Motherly love is like a pool of gentle water, and the fish in the pool will swim and grow in her arms; Father's love is like pebbles in a pond, stubborn and mature, but it is a refuge for fish. But there is also a kind of love, like catkins fluttering in the wind, gently touching the water and rolling up ripples.
This kind of love is silent, slow and unobtrusive, but it is warm, unforgettable and unforgettable.
Grandma is a strong person. She is so young, the wrinkles on her face and the looming white silk on her head can't affect her "youthful vitality", which can't be seen anywhere else, but it is particularly obvious when eating.
A few days before school started, my parents went to work, and I was still at home on holiday. As usual, my grandmother guaranteed my food. A morning passed, and grandma washed clothes, mopped the floor and cleaned the windows. Just after eleven o'clock, her voice echoed in the living room: "Come down and eat-"I slowly walked into the living room. The first thing I saw was not my grandmother, but the big bowl and small bowl on the dining table, as well as steaming food, the originally brown dining table. Why did the food you just bought change when it was served at the dinner table? I can't help whispering in my mind.
Looking at my grandmother again, I'm really surprised. My grandmother's hair is like a messy black branch, lifeless, attached to her head, as if it would fall off at any time. Sweat hung on my forehead, arranged according to the lines on my forehead, like a string of jewels, sticking to my forehead. Grandma's clothes have been soaked with sweat, and the sweat on her face flows down like a stream and seeps into her clothes. Even so, grandma's face was full of joy and happiness, her eyes narrowed into two cracks, and the wrinkles around her eyes became more obvious, but the traces of these years could not stop the rippling smile on her face.
There is an unspeakable taste in my heart, and I don't know whether it is happiness or gratitude.
I sat next to a table full of food. What I saw on my grandmother's face was happiness and joy. Grandma said, while giving me food, no matter how to eat, the food in the bowl is still as high as a hill.
How the meal ended, whether it was delicious or not, I have forgotten now, but I still remember the dishes on that table and my sweaty grandmother. The most clear thing is the happiness and joy on her face. This is my grandmother's love. She would rather suffer by herself, but she still wants me to eat delicious food. This love belongs not only to her grandmother, but also to people of her age.
It is said that grandparents suffered natural disasters when they were alive. Many people do not have enough to eat and often go hungry. When Mr. Ji Xianlin was a child, the highest enjoyment every day was a hard-won piece of white flour steamed bread, steamed bread? What is steamed bread? But at that time, it was a very rare thing, and the pain of hunger was deeply branded in the hearts of grandparents. Eating a hearty meal is not only their yearning, but also their love for their children and grandchildren.
Time flies, grandma has been dead for more than a year, and she left in a hurry before I could cook dinner for her. She is not good at words, and a good meal is probably the only way for her to express her love. Now, I have begun to learn to cook, and I believe that I will be able to make such a table of food in the near future.