I sitatmykitchentable, while mydaughter,Anna,sitsnexttomymother. On the wall hangsa photo

I sit at my kitchen table, while my daughter, Anna, sits next to my mother. On the wall hangs a photo of my father.
“When is Rick going to be here?” My mother asks, referring to my husband.
“I don’t know, Mom,” I answer patiently. “He’ll be here for dinner.”
I sigh and get up from the table. This is at least the tenth time she has asked that question.
While my mother and daughter play, I busy myself making a salad.
“Don't put in any onions,” Mom says. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”
“Yes, Mom,” I answer.
I scrub(洗擦) off a carrot and chop it into bite-size pieces.
“Don't put any onions in the salad,” she reminds me. “You know how Daddy hates onion.”
This time I can’t answer.
My mother had been beautiful. She still is. In fact, my mother is still everything she has
been, just a bit forgetful.
I cut off the end of the cucumber and rub it to take away the bitterness. Cut and rub. This
is a trick I have learned from my mother, along with a trillion other things: cooking, sewing,
dating, laughing, thinking. I learned how to grow up.
And I learned that when my mother was around, I never had to be afraid.
So why am I afraid now?
I study my mother's hands. Her nails are no longer a bright red, but painted a light pink.
Almost no color at all. And as I stare at them, I realize I am feeling them as they shaped my
youth. Hands that packed a thousand lunches and wiped a million tears off my cheeks.
Now my hands have grown into those of my mother's. Hands that have cooked uneaten
meals, held my own daughter's frightened fingers on the first day of school and dried tears
off her face.
I grow lighthearted. I can feel my mother kiss me goodnight, check to see if the window is
locked, then blow another kiss from the doorway. Then I am my mother, blowing that same
kiss to Anna.
Outside everything is still. Shadows fall among the trees, shaped like pieces of a puzzle.
Someday my daughter will be standing in my place, and I will rest where my mother now sits.
Will I remember then how it felt to be both mother and daughter? Will I ask the same
question too many times?
I walk over and sit down between my mother and her granddaughter.
“Where is Rick?” my mother asks, resting her hand on the table next to mine. And in that
instant I know she remembers. She may repeat herself a little too much. But she remembers.
“He’ll be here,” I answer with a smile.
【小题1】What’s wrong with the writer’s mother?A．She is very old.B．She suffers forgetfulness.C．She is absent-minded.D．She is eager to see Rick.【小题2】What can we learn about the writer’s father according to the passage?A．He might have passed away for years.B．He goes out for a walk by himself.C．He is out doing something with Rick.D．He loves the writer’s mother deeply.【小题3】The underlined sentence “I realize I am feeling them as they shaped my youth” probably means that . A．Mother’s hands witnessed my growth as a youthB．Mother’s hands are similar to mine as a youthC．I like to feel mother’s hands when she was youngD．I realize her hands were exactly like those in her youth【小题4】Which of the following words best describe the writer’s mood towards her mother?A．Content.B．Disappointed.C．Loving.D．Considerate.【小题5】The best title for the passage would be .A．Mother’s beautyB．My father hates onionC．Hard-working motherD．Mother’s handsB

(答案→)B 解析：可联系答.案.网客服索取。

这个解释是对的