My prose with my grandmother.

There is a bright river near the villa. There are new slides and swings for children to play on the green land on the shore, which has actually become a small children's paradise. My wife and I often go there at dusk with our four-year-old grandson. That day, my grandson pointed to the bright yellow full moon in Dongsheng and hummed to me with great interest a ballad taught by his grandmother not long ago: "Grandma Moon, yellow Baba. Dad weaves and mom spins flowers ... "Well, this is also a ballad that grandma once taught me to sing when I was a child! Suddenly, my heart is like a bird, spreading its wings from the childish voice and landing on the land of my hometown. I seem to see my grandmother again, with a gentle smile, a bun on her head, a black and blue towel around her head, a blue and blue cloth shirt with a small button around her waist, a black silk belt on her leg and a light bun wrapped around her little foot. August 24th this year coincides with the sixth anniversary of my grandmother's death/kloc-0. Recalling grandma's vivid past with deep affection, I can't help crying with joy.

Grandma Zhang was born in Taikang rural area, on the fourth day of the twelfth lunar month in the thirty-second year of Guangxu reign of Qing Dynasty (1906). He lost his father at the age of three and lost his kindness at the age of nine. When my grandmother came to my house, she went out from the family of Gao Chai Xiaozhuang (commonly known as Gao Xian). She got up before dawn the next day, went to the main room to spin flowers, and then went to the kitchen to cook. From then on, year after year, year after year. With the money accumulated from spinning flowers and weaving, she bought 40 mu of land, a bull and two fast horses (dialects, mules and horses), and together with her grandfather, she created the inheritance on which the Zhang family depended with hard work and sweat. On 40 acres of land, big ears of wheat and red sorghum grow every year. When people pass by, they will admire: "Gee, what a good harvest!" "When the wheat was yellow, my grandfather was caught by the New Fifth Army. Half a month later, he went home and looked at the glistening wheat stubble on the ground. My grandmother said, "it's over, it's over!" "

Although my grandmother is an illiterate rural woman, she is tolerant and generous, good at pushing and robbing. Because my parents died when I was a child, she regarded my great-grandparents as her own parents, so among the four sisters-in-law, she had the most face in front of her in-laws. Great-grandmother was stubborn, but people never said no to her before and after. This branch has moved from Zhang Peng Lake Village, Brick Building Township, Taikang County to Zhangzishu Village, Longqu Town. After hundreds of years of generations of reproduction and hard work, it has gradually become a prominent local family. Grandparents and brothers have their own families, but they all eat from the same stove, and sister-in-law takes turns cooking. My uncle's grandmother (commonly known as grandma) accidentally bumped into a (dialect, broken) and a basin. She looked suddenly and worried about being blamed (the population is large and poor, and bumping into a earthen basin is also a big deal), so she went to her grandmother for advice and asked timidly, "His third aunt, I am such a big person, why don't I have materials (dialect, skills)?" At noon, when I was mixing noodles, I actually hit the red bowl. What ... what ... what should I tell mom? "There are four grandparents and four brothers, so she calls my grandmother" his third aunt "according to her children. Grandma comforted her and said, "Sister-in-law, don't worry about this. When my mother asks me, she will say that I did it. " When my great-grandmother asked, she quickly said, "I made that bowl of noodles, and I didn't hold it steady." My hand slipped and hit it. " Great-grandmother first asked in surprise, "Did you fight?" Then, he simply said, "Let's fight (dialect, ending, ending, indicating tolerance, meaning not to delve into it). "

I am grandma's eldest grandson, and everyone loves me. It is said that my grandmother gave birth to twelve children in this life, and only three women and one man survived-nine daughters raised three, and three sons raised one (this is my father. His brother, younger brother and six sisters all died of illness. Before my father was born, one autumn, a fortuneteller came to the west of the village with a camel. She saw grandma wearing a black and blue towel on her head, a bamboo basket on her left arm and a bun in her right hand. She ate and walked, picking mung beans in the field. The mung bean trough in the southwest depression is black, and the pieces look like black quilts. At this time, the fortune teller who led the camel said to her grandmother, "This old woman has no children, and the third grandson is crying for her grandmother." Later, when he had a father, he "walked" in front of his grandmother at the age of 59. He didn't die for her, but he had no son. In my later years, it was really three grandchildren crying for grandma. These, indeed as expected by the camel's semi-immortal's words! My father is the only father, and my grandmother is extremely worried about the fate of one blood. In her eyes, my eldest grandson is like a star protruding from the darkening sky of the clan, and a flood gushing from the dying river of the clan's blood pool. She spoiled me and let me do whatever I want. Sometimes, she corrects every little mistake with her generous palm, just like wiping away the floating dust covering jade. My father works in the field all the year round, and my mother works in the production team all the year round. I have lived with my grandmother since I was a child and grew up under her care. In March in Tomb-Sweeping Day, my grandmother and I went for an outing to fold flowers; May Dragon Boat Festival, send me a packet of fragrant and sweet zongzi; Mid-Autumn Festival in August, give me a round and fragrant fire; On the Double Ninth Festival, I steamed big sweet potatoes to keep out the cold ... I always read her new books and write her new words. I promised in front of her old man's house more than once: "Grandma, when I grow up, I will definitely take you to my house and let you enjoy it." The most unforgettable thing is the summer night, when the moonlight is filled with the faint smell of cooking smoke. There are successive shouts of "have a cup of tea" and "lost the answer-lost the answer" in the village head willow forest. At this time, because it was too hot to work in the hall at night, grandma moved the soft bed (made of hemp rope and covered with straw mats, which was very soft to lie on) to the yard under the jujube tree to enjoy the cool. She sometimes waved a banana fan with her left hand to drive away mosquitoes for me, and pointed out with her right hand that WU GANG was dancing on the moon. Sometimes tell me "old sayings" (dialects and stories) and sing folk songs. Grandma sang: "spoon star, handle star, seven times at a time, until old." I count, too, but it's hard to count seven times at a time. I snuggled up in my grandmother's arms and listened to her humming softly. "Little Magga (dialect, magpie) is called Za, and her father-in-law plows the land and her daughter-in-law rakes the ground. Passerby, don't be ridiculous. What do you eat if you don't grow crops? " I was fascinated by the novelty, with my chin cupped. This novelty and sensitivity to things may be the original reason why I love literary creation.

When I was five years old, I lived in my second aunt's house in Gaochai (now Gaoxian) for treatment because of measles. The doctor told me not to eat cold food, but I saw a child eating watermelon and asked my grandmother for it. She couldn't beat me, so she asked the doctor, "Did you miss the distillation on the watermelon grate?" When I was seven years old, I suddenly had gastroenteritis, and my parents were far away in Weishi. My grandmother resolutely sold a fat pig she bought with wild vegetables such as dog seedlings, sprouts and rabbit acid, and gave her a hard meal, which was not enough to weigh (dialect, weight) and went to Wang Ji to see me. Twelve years old, suffering from rheumatoid arthritis, bedridden all the year round, watching the sun moving on the wall and the fine dust floating in the indoor light, the pain is unbearable, and the days are like years. My father went to Gaolang for medical advice, and my grandmother cooked soup and juice, taking good care of me day and night, praying for my early recovery, and even saying that I would rather die! Every time I think about it, I feel guilty and uneasy!

Grandma has worked hard all her life. In busy farming season, go to work in the fields. Every morning, when she hears chickens crow, she goes to the fields and comes back very late. She always lifts her blouse and wipes the sweat off her face. The black and blue blouse is wet and covered with a faint layer of white salt. Harvesting wheat in the wheat season is more complicated in autumn. -picking cotton over and over again; As soon as the mung bean horn turns black, you have to pick it quickly, or it will explode by yourself; Brush sorghum leaves to feed livestock; Sorghum is harvested in the field, using a hammer (sickle with no handle or short handle). If there is no handle, put it on the back of the knife horizontally and peel off a polished rod of sorghum pants to prevent hand injury. Hook out the sweet potato with a grab, and first pinch off the seedlings with a sickle; The sweet potatoes are planed out, picked piece by piece and stored for the winter. Grandma is very old. Although my parents and I are very filial to her and resolutely refuse to let her work in the fields, she still doesn't want to drag down her family and always wants to stand on her own feet. She often says that "children are not as good as herself". After the harvest, the wheat field is steaming and full of stubble, while my grandmother is picking up ears in the field with a pair of little feet. When I see her looking around and patrolling back and forth, my heart will be stung once, so that every time I see Lermyte's oil painting "Woman Picking Ears", I can't help but think of my grandmother.

Taikang is rich in cotton, and most women can spin flowers and weave cloth. Grandma can spin, wind, size, dye, warp, weave, cut and sew. My family has a large population and a small income. My clothes are all coarse cloth woven by my grandmother. In autumn, grandma not only distributes some cotton to the production team, but also goes to the fields where cotton and firewood are collected to pick cotton peaches that have not blossomed due to drought. On rainy days, she peeled off the flower buds, tore open the stiff petals, and beat them into floccules with wooden sticks. On the day of the fair, pull it to the florist with a cart. There is no charge for ginning, only cottonseed is left, and cotton wool is taken away (it needs to be beaten again). After you come back, spend the night with a straw mat, spread white cotton wool on the desktop, roll it up on the mat, hold one end in your left hand and roll it up a few times in your right hand, and it becomes a bud. She has to work in the production team during the day and only has time to spin flowers under kerosene lamps at night. She sat cross-legged on a futon (a round flat mat made of straw leaves) to spin flowers, and her right hand gently shook the spinning wheel. Her left thumb and forefinger hold the rolled bud and pull it straight behind her. Suddenly, her left hand was raised, the spinning wheel was spinning backwards, and white filaments were flying around the spinning spindle. Sometimes I wake up at night and hear the monotonous hum of the spinning wheel, and I scream, "Grandma, go to sleep!" " "Grandma said," I'll turn around for a while. "When I woke up again, grandma's spinning wheel was still buzzing. I feel a pain in my heart, and I can't wait to grow into a big man to repay my grandmother and reduce her burden!

Cotton yarn is spun and woven. The loom is supported at the door on the right side of the hall, with a high front and a low rear inclination. Sitting on the loom with his back to the door at three o'clock a day, a row of warp yarns will open as soon as his foot is pedaled; As soon as my right hand passed the shuttle (shaped like a jujube pit, more than a foot long, soaked in sweat and shiny), the weft thread passing through the small hole in the middle of one side of the shuttle passed between two rows of open warp threads, and in a flash, the shuttle flew out of my grandmother's left hand. Smooth shuttle from one hand to the other, flying just right every time. As the shuttle keeps flying, the homespun is woven from one end. Her body swings back and forth with the click of the loom, and her bun swings with the bright rhythm of the loom, which is vivid and beautiful. When the homespun is woven, it is rolled on the cloth bar in the arms. Grandma's mouth and eyebrows will smile imperceptibly when she sprays cloth from the cloth pole. The cloth she weaves is dense and light. White, whisker-like; Flowers, flower drops. When neighbors meet, there is nothing they don't praise. Some of them were woven into flower headscarves and went to Dajigang on the eighth day of April to catch a Xiaoman Party and put it on their heads, which attracted the attention of people all over the street.

After 90 years old, she is neither deaf nor deaf, and she can thread a needle under a lamp. Five or six months before her death, I took her to live in the city for a while, but she couldn't help herself. The thumb and forefinger of both hands are deformed and cannot be stretched out. This is the disease of spinning flowers, weaving and growing crops when she was young. Labor has formed her habit. Rest, on the contrary, has become a seemingly redundant luxury. I saw that she was still sewing, so I advised her, "Grandma, you should rest!" " Holding the needle, she said, "I have been sewing since I arrived in the Zhang family, and now I still sew again." "Complaining with some complacency. The most regrettable thing is that a few days before her death, she was lying on the hay (even being carried to the bed and coming down when she was out of sight), holding a piece of paper, picking cotton wool and picking up leaves, asking her and answering: "Work ..." Grandma worked patiently, so why didn't she have time to be idle? When I was a child, I read Gui Youguang's "A Brief Account of the Past" and said that "Confucian people don't worry about daily necessities and work hard without thinking about the future" (there is no shortage of food at home, but my mother works hard all day like she is too poor to open a pot). I think my grandmother is such a person.

Although my grandmother has no education, she never speaks sloppily, lively and literary. I worked in the countryside in my early years and taught in a rural primary school. I am busy with both hands. That autumn, the harvest was good. The yard is full of piles of ears of corn that have just been broken off from the tree. They peeled the corn overnight, braided it like braids, hung it on the branches, hung it under the eaves, dried it, and typed it out in winter during the slack season. For several nights in a row, we were so tired that we almost fell apart. I felt tired, too. Grandma said, "Eyes are afraid of hands. Looking at a lot, I slowly peeled it off. " "Eyes are afraid of hands" refers to things that are difficult to see with your own eyes, but you will always do it. The meaning is similar to walking "if you are not afraid of slowness, you are afraid of standing". There are many proverbs that are said casually-she compares people who don't talk much to "gourds have no mouths"; Describe a person who can't say beautiful words, just saying "a piece of ice, ice can't melt water in his mouth"; Educate people not to wander, just say "it's hard to make a forest by one tree", "one fence with three piles, one hero with three gangs"; Tell me not to do unreasonable things, just say "people are unreasonable, dogs scratch their tails (y ǐ)"; Admonish me to be modest and not proud, just say "water doesn't ring deep, water doesn't ring deep"; When times were hard, she warned me that "melons are neither bitter nor sweet". Her "eat raw (dialect, peanut) skin and listen to the sound" and "eat first and think later" make me mature; Her "eating others' mouths soft and taking others' hands short" taught me integrity and honesty; She reminded me that "fire can't be wrapped in paper and people can't be buried in snow", "If people want to know, they have to do it themselves" and "there is no windtight wall". When I encounter setbacks, as long as I think of my grandmother's "I don't know the pain if I don't eat coptis, and I don't know the difficulty if I don't experience difficulties", I will suddenly be enlightened. Grandma's proverbs contain endless love for her children and grandchildren. The more you taste them, the more meaningful it becomes.

Grandma's world is getting more and more empty. Looking blankly at the distance, like a lonely watchman, I hope I can spare some time to spend with her. However, during that time, I often indulged in the sadness of my father's death. In addition, the explosion occurred in my previous unit, Weishi Chemical General Factory, on July 1997, and the salary could not be paid. I am afraid of affecting her mood, worrying about her, and spending few days with my grandmother has increased her thoughts about me. I secretly made up my mind that I must visit her old man's house often in the future. My wife and I visited her that day, holding grandma's white hair gently, with tears in our eyes. She once held our hands and studied them, reluctant to let go, and her eyes gradually filled with crystal tears. Later, life became better and better, and I bought something for her every time I visited. Whether it's food, clothing or use, she always touches it gently and asks anxiously, "Is it expensive?" Then he said, "I have to do my thing. Be careful (dialect, be frugal), you will live in poverty if you have money. There are delicious noodles (dialect, wheat noodles) at home, which used to be the case for rich people. Don't miss me. " After that, he urged us to leave and said to me, "You are a public official and have something to do." She longs for our concern, but always refuses. She used to be omnipotent. In her old age, she could do nothing. To this end, she said that she felt very uncomfortable and felt guilty that she had become a burden to her children and grandchildren. It is her greatest wish to reduce trouble for her children and grandchildren.

My father died before he was sixty, which was a great blow to my grandmother. Eight months and eight days later, he died. At noon that day, I heard an owl cooing outside the window, which was creepy and frightening! It has the ability to know who is going to die, and it comes early to provide funeral service. 1999 10 In the early morning of March 3rd (August 24th of the lunar calendar), grandma really finished her 94-year life and left us forever! Nevertheless, I didn't expect it to be so soon, because she has a good appetite and a clear mind. For decades, my grandparents and grandchildren have lived alone. I couldn't attend the last meeting because I was late. I am full of regret, sadness and endless regret!

Escort grandma back to Taikang, set up a mourning hall at home, and there are endless condolences. Dress her in old clothes. This is the coat and skirt that she personally selected at Huanggang Expo before her death. After the funeral, an autumn rain lasted for three days, as if God was also sad for grandma's death. On the third day of the funeral, the autumn rain suddenly stopped. Three generations of the whole family, men, women and children, held their clothes and stopped crying, unwilling to let her body disappear from our eyes forever. Nearly a thousand villagers and I trudged on the dirt road with accumulated water, accompanying grandma to finish her last journey on earth. A new grave was lifted, and suddenly, it began to rain heavily. The strange sky cast a mysterious color on grandma's funeral. After all, few people can be as earth-shattering as grandma's funeral.

August 24th this year is the sixth anniversary of my grandmother's death/kloc-0. These days, I always stand quietly in front of my grandmother's portrait, saying nothing, with tears hanging on my skirt, but my heart is full of endless thoughts about my grandmother. Grandma, don't you feel tired when you use a pair of little feet to pick up wheat ears in the field during the transpiration season in summer? How I want to go back to the intoxicating place where the cuckoo flies and take a look at the scene where you are eager to pick up the ears of wheat in the dust; Grandma, you sit cross-legged on the futon, spinning flowers tirelessly. You must think that the spinning wheel is humming gracefully. I really want to go back to that long night and listen respectfully to the exciting rotation again. ...