Reading | Fudging grandmother

Author:Banyue talk about new media Time:2022.08.10

My grandmother has died for many years, and no matter how many times she dreamed of her, it seems that she refuses to go back to the threshold. I remember that she once said that the dead person must not return, even in a dream. Ominous.

But I think she, I really think. She had to be fictional. She was still alive.

I dipped in tears and wiped her photo frame, hoping that she could continue to breathe for her, so that her smile was endless in the reincarnation.

In the memory, the grandmother has a specific posture, that is, tied some scattered firewood and placed it on the side of the kitchen. As if tied up the old days, it was stacked in the corner of the memory, waiting for a fire to make them ahead.

Another posture was that she waved a big broom and cleaned up the dust in the yard. The grandmother loves to be clean, and occasionally the wind comes, she will say happily that the wind can help her blow the yard.

The spider in summer was crazy to weave the web of insects, but the grandmother was always keen to destroy them and relentlessly with a broom. On one occasion, I saw a raindrops hanging on a spider web. Suddenly, I felt a little distressed, and I felt that the persistent spirit of the spider was moving. Speaking of this with her grandmother, she didn't respond, but she rarely broke it later.

An older grandmother always worried about seasonal changes. In summer, she will say to the busy son in the farmland: "Come on winter, then you are also good for cat winter, and take a break." And when winter arrives, she will wipe my hand frostbite cream again, while Said: "Damn winter, let's pass it, see what the grandson is frozen ..."

The words that my grandmother said in the early years, like a wind chime hanging on the eaves, swaying day by day, and dingling at night.

My grandmother loves lotus seeds. I often put a few of them when I boil porridge, and do not pull off the lotus heart. It is said that eating bitterness can make the taste sensitive and more enthusiastic about food. Therefore, every autumn, she can see her go to the pond to pick the lotus puff.

On a lotus puff, every bitter lotus seeds live in a room alone. Lianxin was bitter, but after Xie Luo was in a glorious and no longer, he passed the unique fragrance to mortals in the world. I consciously believe that the reason why lotus seeds are not rot is not hard, but because of its compassion.

All this is like my grandmother.

In the early autumn streets, the person selling lotus ponds, the ponds of the pond, were integrated into the most ordinary fireworks on the streets of the city. The grandmother chose it with my heart, as if looking for himself who lost his previous life.

At this moment, my fictional grandmother is still alive to love us. The fictional grandmother walked in my text, and I carefully worded, for fear of any inappropriate sentence to trip her.

I would like this vicissitudes of the world, never climb her forehead; I hope the wind is always blowing, so that she will never fall to the ground; hope that her pair of ticked lotus hands can show a trace of sweet atmosphere.

Grandma was always worried that we were cold, so we sewed some small mats, let us put under the buttocks. Leading her to the market, the irregular stalls were all over the place, and the old lady who was on the age could still be flexibly bypassed. My grandmother was afraid of clocks and always said that there was a monster in it. Is she rejected the old -fashioned hanging clock because she was already aging and shaking her. The ruthless pointer was still walking around?

Before his death, his grandmother had lost it once. The police at the police station said that the old lady repeated two numbers: 4 and 23. They entered these two numbers according to the local identity card encoding, like the deciphering Mos password. By screening and comparison, I finally locked my father -my grandmother still remembered the birthday of her child. After everything stagnated and cooled, only the heart of the love son never changed warmly.

My fictional grandmother still lives in the world, lives beside me, and when I write my head in the middle of the night, she will be stunned by her: staying up late hurts the body and go to sleep. I listen obediently, like a child.

Good night, my dear grandmother.