The New Year is the love letter written to us by the years. When affection arises, it is already before the end of the year. People of different ages have different feelings about the Chinese New Year. The age of children is about to come, and we adults are accustomed to silently flip through the pages of happiness that have not been cooled by the years through the joy of children. The broken and continued fragments seem to be blank and abrupt, like a child. Yunchan fell into the ink painting and fainted. Every time I touch it, there are always several ripples in the lake of memory. Those years, that smell and the warmth in those simple slips came to my mind again.
In those years, we were still young, just like children today. I used to look forward to the New Year every day, but the way I waited for the New Year was different. Before Laba, my mother would arrange for me to collect eggs, because the eggs laid by chickens might have been sold and converted into money as favors to use as gifts or to subsidize the family. My mother asked me how many days are left for the Chinese New Year and how many eggs I have to pick up every day to have enough to eat during the Spring Festival without breaking the eggs, otherwise I will eat less or not eat at all. The sisters have their own thing to do, which is to help their mother pick up the shoe soles. I stare at the chicken coop early in the morning every day. I sit next to it on a wooden stool with a large basin in my hand. After waiting for a long time, the chicken does not lay eggs. When I am bored, I run away and I am afraid that the eggs will be picked up. Go, since I was a child, I liked liveliness, so I just banged the pot and played, and the "dong" sound scared all the chickens away. I didn't pick up the eggs at night. I continued to wait the next day and three days, but still no eggs.
My mother asked me if I had picked up eggs these days. I shook my head and was disappointed. My mother couldn't help laughing when she saw that I was silent, and asked me to quietly follow them at noon tomorrow, and then I would know why I couldn't pick up the eggs. The weather was so cold, and the sun didn't come out at noon. Everyone was busy in the courtyard, drying wax beans and other things, doing needlework, holding children and fighting insects. The children were very happy, and a matchmaker came to help. The older girls talked about kissing each other and chattered, causing the laying hens to fly away. My mother was busy making cloth shoes for our family, and she was teaching my sister how to do it stitch by stitch.
After lunch, I finally saw the shadow of the sun. I heard the chickens singing "cluck-clack..." at the gate of the mill. I ran over and took a look. Wow, there was a nest full of eggs. But the chicken nest was in the bamboo forest built in the mill, so it was difficult for people to spot it. . I happily ran back to the kitchen to get the bamboo basket, "One, two, three..." I happily put it in the bamboo basket. In fact, I couldn't count the eggs at that time. My sister said that I could count from one to seven. I carefully brought the eggs back to the kitchen, thinking whether it would be the Chinese New Year tomorrow.
Before tomorrow, my mother heard that I had picked up a basket of eggs, and brought the neighbor’s aunt over when I came in. She saw the neighbor’s aunt taking away the eggs with a smile on her face, and my mother kept accompanying me. Aren’t they our eggs? Why did my mother let someone else pick them up? Later I found out that my neighbor’s aunt had been looking for eggs from her house for a long time, and I picked them up by mistake after the chickens had fallen into chaos. My mother looked at me with a sad expression and couldn’t say anything. She said that if someone else’s things were taken by mistake, they should be returned to others, even though I didn’t Abandon. I don’t know when the Chinese New Year will be celebrated, but my mother said it’s coming soon. I’ll pick up two every day. One day of picking up will be one day closer to the Chinese New Year. In the evening, the aunt next door brought a bowl of poached eggs. Three poached eggs were like small yellow clouds embedded in the water. There were a few small glutinous rice balls inside, and a few red dates floating on them. Despite the mother's refusal, the aunt next door still left the poached eggs, saying that they were for the child, so that the child could not feel unhappy because they were celebrating the New Year after all.
My mother looked at me eating deliciously and asked me if it tasted good. I nodded and suddenly asked, my sixth birthday will be after the Spring Festival, will my mother still boil eggs for me? The mother smiled and did not answer, with a hint of helplessness at the corner of her mouth. My mother said that chickens are most afraid of being disturbed when they are laying eggs, so just go to the nest to pick them up in the evening. I can pick up two eggs every day before dark, and protect them carefully, for fear of being bumped. The yard is still as lively as ever. The bacon, smoked golden by the leaves of Baicao, is shining in the sun, as if it has been fragrant for hundreds of years. Just looking at it leaves a lingering fragrance on the lips and teeth. The family doesn't have much meat, just one or two pieces. Hanging on the rope in the yard and being swayed by the wind. The few people holding home dishes stared at the bacon without blinking. Perhaps back then, meat was a luxury item for people during the Chinese New Year, so everyone seemed particularly precious and careful. I remember there was a female classmate in our class who came from a relatively prosperous family. Every time she ate meat, she would bring out a small piece of lean meat. She would deliberately tear it apart piece by piece with her slender little hands in front of her friends, and gently put it away. Chewing slowly in his mouth, many students were envious, some hated it, and some were indifferent. Times have changed, and her oily little mouth is still mentioned by her classmates intentionally or unintentionally in their free time.
Two chickens lay eggs, and it looks like the basket is about to be filled with eggs. My father also came home from a far away place. He looked like a cadre and was dressed neatly. The hair is not like the people in the village. I don’t know but I thought he was a teacher, but my father and I had some quarrels. My father watched me carrying eggs all day and asked me if I could count them clearly. I ignored him. Every time my father comes home, he buys a lot of fruit candies and distributes them to his family and neighbors. My father took out the fruit candies and asked me to call him. I took the fruit candies and hid behind my mother. My mother would try to smooth things over by saying that she didn't get along well with her children. The father spread his hands in embarrassment, turned around, picked up the fishing gear and went to the river to fish. As soon as my father comes home, fish is indispensable at home, not necessarily for every meal, but one meal the next day is usually fine.
As soon as my father came home, people seeking medical advice came to my house in an endless stream. I felt very happy in those days, with meat and sweets to eat. Father also used bamboo tubes to grill bacon for us to eat. The dishes my mother bought to go with wine were usually pig offal, meat products baked with salt and then dried. Because it’s cheap, there were more dishes to share during the poor years. Pumpkin seeds, peanuts, walnuts, strange-flavored broad beans, etc. are all grown and processed at home. Just put it on the plate when needed. The house is in full swing every day. The New Year paintings and couplets posted on the door frame and the wall are all personally selected by my sister. It feels very joyful and warm.
Different places have different customs. Here we usually start visiting relatives for the New Year dinner after the 26th of the twelfth lunar month. We wear new cloth shoes made by our mother and new clothes and trousers sewn by our mother. My sister tied my hair into two small braids and used hot chopsticks to tuck my bangs on my forehead. Then I happily went to visit relatives with the adults. I followed my sister gently step by step, for fear of getting my shoes dirty. My mother would come over soon to remind me not to sit on the floor and play casually. It’s not that I couldn’t wear clothes in my first year of junior high school. I was cautious when walking past relatives, a little nervous and a little bit happy. After having a meal at a relative's house, the hostess would distribute preserved melons mixed with fruit candies to the guests, especially the children. Her pockets came in handy at this time. When she returned home, the host even handed out red envelopes. How many cents to how many cents? Dollars vary.
After the reunion dinner, it was our family’s turn. My mother and sister started busy early. My father greeted the guests and cut tea and poured water without daring to neglect others. My mother had been preparing for a long time. Today, all the fine wines and delicacies are brought out to entertain everyone during the reunion dinner. The reunion dinner is not just a formality, it is a feast that reflects a woman's virtuous housekeeping. There are many dishes, and each dish has a unique taste. The more dishes on a big dining table, the better Good means prosperity in the coming year. Mother's wisdom is not to spend all the money cooking for a table. Some common farm side dishes are rarely brought to the table. She can cook several dishes using local ingredients, and the key is that everyone who has eaten them is full of praise. Especially the glutinous rice balls made by my mother. This dish has been asked to be put on the dining table every year for decades, and it has always been delicious. Every time I watch my mother prepare it, it seems cumbersome. She soaks the glutinous rice for a day or two and changes the water in the middle. The minced meat is mixed with her secret fillings, and it is not a matter of time from steaming to the time it is taken out of the pot, which is different from the cooking skills. There is also the mother’s innate petty bourgeoisie sentiment.
On the eve of New Year’s Eve, family members who have been busy for a while can finally sit down and enjoy some leisure time. Everyone sits together and chats about home affairs. In an era without televisions and the Internet, the strong family affection can be seen. Just imagine. When my father asked us what our New Year's resolutions were, I said to myself that I didn't want to be called Liao Feixia, but Liao Xiangyou. I fell asleep while talking, and my mother woke me up when my father was handing out new year's money. Although my sisters later teased me for wanting to call me Xiangyou's name, now that I think about it, this may be the most innocent New Year's wish of a little girl of a few years old. Well, good luck and wealth.
Yes, our days are much richer than in the past, especially material things, but we can no longer find the feeling of celebrating the New Year. It is as dull as before. The New Year is still the same year, but I don’t know where the taste is. Yet? As time goes by, we have all grown up and have our own incomes and jobs. For the Chinese New Year, the more significance is that we can get along and communicate well with our families. I thought about making some delicious food to reward my family and myself, all because of gratitude. We are nostalgic for the years, so how can we live up to it during the New Year? We enjoy the flavor of the New Year, but why should we superimpose our carelessness about it in the new years. Waiting to pick up eggs one after another, witnessing a simple feast, is a memory similar to lucky money and thousand-layer bottoms. Perhaps only a group of grown-up children many years later can better understand and appreciate it.