备考2020年高考英语一轮复习30：记叙文类阅读理解

    Zachariah Fike has an unusual hobby. He finds old military（军队的）medals for sale in antique stores and on the Internet. But unlike most collectors, Zac tracks down the medals' rightful owners, and returns them.

    His effort to reunite families with lost medals began with a Christmas gift from his mother, a Purple Heart with the name Corrado A. G. Piccoli, found in an antique shop. Zac knows the meaning of a Purple Heart-he earned one himself in a war as a soldier. So when his mother gave him the medal, he knew right away what he had to do.

    Through the Internet, Zac tracked down Corrado's sister Adeline Rockko. But when he finally reached her, the woman flooded him with questions: "Who are you？What antique shop?" However, when she hung up, she regretted the way she had handled the call. So she called Zac back and apologized. Soon she drove to meet Zac in Watertown, N.Y. "At that point, I knew she meant business," Zac says. "To drive eight hours to come to see me."

    The Piccolis grew up the children of Italian immigrants in Watertown. Corrado, a translator for the Army during WWII, was killed in action in Europe.

    Before hearing from Zac, Adeline hadn't realized the medal was missing. Like many military medals, the one Zac's mother had found was a family treasure." This medal was very precious to my parents. Only on special occasions（场合）would they take it out and let us hold it in our hands," Adeline says.

    As a child, Adeline couldn't understand why the medal was so significant. “But as I grew older,” Adeline says, "and missed my brother more and more, I realized that was the only thing we had left." Corrado Piccoli's Purple Heart medal now hangs at the Italian American Civic Association in Watertown.

    Zac recently returned another lost medal to a family in Alabama. Since he first reunited Corrado's medal, Zac says his record is now 5 for 5.

    Money with no strings attached. It's not something you see every day. But at Union Station in Los Angeles last month, a board went up with dollar bills attached to it with pins and a sign that read, "Give What You Can, Take What You Need."

    People quickly caught on. And while many took dollars, many others pinned their own cash to the board. “People of all ages, races, and socio-economic（社会经济的）backgrounds gave and took, "said Tyler Bridges of The Toolbox, which created the project. "We even had a bride in her wedding dress come up to the board and take a few dollars." Most of the bills on the board were singles, but a few people left fives, tens and even twenties. The video clip（片段）shows one man who had found a $ 20 bill pinning it to the board.

    "What I can say for the folks that gave the most, is that they were full of smiles," Bridges said. "There's a certain feeling that giving can do for you and that was apparent in those that gave the most." Most people who took dollars took only a few, but Bridges said a very small number took as much as they could.

    While the clip might look like part of a new ad campaign, Bridges said the only goal was to show generosity and sympathy. He added that he hopes people in other cities might try similar projects and post their own videos on the Internet.

    "After all, everyone has bad days and good days," he said. "Some days you need a helping hand and some days you can be the one giving the helping hand.”

    Alice Moore is a teenager entrepreneur (创业者), who in May 2015 set up her business AilieCandy. By the time she was 13, her company was worth millions of dollars with the invention of a super-sweet treat that could save kids' teeth, instead of destroying them.

    It all began when Moore visited a bank with her dad. On the outing, she was offered a candy bar. However, her dad reminded her that sugary treats were bad for her teeth. But Moore was sick of missing out on candies. So she desired to get round the warning, "Why can't I make a healthy candy that's good for my teeth so that my parents can't say no to it?" With that in mind, Moore asked her dad if she could start her own candy company. He recommended that she do some research and talk to dentists about what a healthier candy would contain.

    With her dad's permission, she spent the next two years researching online and conducting trials to get a recipe that was both tasty and tooth-friendly. She also approached dentists to learn more about teeth cleaning. Consequently, she succeeded in making a kind of candy only using natural sweeteners, which can reduce oral bacteria.

    Moore then used her savings to get her business of the ground. Afterwards, she and her father secured their first business meeting with a supermarket owner, who finally agreed to sell Moore's product-Cancandy.

    As CanCandy's success grows, so does Moore's credibility as a young entrepreneur. Moore is enthusiastic about the candy she created, and she's also positive about what the future might bring. She hopes that every kid can have a clean mouth and a broad smile.

    Meanwhile, with her parents' help, Moore is generally able to live a normal teenage life. Although she founded her company early on in life, she wasn't driven primarily by profit. Moore wants to use her unique talent to help others find their smiles. She donates 10% of AilicCandy's profits to Big Smiles. With her talent and determination, it appears that the sky could be the limit for Alice Moore.

    The 65-year-old Steve Goodwin was found suffering from early Alzheimer's (阿尔楚海默症). He was losing his memory.

    A software engineer by profession, Steve was a keen lover of the piano, and the only musician in his family. Music was his true passion, though he had never performed outside the family.

    Melissa, his daughter, felt it more than worthwhile to save his music, to which she fell asleep catch night when she was young. She thought about hiring a professional pianist to work with her father.

    Naomi, Melissa's best friend and a talented pianist, got to know about this and showed willingness to help.

    "Why do this?" Steve wondered.

    "Because she cares." Melissa said.

    Steve nodded, tears in eye.

    Naomi drove to the Goodwin home. She told Steve she'd love to hear him play. Steve moved to the piano and sat at the bench, hands trembling as he gently placed his fingers on the keys.

    Naomi put a small recorder near the piano, Starts and stops and mistakes. Long pauses, heart sinking. But Steve pressed on, playing for the first time in his life for a stranger.

    "It was beautiful." Naomi said after listening to the recording. "The music was worth saving."

    Her responsibility, her privilege, would be to rescue it. The music was sill in Steve Goodwin. It was bidden in rooms with doors about to be locked.

    Naomi and Steve met every other week and spent hours together. He'd move his fingers clumsily on the piano, and then she'd take his place. He struggled to explain what he heard in his head. He stood by the piano, eyes closed, listening for the first time to his own work being played by someone else.

    Steve and Naomi spoke in musical code lines, beats, intervals, moving from the root to end a song in a new key. Steve heard it. All of it. He just couldn't play it.

    Working with Naomi did wonders for Steve. It had excited within him the belief he could write one last song. One day, Naomi received an email. Attached was a recording, a recording of loss and love, of the fight. Steve called it "Melancholy Flower".

    Naomi heard multiple stops and starts, Steve struggling, searching while his wife Joni called him "honey" and encouraged him. The task was so hard, and Steve, angry and upset, said he was quitting. Joni praised him, telling her husband this could be his signature piece.

    Naomi managed to figure out 16 of Steve's favorite, and most personal songs. With Naomi's help, the Goodwin family found a sound engineer to record Naomi playing Steve's songs. Joni thought that would be the end. But it wasn't.

    In the months leading up to the 2016 Oregon Repertory Singers Christmas concert, Naomi told the director she had a special one in mind: "Melancholy Flower"

    She told the director about her project with Steve. The director agreed to add it to the playing list. But Naomi would have to ask Steve's permission. He considered it an honor.

    After the concert, Naomi told the family that Steve's music was beautiful and professional. It needed to be shared in public.

    The family rented a former church in downtown Portland and scheduled a concert. By the day of the show, more than 300 people had said they would attend.

    By then, Steve was having a hard time remembering the names of some of his friends. He knew the path his life was now taking. He told his family he was at peace.

    Steve arrived and sat in the front row, surrounded by his family. The house lights faded. Naomi took the stage. Her fingers. His heart.

    In the 1960s, while studying the volcanic history of Yellowstone National Park, Bob Christiansen became puzzled about something that, oddly, had not troubled anyone before: he couldn't find the park's volcano. It had been known for a long time that Yellowstone was volcanic in nature—that's what accounted for all its hot springs and other steamy features. But Christiansen couldn't find the Yellowstone volcano anywhere.

    Most of us, when we talk about volcanoes, think of the classic cone (圆锥体) shapes of a Fuji or Kilimanjaro, which are created when erupting magma (岩浆) piles up. These can form remarkably quickly. In 1943, a Mexican farmer was surprised to see smoke rising from a small part of his land. In one week he was the confused owner of a cone five hundred feet high. Within two years it had topped out at almost fourteen hundred feet and was more than half a mile across. Altogether there are some ten thousand of these volcanoes on Earth, all but a few hundred of them extinct. There is, however, a second les known type of volcano that doesn't involve mountain building. These are volcanoes so explosive that they burst open in a single big crack, leaving behind a vast hole, the caldera. Yellowstone obviously was of this second type, but Christiansen couldn't find the caldera anywhere.

    Just at this time NASA decided to test some new high-altitude cameras by taking photographs of Yellowstone. A thoughtful official passed on some of the copies to the park authorities on the assumption that they might make a nice blow-up for one of the visitors' centers. As soon as Christiansen saw the photos, he realized why he had failed to spot the caldera; almost the whole park-2.2 million acres—was caldera. The explosion had left a hole more than forty miles across—much too huge to be seen from anywhere at ground level. At some time in the past Yellowstone must have blown up with a violence far beyond the scale of anything known to humans.

    Bacteria are an annoying problem for astronauts. The microorganisms（微生物） from our bodies grow uncontrollably on surfaces of the International Space Station, so astronauts spend hours cleaning them up each week. How is NASA overcoming this very tiny big problem? It's turning to a bunch of high school kids. But not just any kids. It depending on NASA HUNCH high school class, like the one science teachers Gene Gordon and Donna Himmelberg lead at Fairport High School in Fairport, New York.

    HUNCH is designed to connect high school classrooms with NASA engineers. For the past two years, Gordon's students have been studying ways to kill bacteria in zero gravity, and they think they're close to a solution（解决方案）. "We don't give the students any breaks. They have to do it just like NASA engineers," says Florence Gold, a project manager.

    "There are no tests," Gordon says. "There is no graded homework. There almost are no grades, other than'Are you working towards your goal?' Basically, it's 'I've got to produce this product and then, at the end of year, present it to NASA.' Engineers come and really do an in-person review, and…it's not a very nice thing at time. It's a hard business review of your product."

    Gordon says the HUNCH program has an impact（影响） on college admissions and practical life skills. "These kids are so absorbed in their studies that I just sit back. I don't teach." And that annoying bacteria? Gordon says his students are emailing daily with NASA engineers about the problem, readying a workable solution to test in space.

    For Canaan Elementary's second grade in Patchogue, N.Y., today is speech day, and right now it's Chris Palaez's turn. The 8-year-old is the joker of the class. With shining dark eyes, he seems like the kind of kid who would enjoy public speaking.

    But he's, nervous. "I'm here to tell you today why you should … should…"Chris trips on the "-ld," a pronunciation difficulty for many non-native English speakers. His teacher, Thomas Whaley, is next to him, whispering support."…Vote for …me …"Except for some stumbles, Chris is doing amazingly well. When he brings his speech to a nice conclusion, Whaley invites the rest of the class to praise him.

    A son of immigrants, Chris stared learning English a little over three years ago. Whaley recalls(回想起)how at the beginning of the year, when called upon to read, Chris would excuse himself to go to the bathroom.

    Learning English as a second language can be a painful experience. What you need is a great teacher who lets you make mistakes. "It takes a lot for any student," Whaley explains, "especially for a student who is learning English as their new language, to feel confident enough to say, 'I don't know, but I want to know.'"

    Whaley got the idea of this second-grade presidential campaign project when he asked the children one day to raise their hands if they thought they could never be a president. The answer broke his heart. Whaley says the project is about more than just learning to read and speak in public. He wants these kids to learn to boast(夸耀)about themselves.

    "Boasting about yourself, and your best qualities," Whaley says, "is very difficult for a child who came into the classroom not feeling confident."

A

My First Marathon（马拉松）

    A month before my first marathon, one of my ankles was injured and this meant not running for two weeks, leaving me only two weeks to train. Yet, I was determined to go ahead.

    I remember back to my 7th year in school. In my first P.E. class, the teacher required us to run laps and then hit a softball. I didn't do either well. He later informed me that I was ＂not athletic＂.

    The idea that I was ＂not athletic＂ stuck with me for years. When I started running in my 30s, I realized running was a battle against myself, not about competition or whether or not I was athletic. It was all about the battle against my own body and mind. A test of wills!

    The night before my marathon, I dreamt that I couldn't even find the finish line. I woke up sweating and nervous, but ready to prove something to myself.

    Shortly after crossing the start line, my shoe laces(鞋带) became untied. So I stopped to readjust. Not the start I wanted!

    At mile 3, I passed a sign: ＂GO FOR IT, RUNNERS!＂

    By mile 17, I became out of breath and the once injured ankle hurt badly. Despite the pain, I stayed the course walking a bit and then running again.

    By mile 21, I was starving!

    As I approached mile 23, I could see my wife waving a sign. She is my biggest fan. She never minded the alarm clock sounding at 4 a.m. or questioned my expenses on running.

    I was one of the final runners to finish. But I finished! And I got a medal. In fact, I got the same medal as the one that the guy who came in first place had.

    Determined to be myself, move forward, free of shame and worldly labels(世俗标签), I can now call myself a ＂marathon winner＂.

B

    When I was 17, I read a magazine article about a museum called the McNay, once the home of a watercolorist named Marian McNay. She had requested the community to tum it into a museum upon her death. On a sunny Saturday, Sally and I drove over to the museum. She asked, "Do you have the address? ""No, but I'll recognize it, there was a picture in the magazine. "

    "Oh, stop. There it is!"

    The museum was free. We entered, excited. A group of people sitting in the hall stopped talking and stared at us.

    "May I help you?" a man asked. "No," I said. "We're fine." Tour guides got on my nerves. What if they talked a long time about a painting you weren't that interested in? Sally had gone upstairs. The people in the hall seemed very nosy(爱窥探的), keeping their eyes on me with curiosity. What was their problem? I saw some nice sculptures in one room. Suddenly I sensed a man standing behind me. "Where do you think you are?" he asked. I turned sharply. "The McNay Art Museum!" He smiled, shaking his head. "Sorry, the McNay is on New Braunfels Street." "What's this place?" I asked, still confused. "Well, it's our home." My heart jolted(震颤). I raced to the staircase and called out, "Sally! Come down immediately! "

    "There's some really good stuff(艺术作品）up there."She stepped down, looking confused. I pushed her toward the front door, waving at the family, saying, "Sorry, please forgive us, you have a really nice place." Outside, when I told Sally what happened, she covered her mouth, laughing. She couldn't believe how long they let us look around without saying anything.

    The real McNay was splendid, but we felt nervous the whole time we were there. Van Gogh, Picasso. This time, we stayed together, in case anything else unusual happened.

    Thirty years later, a woman approached me in a public place. "Excuse me, did you ever enter a residence, long ago, thinking it was the McNay Museum?"

    "Yes. But how do you know? We never told anyone. "

    "That was my home. I was a teenager sitting in the hall. Before you came over, I never realized what a beautiful place I lived in. I never felt lucky before. You thought it was a museum. My feelings about my home changed after that. I've always wanted to thank you."

B

    Cities usually have a good reason for being where they are, like a nearby port or river. People settle in these places because they are easy to get to and naturally suited to communications and trade. New York City, for example, is near a large harbour at the mouth of the Hudson River. Over 300 years its population grew gradually from 800 people to 8 million. But not all cities develop slowly over a long period of time. Boom towns grow from nothing almost overnight. In 1896, Dawson, Canada, was unmapped wilderness(荒野). But gold was discovered there in 1897, and two years later, it was one of the largest cities in the West, with a population of 30,000.

    Dawson did not have any of the natural conveniences of cities like London or Paris. People went there for gold. They travelled over snow-covered mountains and sailed hundreds of miles up icy rivers. The path to Dawson was covered with thirty feet of wet snow that could fall without warming. An avalanche(雪崩) once closed the path, killing 63 people. For many who made it to Dawson, however, the rewards were worth the difficult trip. Of the first 20,000 people who dug for gold, 4,000 got rich. About 100 of these stayed rich men for the rest of their lives.

    But no matter how rich they were, Dawson was never comfortable. Necessities like food and wood were very expensive. But soon, the gold that Dawson depended on had all been found. The city was crowded with disappointed people with no interest in settling down, and when they heard there were new gold discoveries in Alaska, they left Dawson City as quickly as they had come. Today, people still come and go — to see where the Canadian gold rush happened. Tourism is now the chief industry of Dawson City — its present population is 762.

    The light from the campfire brightened the darkness, but it could not prevent the damp cold of Dennis's Swamp (沼泽地) creeping into their bones. It was a strange place. Martin and Tom wished that they had not accepted Jack's dare. They liked camping, but not near this swamp.

    "So," Martin asked as they sat watching the hot coals. "How did this place get its name?"

    "Are you sure you want to hear it? It's a scary story," warned Jack.

    "Of course!" cried out Tom. "If there were anything to be scared of, you wouldn't have chosen this place!"

    "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you," said Jack, and he began this tale.

    "Way back in time, a man called Dennis tried to start a farm here. He built that cottage over there to live in. In those days, the area looked quite different—it was covered with tall trees and the swamp was a crystal-clear river. After three hard years, Dennis had cleared several fields and planted crops. He was so proud of his success that he refused to listen to advice.

    "'You are clearing too much land,' warned one old man. 'The land is a living thing. It will hit back at you if you abuse it. '"

    "'Silly fool,' said Dennis to himself. 'If I clear more land, I can grow more crops. I'll become wealthier. He's just jealous!'"

    "Dennis continued to chop down trees. Small animals that relied on them for food and shelter were destroyed. He was so eager to expand his farm that he did not notice the river flowing slowly towards his door. He did not notice salt seeping to the surface of the land. He did not notice swamp plants choking all the native plants."

    "What happened?" Martin asked. It was growing colder. He trembled, twisting his body closer to the fire.

    "The land hit back—just as the old man warned," Jack shrugged. "Dennis disappeared. Old folks around here believe that swamp plants moved up from the river and dragged him underwater. His body was never found."

    "What a stupid story," laughed Tom. "Plants can't …" Before he had finished speaking, he screamed and fainted (晕倒). The other two boys jumped up with fright, staring at Tom. Suddenly, they burst out laughing. Some green swamp ivy (常春藤) had covered Tom's face. It was a while before Tom could appreciate the joke.

    Grey clouds move as low as smoke over the treetops at Lolo Pass. The ground is white. The day is June 10. It has been snowing for the past four days in the Bitterroot Mountains. Wayne Fairchild is getting worried about our trek over the Lolo Trail—95 miles from Lolo Montana to Weippe in Idaho, across the roughest country in the West. Lewis and Clark were nearly defeated 200 years ago by snowstorms on the Lolo. Today Fairchild is nervously checking the weather reports. He has agreed to take me across the toughest, middle section of the trail.

    When Lewis climbed on top of Lemhi Pass, 140 miles south of Missoula, on August 12, 1805, he was astonished by what was in front of him; "high mountain chains still to the West of us with their tops partially covered with snow." Nobody in what was then the US knew the Rocky Mountains existed, with peaks twice as high as anything in the Appalachians back East.

    Today their pathway through those mountains holds more attraction than any other ground over which they traveled, for its raw wilderness is an evidence to the character of two cultures: the explorers who braved its hardships and the Native Americans who prize and conserve the path as a sacred (神圣的) gift. It remains today the same condition as when Lewis and Clark walked it.

    The Lolo is passable only from July to mid-September. Our luck is holding with the weather, although the snow keeps getting deeper. As we climb to Indian Post Office, the highest point on the trail at 7, 033 ft, we have covered 13 miles in soft snow, and we hardly have enough energy to make dinner. After a meal of chicken, I sit on a rock on top of the ridge (山脊). There is no light visible in any direction, not even another campfire. For four days we do not see another human being. We are occupied with the things that mix fear with joy. In our imagination we have finally caught up with Lewis and Clark.

    Every person plans to run off to some tropical isle, but few do. Real life, family, work, and monetary limitations get in the way. Ian Fleming let none of these considerations stop him.

    After the war, Fleming set down his schedule. The first week of January saw him leave England and travel to Jamaica. The first week of March saw his return. He accepted his job at Kemsley newspapers without compromise—this portion of the year would be set aside for Jamaica or he would look elsewhere for employment.

    For 6 years Fleming traveled each winter to Jamaica, lounging in paradise, romancing women, chasing the sunset, but it was not until he faced the pressure of a married woman who was pregnant with his child did Fleming start the writer's journey which would change his life and popular culture forever. As Fleming waited in Jamaica for Anne's divorce to become final, he wrote the first draft of a novel, Casino Royale.

    Fleming's career as a writer deserves more examination than can be offered here, but suffice it to say, over the next 12 years, Ian Fleming transformed his elite existence, his arrogance, his style, and his acid wit into some of the greatest thrillers ever written. Fleming incurred the respect of authors as diverse as Raymond Chandler, Kingsley Amis, and Edith Sitwell. His fans included John, Jackie, and Bobby Kennedy, and his social circle included Prime Minister Anthony Eden, Evelyn Waugh, and Somerset Maugham.

    Fleming filled out the 12 years of Bond with great adventure journalism. Even in stories which had little action or pay off, such as his short non-fiction book, The Diamond Smugglers, the "Fleming-flair" ensured exciting reading. He wrote the "Atticus" column for the Sunday Times, proving a wonderful conduit for inside intelligence information, and clever rebukes (指责).

    Regardless of book sales or family obligations, Fleming managed to live the life he wanted. As the years passed, his passion for golfing increased so he took more time with it. Fleming's long-term fascination with America grew, so he traveled there more often.

    Ian Fleming's full life caught up with him through his heart. It may be that years of drinking and smoking took their toll, or that the butter-rich cooking Fleming loved was the culprit. Or maybe it was just genetics. Whatever the cause, Fleming's health declined in the late 1950s. This plus anxieties in the marriage increased Fleming's depression. With the success of Bond, the world came knocking at Fleming's door, and he had a harder time shutting those out that he did not want in his life.

    Nonetheless, Fleming fought the loosing battle of his weakening heart by throwing more fuel on the fire. He continued to drink and smoke, making some excuses but not many. He wrote books he wanted to read, and traveled the world with style and authority. By this time, Fleming had already earned his own fortune, created his own identity, and ruled his own literary empire.

    We've all had cases where we've waited just a bit too long to pay an electric bill or speeding ticket. But one man, from California by reasonable assumption, who goes by "Dave", recently took procrastination (拖延) one step further, by paying a parking ticket almost a half-century after it was given.

    In December 2018, the Minersville Police Department in Pennsylvania received a letter in the mail. Whoever wrote the letter decided it was best to keep his name somewhat unknown, so he put the return address as "Wayward Road, Anytown California" under the name "Feeling guilty".

    When the officers opened the envelope, they found a brief letter, along with a $5 bill, and a parking ticket dating all the way back to 1974. The note read, "Dear PD, I've been carrying this ticket around for 40 plus years always intending to pay. Forgive me if I don't give you my info. With respect, Dave."

    Even though the initial parking ticket was only for $2, "Dave" must have felt awfully guilty because he left 150 percent, or $3, in interest.

    Michael Combs, the Police Chief of the Minersville Police Department, stated in an interview that the same ticket would cost about $20 if it were given today. Combs went on to share that the original ticket from 1974 was given to a vehicle that had an Ohio license plate.

    Because there was no system for tracking tickets given to out-of-state cars back then, "Dave" could have gotten away with never paying the $2 fine. But apparently, guilt got the best of him, and he decided to finally cough up the money more than 40 years past its due date.

    One day when I was 12, my mother gave me an order: I was to walk to the public library, and borrow at least one book for the summer. This was one more weapon for her to defeat my strange problem—inability to read.

    In the library, I found my way into the "Children's Room." I sat down on the floor and pulled a few books off the shelf at random. The cover of a book caught my eye. It presented a picture of a beagle. I had recently had a beagle, the first and only animal companion I ever had as a child. He was my secret sharer, but one morning, he was gone, given away to someone who had the space and the money to care for him. I never forgot my beagle.

    There on the book's cover was a beagle which looked identical (相同的)to my dog. Iran my fingers over the picture of the dog on the cover. My eyes ran across the title, Amos, the Beagle with a Plan. Unknowingly, I had read the title. Without opening the book, I borrowed it from the library for the summer.

    Under the shade of a bush, I started to read about Amos. I read very, very slowly with difficulty. Though pages were turned slowly, I got the main idea of the story about a dog who, like mine, had been separated from his family and who finally found his way back home. That dog was my dog, and I was the little boy in the book. At the end of the story, my mind continued the final scene of reunion, on and on, until my own lost dog and I were, in my mind, running together.

    My mother's call returned me to the real world. I suddenly realized something: I had read a book, and I had loved reading that book. Everyone knew I could not read. But I had read it. Books could be incredibly wonderful and I was going to read them.

    I never told my mother about my "miraculous" (奇迹般的) experience that summer, but she saw a slow but remarkable improvement in my classroom performance during the next year. And years later, she was proud that her son had read thousands of books, was awarded a PhD in literature, and authored his own books, articles, poetry and fiction. The power of the words has held.