Qingming Thoughts and Essays

Yesterday was the Tomb-Sweeping Day, and the weather was wet and sentimental.

In fact, the weather is capricious these days. It happened that the heating at home was turned off and it became cold, and the weather also joined in the fun. It turned 180 degrees. The sun had been bright and warm for many days, and the sky suddenly turned dark and gray with dark clouds. From time to time, the wind was blowing, and the trees were blown away. It was also swaying to and fro, and the strong wind blew through the trees and across the fields, making a whining sound, as if God was crying, looking heartbroken. It rained heavily during the Qingming Festival, but luckily, God, it finally managed to hold back its sadness and did not shed tears. It was a sad scene where I wanted to cry but had no tears. The weather has the flavor of winter again, the season seems to have returned to light winter, and there is a chill both indoors and outdoors! The clothes I had changed on my body became heavy again. I know that the Tomb-Sweeping Day is coming, and God is cooperating with the world to pay homage to the dead. So these days, my mood becomes solemn and heavy.

Space Friends have many articles and comments about Qingming. They are either in memory of parents, grandparents, spouses or friends. After reading them, I feel quite sad. Things in the world are impermanent, and there are no laws in life. I can only express my condolences and accept the change, and can't help but say a few words of comfort. At the end, I couldn't help but think of the scene when I was a child visiting the graves with my parents.

After many years, the memory is not so clear, and has been washed away and polished by the flowing water of time, making it blurry and rough. I vaguely remember that before I entered junior high school, I was always there on every memorial day. In fact, when I visit the graves of my parents, it’s not because I miss them. I have never seen my grandparents since I was born. According to my father, my grandmother passed away when he was more than two years old. My grandfather also passed away when he was eight years old, so he was basically an orphan. He first lived in the second grandfather’s house. When you are old, you can only separate your family and live another life when you start a family. Because I don’t have the impression of my grandparents in my mind. In that era of material scarcity, having a picture was a luxury. There are no photos of my grandparents preserved at home, so I can’t say I have feelings for my grandparents. The reason why I go there with my father every time Burning paper is a greedy thing in the stomach, in order to eat the delicious offerings left on the plate after burning the paper. According to adults, only by leaving some dishes for people who burn paper can the ancestors eat them. Every time my father went to burn paper, I was the youngest in the family. My brothers and sisters didn’t follow me. I was just a follower, following behind my father and walking on the dusty road carrying a paper basket. Life was difficult at that time. Every festival day, my mother would stir-fry vermicelli stewed with cabbage and pork, and deep-fried fried pancakes. At that time, they were the most beautiful delicacies. My mother would not cook them on ordinary days, only when guests came to the house. Or I only cook it on days like this, so it is a very luxurious and rare opportunity to eat it. Being a glutton, I will seize such an opportunity and never let it go.

My ancestral grave is not far away, on a huge piece of wasteland in the west of the village. Separated from a north-south dirt road and canal, there is a bridgehead in the south of the village. Cross the lime bridge and walk three to four hundred meters along the road to a fork. Go down for about twenty meters and you will arrive. The road below is a winding path. The soil underfoot is exposed and dusty from time to time. When walking, the cloth shoes are covered with fine dust. It is a huge deserted beach. Red willows are the sonorous roses of the wilderness. It is dotted with red willow piers. When the fine red willow flowers bloom in the golden autumn and October, it is the most beautiful time for the deserted beach. The rest of the time All relatively monotonous. My family's ancestral grave is located within a few dozen meters of this area, a square piece of land densely covered with red willow branches, which is extremely green and lush. I heard from my father that there are several generations of people buried there. There are winding paths and overgrown grass. I always follow my father carefully, for fear of stepping on the heads of my ancestors.

My father first burned some paper on the grave, and then burned a pile of paper on the grave of his grandparents.

When burning paper, my father would silently and reverently offer the dishes in front of the tombstone, and then sprinkle the memorial soup in front of the tomb. My father would lead us family members to kneel down in a semicircle around the tombstone, facing the tombstone one by one, and then gather together. A pile of firewood was lit, and my father took the offerings, smashed some oil cakes and put them into the fire, and then pulled some vegetables from the cakes. Then we followed my father and burned the paper money one by one to the ancestors, constantly talking about grandpa. If grandma comes to collect the money, it should be a Qingming paper or something that matches each sacrificial day, such as July 15th.

Every time I follow my father to burn paper for my ancestors, I will follow my mother to burn paper for my grandparents. We are in the fourth team, and my grandma’s family is in the third team. My grandpa and grandma’s graves are next to their original old house. We have to walk a long way and climb over a large sand nest full of Elaeagnus trees. When my grandpa was alive, I often dug through that sand nest. Every time during the Chinese New Year and holidays, my mother would cook something delicious alone, and she would always ask me to dig through the sand and ridges to deliver it to my grandpa. Grandpa's house is far away from the village. It is a low thatched house, located alone on a plain, surrounded by some Elaeagnus trees and farmland. I have never met my grandma either. My grandma passed away when my mother was eight years old. I only have my grandpa in my mind. Grandpa lived to be seventy-eight years old. When she left, my mother said that I was still stupid. During the family funeral, I was The youngest grandson, others were kneeling under the coffin and mourning, but I was the only one who was still running around and playing without any sadness. I still have some memories of my grandfather.

Grandpa has four sons and two daughters. During the natural disaster three years ago, my uncle, second uncle, and third uncle could not stand the torture of hunger and cold (some people were starved to death at that time). On a dark and windy night, they fled to Xinjiang and have since landed there. root. Grandpa lived with his uncle. The three uncles lived in Xinjiang for several years. After they settled down and the conditions were a little better, they did not forget their relatives at home and moved their fourth uncle and grandpa there. However, within a few years, they had already moved there. It was the seventy-five-year-old grandpa who was not used to the life there. He was homesick and couldn't bear to leave his old house. It was probably because he wanted to return to his roots. No matter how hard several uncles tried to persuade him to stay, the stubborn grandpa just didn't want to stay in Xinjiang. In the end, his uncle We had no choice but to let our stubborn grandpa come back alone.

From then on, my aunt and my mother took turns taking care of my grandfather. In that era when material was scarce and we lived on centimeters without food or clothing, our family lived in poverty. On Mother's Day, we scrimped on food and clothing and lived on a budget. Usually, the meals we ate were mostly made of whole grains, such as corn balls or porridge, yellow rice, yellow rice, etc. Rice soup and the like. The vegetables are basically pickles, radish, potatoes or picked wild vegetables. The steamed buns eaten are all made from black flour and cornmeal mixed with some angodia dates. It is not possible to eat white rice and noodles every day like now. It is a luxury to eat a few meals of white noodles every now and then. Only when guests come, my mother will make egg noodles. Furthermore, only on the night of New Year's Eve can the family have a hearty and hearty meal of soup and noodles. According to the adults, this meal must be a filling one. After eating, you will not go hungry throughout the year. My mother also left some food left in order to have more than enough every year. So at that time, we looked forward to the stars and the moon, and especially wanted to celebrate the New Year, with good food to eat, new clothes to wear, and firecrackers to set off. Since grandpa came, our family seems to have cooked New Year’s meals every day (actually, grandpa is the only one who enjoys it, so we still do it as usual). Mother gets up at dawn every day, beats a poached egg for grandpa, and soaks it with corn flour made specially for grandpa. The cakes were placed on my grandpa’s bed, but we were only greedy.

At noon, my mother came back from work, mixed a ball of dough slightly larger than an egg, made it into rolled dough, cooked it in a pot under boiling water, and put it in a bowl, no more, no less. For a bowl of noodles, pour some clear oil with an iron spoon, put it into a large iron pot, take it out after refining the oil, put the prepared chopped green onions into the spoon, the aroma will immediately overflow, then pour the chopped green onion oil on the noodles, Mother mixed it again and again with chopsticks, and suddenly, the aroma filled the courtyard both inside and outside the house. Even standing on the road outside the door, one could smell the tangy aroma of chopped green onion noodles.

I watched eagerly as my mother brought the most delicious bowl of noodles in the world to my grandpa, and I stood beside him, salivating as I watched my grandpa swallowing it one bite at a time. My grandfather was always sweating from the food, and his face was stained. Hua also stopped to stroke his beard from time to time, and the wrinkles on his face rippled away like waves in a lake. At the end of the meal, my grandpa would always leave me a few bites. I could not wait to take the bowl, quickly suck the noodles into my mouth with a slurping sound, and then chew slowly and savor the rare taste. It tasted really good. It was so beautiful, and now that I think about it, I feel like I'm in heaven.

At noon, my mother was afraid that grandpa would be lonely. Grandpa liked to play Niujiu cards, so he asked me to find some old men in the village to play cards with him. In my courtyard, the gate faces east, the rooms on the north and south are housing, the kitchen and utility room are on the left, and the guest room is to the west, where my grandpa plays cards. Every noon, the midday sun shines in through the window, and the room where grandpa plays cards is filled with warm sunlight. I sat next to my grandpa and read the cards. Over time, I also learned some tricks. Sometimes I would talk too much and let my grandpa know his cards, which would cause my grandpa to look at me sideways. Nowadays, I get a headache when I see mahjong, double buckle, and half a bottle of jealousy in Landlord. Only playing Niujiupai is easy and perfect. It is also my favorite way of entertainment with my friends. This special way of entertainment turns out to be Thanks to those days when my grandpa was at my house.

It was the same in the afternoon, with smoke rising from the kitchen. My mother came back from her work in the fields. It was already dark. She would still make my grandpa a bowl of noodles mixed with chopped green onions. The aroma was so fragrant that I could also share a few bites. Even though my mother was so considerate to my grandpa, for some reason, my grandpa would go to my aunt's house after staying for a few days. He was very stubborn. Every time my father and mother tried their best to persuade me, I couldn't keep him. I always pulled one of my grandpa's arms with tears in my eyes. I didn't let go, but grandpa still stubbornly left, leaving me empty and disappointed.

However, after a while, grandpa came again with a smile on his face. As soon as grandpa came, I was elated and beaming. Unfortunately, that time did not last only a few years, and my grandpa left us, leaving us with endless thoughts.

When I was young and didn’t know the feeling of sadness, I went to burn paper and couldn’t understand the sadness of adults. In my memory, apart from my grandpa’s passing, I have never truly experienced the pain of separation or death.

Ever since I graduated from junior high school and went to school and studied away from my hometown, I can only catch up with the paper-burning festival when I go back to my hometown during the Chinese New Year. It was for food, but I truly understood the meaning of burning paper and remembering my ancestors. Since getting married and living far away from home, I have not visited the grave again. Over the years, paper burning has become a matter for my father and second brother.

I have been away from home for more than 20 years, and these things occasionally overflow in the long river of my memory, sometimes light and sometimes heavy, sometimes thick and sometimes light, sometimes shallow and sometimes deep, crossing my heart. Whenever this time , my heart flew back to my distant hometown, the ancestral tombs covered with red willows, and said: "Ancestors, the younger generation is here to see you. How are you in heaven?"

That voice echoed in the empty wilderness for a long time, as if the ancestors of heaven were responding to me: "Okay? Okay? Okay, okay..."