We have been driving in fog all morning, but the fog is lifting now. The little seaside villages are __1__, one by one. "There is my grandmother's house," I say, __2__ across the bay to a shabby old house.
I am in Nova Scotia on a pilgrimage (朝圣) with Lisa, my granddaughter, seeking roots for her, retracing (追溯) __3__memory for me. Lisa was one of the mobile children, __4__from house to house in childhood. She longs for a sense of __5__ , and so we have come to Nova Scotia where my husband and I were born and where our ancestors __6__for 200 years.
We soon__7__by the house and I tell her what it was like here, the memories __8__back, swift as the tide (潮水).
Suddenly, I long to walk again in the __9__ where I was once so gloriously a child. It still __10__a member of the family, but has not been lived in for a while. We cannot go into the house, but I can still walk __11__ the rooms in memory. Here, my mother__12__ in her bedroom window and wrote in her diary. I can still see the enthusiastic family__13__ into and out of the house. I could never have enough of being__14__ them. However, that was long after those childhood days. Lisa __15__ attentively as I talk and then says, " So this is where I __16__; where I belong. "She has__17__her roots. To know where I come from is one of the great longings of the human__18__. To be rooted is "to have an origin". We need __19__ origin. Looking backward, we discover what is unique in us; learn the__20__ of "I". We must all go home again—in reality or memory.