dawn and moments later her breakfast sounds clattering in the kitchen keeping him awake, reminding him that there’s a day’s work ahead and children to be schooled and fed. The kids are all grown up now. Second grandchild is imminent. Time is running out. A grey face in the shaving rein’or reminds Charley of middle age and the rot ahead. Where’s the point in having money if you can’t enjoy it Why can’t clocks take their time What’s the hurry Ah—God have mercy! Dolly Dolorosa. How different might it have been without her Dolly’s eyelids droop. Her mouth opens a fraction. She looks almost dead. Moments pass slowly. "This must be very boring for you," she says, without opening her eyes. "Not at all. It does me good to see you. " "It’s not nice having to visit anybody in hospital. It’s so depressing. " "Nonsense. " Dolly settles her dark head further back against the white pillows. Grimaces for an instant then braves a smile. "You should leave now, Charley. I think I might sleep for a while. " "Are you sure" "Positive. " Charley bounces to his feet. "I’ll come in later," he says. "Please don’t. With it being Saturday the wards will be crammed with people. Leave it till the morning. Come after Mass. " "Is that what you want" "It is, darling. " Doily opens her eyes, smiles like a child. It’s been a long time since Dolly was a child. "You look tired, darling," she says. "Aren’t you sleeping" "I was a bit restless last night. " "Try to take things easy. " Dolly squeezes her husband’s hand; presses her ringed finger against his gold wedding ring. Her fingers are light as feathers. "Off you go, darling," she says. "Try to not worry. " Charley bends and kisses Dolly’s hot forehead. "I’ll see you tomorrow," he says. Dolly’s eyes close. Her fingers slip from his. Charley walks along a polished corridor and finds the exit. Outside in the bright ear park he locates his car and sits inside. He glances around at the visitors coming and going. Nurses walk past, reminding him of butterflies. What is the main idea of the passage
Telecommuter portrait: editing facts by faxJennifer Porter is the managing editor of Healthcare, a publication of the American Pharmaceutical Association. (29) her private office in her Virginia home, she assigns (30) to ten articles for each issue of the magazine. The writers send her their stories on a computer disk, usually (31) means of an overnight delivery service. Porter checks than and then sends them (32) the designer’s office in New York.Porter’s biggest problem (33) electronic publishing is training her writers. One sent the story on a wrong-sized disk; (34) used a disk that my computer couldn’t read; a third used software I couldn’t decipher.The disk problems should improve on the next issue (35) . Porter has recently invested in a modem (36) writers can send their stories directly to her computer.Porter says she is a skeptical technical consumer. I like a computer the same way I (37) a pencil. They are both tools that must work. (38) son, thing goes (39) with my electronic equipment out here in the middle of Virginia, I have to put it in the car and (40) it someplace. 32（）
Telecommuter portrait: editing facts by faxJennifer Porter is the managing editor of Healthcare, a publication of the American Pharmaceutical Association. (29) her private office in her Virginia home, she assigns (30) to ten articles for each issue of the magazine. The writers send her their stories on a computer disk, usually (31) means of an overnight delivery service. Porter checks than and then sends them (32) the designer’s office in New York.Porter’s biggest problem (33) electronic publishing is training her writers. One sent the story on a wrong-sized disk; (34) used a disk that my computer couldn’t read; a third used software I couldn’t decipher.The disk problems should improve on the next issue (35) . Porter has recently invested in a modem (36) writers can send their stories directly to her computer.Porter says she is a skeptical technical consumer. I like a computer the same way I (37) a pencil. They are both tools that must work. (38) son, thing goes (39) with my electronic equipment out here in the middle of Virginia, I have to put it in the car and (40) it someplace. 38（）
His (careless) ______ resulted in a serious car accident.
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