To mothers| motherly taste

Text | Zhao Chunyan

At home on weekends, the weather is nice and I'm ready to dry the futon. Opening the closet, a familiar smell enters the nose. I looked up at the bottom of the cupboard, ah, how many years, it is still there!

I gently grabbed it, the inside of the fine white cloth, and the color had turned white because of the passage of time. The red satin surface was still alive, and the dark yellow pattern was still clear. It is the quilt that my mother sewed for me, and it is the treasure at the bottom of my press box.

I put it in front of my nose and sniffed it gently, a familiar smell that came over my nose, warm and ironed. I know, it's motherly! Smelling it, I fell into deep thought, as if I had seen the scene of my mother buying a quilt for me again...

I was my mother's late-born daughter, and she was not young when she gave birth to me. She and my father raised me with great hardship, and when I went to college, she was fifty-four years old. At that time, the family's large expenses depended on the father's salary, the brothers and sisters had just worked, they were all about to start a family, and the economy was not very rich. Knowing that I was admitted to college, my mother was very happy. She took out her tightly pressed clothes, took out a little money from the bottom of the wooden box, wrapped in layers of paper, and went to the store to buy something and prepare a futon for me.

In the store, she smiled, picking from counter to counter, touching the cloth with her hands. Half a day passed, and my mother was still choosing. The slippery, shiny satin quilt with yellow flowers on a red background appeared in front of her eyes, and her eyes lit up. She smiled as her rough hand brushed the quilt and the sound of "throbbing" sounded in her ears, as if the non-slip shoes with the bottom had walked across the smooth cement floor. She knew she had finally found the right quilt. After that, she pulled a fine white cloth to make a lining, and bought five pounds of new cotton as a condom. The mattress is a cloth surface of small white flowers on a green background, and a white fine cloth is made inside.

At noon that day, my mother walked out of the store with the quilt and the inside under her left armpit (afraid of falling, she clutched the bag belt tightly with her hand) and the cotton bag in her right hand. The sun shone passionately on her mother's face, and her thinning hair had begun to shine silver. Her chubby face was slightly flushed, and a few freckles on the sides of her nose were jumping excitedly in the sunlight. The fine lines on her forehead, accompanied by sweat, were closely arranged. I followed her, and I smelled a good smell on her: there was the warmth of the sun, the body fragrance with a slight perspiration, the love of the mother, and the joy and pride of the female Jackie Chan.

The quilt was sewn, and the mother spread a mat under the big tree in the middle of the yard. She took the brush and swept the clean mat, spread out the cleaned white lining, and dragged and tugged. Then the bounced cotton was carefully taken out of the bag and spread evenly on the inside layer by layer. After laying out the cotton, the mother called out to his father, who was watching from the side, and asked him to help pull the quilt flat on the cotton. After putting it on for the first time, my mother noticed that it was a little oblique and picked it up again. The quilt was picked up, and some cotton wool was brought up, and the mother took it off and rearranged the cotton to mix it out. In order to prevent the quilt from being tilted again, when my mother and father put it down again, I was asked to watch from the side.

With the joint efforts of my parents and me, the face was finally straightened out. The mother breathed a sigh of relief and sat down at the edge of the mat. She picked up the large needle that sewed the quilt, first found the end of the thick white ball of thread, sipped it with her mouth to make it thinner, and then lifted the needle and took the thread and crossed it. The first time the thread was not stuffed, it was not worn successfully. The second time I watched the thread pass, when my mother took her hand to pull it from the other end, the thread slipped off and did not succeed. This was repeated several times before the thread was successfully threaded. At this point, I noticed that my mother's forehead was already covered in layers of fine sweat.

After the successful threading of the needle, the big project of sewing the quilt came. The mother was curled up on one leg and stretched out on one leg. She nestled the four corners of the quilt, picked up the big needle, and caused it. After two stitches, the mother found that the needle was somewhat blunt, so she picked up the needle, rubbed it on the edge of the hairline a few times, and re-sewed the quilt foot. Sew the quilt horns, the middle of the quilt is thick, it is difficult to sew. The mother took the needle and put it into the quilt, nailed it to the needle's butt with a thimble, and pushed it over hard. When the needle came out saw two-thirds of the needle, the mother used her hand to pull the needle again. With some effort, a neatly arranged and evenly arranged line of white lines appeared vertically on the quilt. The white line on the side of the quilt is almost invisible, and the white line in the quilt is slightly longer. After sewing the first line, the mother carefully looked at the size of the stitches, felt that she was still relatively satisfied, and then measured the width of the second line with her hand, and she pressed the quilt with her left hand and measured it with her right hand. She stretched the thumb and index finger of her right hand at ninety degrees, and as soon as the distance was just right, she began to sew the second line again.

As the sun began to move westward, the sun shone through the dappled shadows of the trees on her mother's face. The mother's face had turned red, and the sweat was dripping in bunches, hanging on her face, and when the drops were not dripping, the mother immediately picked up the towel next to her leg and wiped it off. Wiping away the sweat, she carefully smoothed the quilt again and sewed it up again.

By the time the quilt was sewn, the sun was tiredly hanging in the treetops. The mother rubbed her waist, pounded her numb legs, folded the quilt, and slowly stood up. After she stood up, she staggered a few steps, took a slight rest, leaned over and picked up the quilt on the mat and dried it on the long rope in the courtyard.

The afterglow of the setting sun sprinkled on the quilt, and the whole courtyard was shrouded in a red and bright red fire. The mother lifted her sweat-soaked red and white face, looked at the sky with a smile on her face, and said, "Tomorrow's day, it should be better!" "The evening breeze blows, and a fragrance enters the nose. I smelled the warmth of the sun, the fragrance of soap, the body fragrance of my mother, and the ironing of my mother's love. Thinking that I was about to leave my mother, I quickly ran over and hugged her through the quilt. I want this taste to be frozen in my memory forever.

For four years in college, my mother's sewn quilt accompanied me all the time. Four years of ups and downs, whenever the raindrops in my heart came, I was lying on the bed, sniffing and sniffing, and walking forward in the comfort of my mother.

Later, I worked and lived in other places, and I always took the quilt that my mother sewed with me, and I never thought of letting it go. Now, my mother has been gone for many years, and I treasure the quilt she sewed for me at the bottom of the box, and whenever I think of her, I take it out and hold it in my arms and sniff it. Only in it can I find the smell of motherhood.

See the face, embrace it. The smell of kindness, warmth, caressing, and ironing came over my nose, and tears instantly wet my eyes. Mother, you have never been far away, you will always be in my heart...

About author:Zhao Chunyan, Shaanxi Danfengren, member of China Prose Literature Association, member of Shandong Prose Literature Society, member of Shandong Young Writers Association, member of Jinan Writers Association.

One point number Shandong financial literature