Some years ago, writing in my diary used to be a usual activity. I would return from school and spend the expected half hour recording the day’s events, feelings, and impressions in my little blue diary. I did not really need to express my emotions by way of words, but I gained a certain satisfaction from seeing my experiences forever recorded on paper. After all, isn’t accumulating memories a way of preserving the past?

When I was thirteen years old, I went on a long journey on foot in a great valley, well-equipped with pens, a diary, and a camera. During the trip, I was busy recording every incident, name and place

I came across. I felt proud to be spending my time productively, dutifully preserving for future generations a detailed description of my travels. On my last night there, I wandered out of my tent, diary in hand. The sky was clear and lit by the glare of the moon, and the walls of the valley looked threatening behind their screen of shadows. I automatically took out my pen„。 At that point, I understood that nothing I wrote could ever match or replace the few seconds I allowed myself to experience the dramatic beauty of the valley. All I remembered of the previous few days were the dull characterizations I had set down in my diary。

Now, I only write in my diary when I need to write down a special thought or feeling. I still love to record ideas and quotations that strike me in books, or observations that are particularly meaningful. I take pictures, but not very often—only of objects I find really beautiful. I’m no longer blindly satisfied with having something to remember when I grow old. I realize that life will simply pass me by if I stay behind the camera, busy preserving the present so as to live it in the future。

I don’t want to wake up one day and have nothing but a pile of pictures and notes. Maybe I won’t have as many exact representations of people and places; maybe I’ll forget certain facts, but at least the experiences will always remain inside me. I don’t live to make memories—I just live, and the memories form themselves。

51. Before the age of thirteen, the author regarded keeping a diary as a way of ______。 A. observing her school routine B. expressing her satisfaction C. impressing her classmates D. preserving her history

52. What caused a change in the author’s understanding of keeping a diary? A. A dull night on the journey。 B. The beauty of the great valley。

C. A striking quotation from a book。 D. Her concerns for future generations。 53. What does the author put in her diary now?

A. Notes and beautiful pictures。 B. Special thoughts and feelings。

C. Detailed accounts of daily activities。 D. Descriptions of unforgettable events。 54. The author comes to realize that to live a meaningful life is ______。 A. to experience it B. to live the present in the future

C. to make memories D. to give accurate representations of it

Mothers and daughters go through so much—yet when was the last time a mother and daughter sat down to write a book together about it all? Perri Klass and her mother, Sheila Solomon Klass, both gifted professional writers, prove to be ideal co-writers as they examine their decades of motherhood, daughterhood, and the wonderful ways their lives have overlapped (重叠)。

Perri notes with amazement how closely her own life has mirrored her mother’s: both have full-time careers; both have published books, articles, and stories; each has three children; they both love to read. They also love to travel—in fact, they often take trips together. But in truth, the harder they look at their lives, the more they acknowledge their big differences in circumstance and basic nature。 A child of the Depression (大萧条)， Sheila was raised in Brooklyn by parents who considered education a luxury for girls. Starting with her college education, she has fought for everything she’s ever accomplished. Perri, on the other hand, grew up privileged in the New Jersey suburbs of the 1960s and 1970s. For Sheila, wasting time or money is a crime, and luxury is unthinkable while Perri enjoys the occasional small luxury, but has not been successful at trying to persuade her mother into enjoying even the tiniest thing she likes。 Each writing in her own unmistakable voice, Perri and Sheila take turns exploring the joys and pains, the love and bitterness, the minor troubles and lasting respect that have always bonded them together.

Sheila describes the adventure of giving birth to Perri in a tiny town in Trinidad where her husband was doing research fieldwork. Perri admits that she can’t sort out all the mess in the households, even though she knows it drives her mother crazy. Together they compare thoughts on bringing up children and working, admit long-hidden sorrows, and enjoy precious memories。

Looking deep into the lives they have lived separately and together, Perri and Sheila tell their mother-daughter story with honesty, humor, enthusiasm, and admiration for each other. A written account in two voices, Every Mother Is a Daughter is a duet (二重奏) that produces a deep, strong sound with the experiences that all mothers and daughters will recognize。