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Welcome to Listen - "Just Love to Read"
"Just Love to Read"
This week continues to recommend three excellent works for you
They are
There is no better happiness in life than a bath" excerpt
"Two Dollar Love"
Grandpa's Felt Boots
The three moderators used their voices
Take you to experience the beauty of life
Reader: Zhuo Zhen
Xiamen Music Radio Host
Works and authors
Works: Excerpt from "There is No Happiness in Life Than Taking a Bath"
Cai Lan, writer, host, representative works include "Cai Lan Sigh Famous Dishes", "Tonight No Defense" and so on.
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Author/Cai Lan
When it comes to bathing, the high-level enjoyment is the so-called open-air bath of the Japanese hot spring, looking at the endless maple leaves, the blue sky, and a blank in the brain, letting the hot water touch every cell, not envying the gods.
Bath amenities are served at the hotel, and the traditional place gives a rectangular towel, not a modern towel, soaking the cloth in cold water, twisting out the water droplets and then stacking them on the forehead, so that the blood will not rush to the head, which is the secret of hot springs.
A good hotel should have a waiter serve a flat wooden box, ride a few bottles of sake, float in the pool, and let the guests chat while drinking.
I also tried the local open-air bath when I traveled in Denmark, and I remember looking up at the pollution-free sky and countless stars at the night. The waiter hurriedly got up, was taken to the frozen lake, drilled a hole, the whole person immersed in the hole, awakened the nerves of the whole body, and with the jump, at this time the heat emitted by the body mixed with the cold air from the outside world, forming a steamy dress, white and misty, beautiful beyond words.
I also went to an old apartment in New York and found that the bath was a little larger than the washbasin, a square thing, and very tall, and it was necessary to climb up to meditate into the bath, but the water only soaked down to the thighs. Friends say it's a Jewish building, do they also take a shower? I want to use a towel at most to rub my body.
I think the basic condition of modern life is a bathtub, and the flush is the fatigue of the day. The soaking tub should be peaceful and tranquil.
In foreign hotels, try to have a TV set in the opposite wall of the bathtub, through the glass of anti-fog water, fortunately, there is no wonderful program, otherwise it will be soaked to peel.
The ideal bathroom should be set up in a room of about a thousand square feet, empty and unpretentious. In the middle is a classical-style enamel bathtub with a wooden floor underneath, and the sunlight shines through one side, through the window frame, creating several rays of light on the steam of hot water.
In Japan, go to a public bath. Passing by the sushi restaurant, having a seizure, I went in for a drink or two, and talked to an old man sitting next to me, who sighed and said, "Alas, I have seen countless naked lives." "I think this old man talks philosophically. After arriving at the bathroom, he learned that he was in charge of the bathhouse, sitting on a high platform and watching the men and women come out of the bath.
Outside the bathroom, there is a huge "soup" written on it, divided into "male soup" and "female soup", the Japanese "soup", to make hot water solution, we are used to use the "soup" in the "soup noodles". Walked in to see a large bath, jumped in and jumped out immediately, the water was hot.
Years of work on location have taken me through various bathing experiences. On the banks of the Ganges River in India, soak in yellow muddy water with the masses. In the deep mountains of Korea, bathing in the cold and clear spring water, I feel that it is a pity that this is used to make tea.
Thai country hotel, halfway through the shower, dozens of centipedes crawled out of the mouth of the flowing cave, and had to rush out of the corridor naked and shout loudly, and the hotel workers laughed. After a few months, when I finally finished and returned to the so-called civilized society, the first thing I did was to rent a large hotel and take a hot bath.
Reader: Yu Wei
Host of Xiamen Economic Traffic Radio
Works: "Two Dollars in Love"
Ebel Fields: American writer
Author/Ebel Fields
On a warm spring afternoon, while I was sorting through the bookshelves, I stumbled upon the broken two dollars sandwiched in the Bible. At that moment, the sunlight stirred the air and dust, rolling up the vortex of time. For many years, I have deliberately searched for it, looking for the difficult feelings it carries, and today I finally got my wish.
On this broken two dollars, engraved the love of my father and mother's life. More than 50 years ago, my father met my mother and fell in love with him at first sight. One of them was the son of a poor gardener, and the other was the pearl in the palm of the owner of a large estate. Naturally, this marriage between rich and poor is not allowed. Finally, when her mother finished her studies, her young and vigorous father took her out of her homeland and traveled thousands of miles to a distant northern town to settle down. On the day of arrival, my father took out the only two dollars left and told my mother that this was just enough for a person to pay for the way back to their hometown, and if you regretted it, you can leave at any time. Mother took the two dollars, tore them in half, and then gave half of them to her father, saying that only death could separate us.
Life slowly unfolded in this long roll, fortunately, the father was young and strong, and soon found a livelihood to support the family; and the mother was industrious and dexterous, often looking for some sewing and washing work to supplement the family, although the days were poor, but there was also a warm and intimate relationship. Two years later, I came into this world to add a little warmth to this poor family. I thought happiness could continue so faintly, but soon after, war broke out. Because my father had been driving in the mines, he was soon sent to the front line to run transports. During the time when my father was away, my mother stood at the entrance of the village every day holding the young me and waiting for it, until one day my father's figure finally appeared, just one of his empty sleeves fluttering gently in the morning wind. The sun was shining, and we couldn't see the sadness on his face.
The father, who lost an arm, came back to divorce his mother. He didn't care about his mother's joy and tenderness, he just hoped that she would leave him as soon as possible and go to start a new family. The mother strongly disagreed. So my father began to smoke and drink at home, and even scolded his mother from time to time. And the mother is still reluctant to divorce. Finally, one day, the father cruelly told his mother that the divorce was actually to be with other women, and that there was a kind rich woman who admired him and was willing and able to raise him. So the mother insisted on going to see the woman, and she said that if there was such a person, she would let her father go. I will never forget my mother's sadness when she saw the woman, and the look in her eyes was extinguished. That night, the mother returned the half dollar she had saved to her father and said, "You go."
After that, my mother took me to live alone, and did not re-establish the family as my father wished. Many times in the long years of my growing up, I met my father with my mother. The silent and emaciated man always watched us silently. But every time, the mother turned a blind eye and left, perhaps there was no longer a father in her heart, and she had long been dead to that love promise.
On a cold and drizzly winter evening, a middle-aged woman dressed in black knocked on the door of my house and told us a long and stoic story: she was the responsible nurse when her father was injured, and when her father returned to the military hospital to find her, hoping that she could pretend to be his lover, so that his wife would die and divorce and marry someone else; he said that although he loved her deeply in his life, he still regretted taking her away from his hometown, causing her to suffer poverty, which made his heart like a knife. The woman in black handed a small wooden box to her mother, saying that she had brought his ashes back to her hometown according to her father's last wishes, and sprinkled them on the hill where she first met her mother, and this wooden box was ordered to be returned to you by hand. Mother opened the wooden box, and inside were two halves of mottled notes, half of which had father's handwriting on them: "I love you, and only death can separate us." The mother's eyes were full of tears, and she said softly: "There is only one thing in this life that has made my heart like a knife, that is, I thought he really didn't love me." ”
Three years later, I returned to the hill in her hometown with my mother's ashes. Parents are finally reunited.
At this moment, the pale golden sunlight sprinkled on the old two dollars, and the last time my mother looked at it, she used scotch tape to put the two pieces together and repair it. I carefully squeezed a corner, trying to look at my father's handwriting in the sunlight, but accidentally found a line of small characters on the other side of the banknote, and my dear mother wrote: I love you, even death cannot separate us.
Reader: Paulin
Works: "Grandpa's Felt Boots"
Prishwen: A very distinctive figure in the history of Soviet literature in the 20th century, he is known as "the great shepherd god", "the complete great artist", "the pioneer of world ecological literature and nature literature", and is called a poet and literati of nature by the Russian literary circle. Filled with pure sunlight, water and thriving trees, his works are among the most iconic nature poets and literati in the history of world literature. Representative works: the novel "The Chain of the Evil Old Man", the essay collection "The Place Where the Birds Are Not Alarmed", etc.
Author/Prishwen
I remember very well that Grandpa's felt boots had been worn for more than ten years. And how many years he wore before I had me, I can't say. Many times, he suddenly looked at his feet and said, "The felt boots are torn again, and you have to slap them." So he bought a small piece of felt from the set. Cut into the soles of the boots, put on, and as a result, the felt boots can be worn again, just like the new ones.
As the years passed, I couldn't help but wonder: When everything in the world is exhausted, everything will die, but Grandpa's felt boots will last forever.
Unexpectedly, one of Grandpa's legs suffered from severe soreness. Grandpa had never been sick, but now he couldn't get comfortable and even asked a doctor.
"You're causing this cold water," the doctor said, "and you should stop fishing." ”
"I live by fishing," replied Grandpa, "and I can't do it without my feet getting wet." ”
"Can't you do it without getting wet?" The doctor gave him an idea, "Then put your felt boots on when you're in the water." ”
This idea helped Grandpa a lot: the leg pain was better. Only after this, Grandpa became squeamish, and he had to put on felt boots before going down to the river, and the boots were of course polished on the stones under the water. In this way, the felt boots can be badly damaged, not only the bottom, but also the place where the bottom bends upwards, there are cracks.
I thought to myself: there is always an end to everything in the world, and felt boots can't give Grandpa an endless one--no, it's almost over.
People pointed to the felt boots and said to Grandpa, "Old man, you should also call your felt boots to retire, and you should give them to the crows to make nests." "That's not the case!" In order not to let the snow drill into the crack, Grandpa soaked the felt boots into the water and then put them into the ice and snow. On a cold day, it is needless to say that the water in the seam of the felt boots is frozen at once, and the ice seals the seam firmly. Then Grandpa soaked the felt boots into the water again, and as a result, the entire felt boots were covered with a layer of ice. Lo and behold, the felt boots became warm and sturdy: I personally walked through Grandpa's felt boots, wading back and forth in a beach of water and grass that wasn't frozen in winter, and nothing happened... So I had the idea again: Maybe Grandpa's felt boots will never end.
But once, my grandfather happened to be sick. He had to go out to the toilet and put on his felt boots in the doorway; but when he returned, he forgot to take them off in the doorway to let it dry, but climbed to the hot stove in his frozen felt boots. You know, if you put the bottle with water and put it in the ice and snow, the water will become ice, and when the ice expands, the bottle will have to explode. Of course, the ice in the seam of the felt boots is the same, at this time the felt hair has been swollen loosely, and as soon as the ice melts, the hair has become slag... My grandfather was stubborn, just sick, and tried to freeze his felt boots again, and even wore them for a while. But soon spring arrived, and the felt boots placed in the doorway dissolved and suddenly scattered into a mess.
Grandpa said indignantly, "Hey, it's time for it to stay in the crow's nest and rest!" "In a fit of rage, he lifted a felt boot and threw it from the high riverbank into a pile of burdock grass, where I was catching birds like goldfinches." Why just give the felt boots to the crows? I said, "No matter what kind of bird, in the spring they like to put some hairy grass in the nest." When I asked Grandpa this, he was waving another felt boot ready to throw, "Yes," Grandpa agreed.
In the blink of an eye, the time for birds to move has arrived. All kinds of spring birds fell on the burdock grass by the river, and when they pecked at the tips of burdock, they found Grandpa's felt boots, and when they arrived at the nest, they came from morning to night to peel the felt boots and pecked it into pieces. For a week or so, the whole felt boots gave the birds a piece to build a nest, and then took their places, laying eggs, hatching, and then the chicks chirped in the warmth of the felt boots, the birds were born and grew; when the cold day was coming, they flew in groups to a warm place, and in the spring they all returned, and in the old nests in their respective tree dens, they would find the remnants of Grandpa's felt boots again, and the nests built on the ground and branches would not disappear: the branches scattered to the ground, and the little mice would find them on the ground. Carry the remains of felt boots into their own underground nests.
I have often wandered through the thick woods all my life, and whenever I have the opportunity to find a small bird's nest lined with felt wool, I always think as I did as I did as a child: when everything in the world is finally exhausted, everything will perish, and only Grandpa's felt boots will last forever.
"Is to love reading" this radio boutique program launched the fourth season, the column will continue to uphold the original intention, the ancient and modern Chinese and foreign famous classics this cultural feast presented to the majority of listeners, to convey the charm of reading to us. The new programs on the fourth season will be broadcast on all frequencies of Xiamen Radio, welcome to the fixed point punch card to listen!
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Monday to Sunday: 14:00-14:30
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Monday to Friday: 07:00-07:30; 10:00-10:30
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Monday to Saturday: 08:30-09:00
Sunday: 20:00-20:30
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