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2018/01/05 11:35:59 プライベート♪
Grinding corn millet
When the chicken had not called, the grandmother sat up, pushed the mother and the little aunt, and they both slept, and could not wake up. The grandmother can't help, pinch niang, niang to wake up in the pain, hurriedly sit down, slip down kang, shout aunt, the little aunt sleep more heavy, even if the back to the wild left, she also do not know to wake up. The niang stretched out her hand, and in the face of her aunt, a few clicks, the little aunt woke up with her sleepy eyes, pouted lips, and ran the millet in the west of the kiln with her grandmother and mother.
The kiln was so dark that there was no match, but to dress in the dark. Grandma is reluctant to light the lamp; When cooking, use chopsticks to dip in the oil bottle, then point a few times in the pot, a bottle of oil for most of the year, where there is extra oil for the lamp to eat? In the skylight, a few stars, blinking eyes, big and bright. The three men fumbled in their shoes and closed the door gently. Uncle and uncle are still sleeping, grandmother is afraid to wake up the man. It was cold outside, and the northwest wind knife was blowing hard. The hand will be cut off by the wind knife, and indent into the sleeve not to extend; The face has no way, had to let the wind knife a ground to scrape, feel be exposed by the wind layer after layer. The dog next door is not barking. Where can a dog be without food and famine? To feed a dog is a disaster, and to eat a dog, one will eat less. A man can work when he has enough food to eat. Many of the dogs in the village were looking for food, and they were hungry, unable to find anything to eat. The hungry dog and the hungry man were all thin, and the man could find something else to eat, and the dog was waiting for his alms. Over time, the dog's hair long, thin even remember their wang wang, his throat as if is blocked, besides, wang wang and waste of energy, most dogs in the village slept under the wall, stretched out a long tongue, the bitter frustrations on his face. There was only such a kiln in the lower village, and there was no one to come, and the ravens had children in the hookeg crevices at the top of the kiln, and they were nowhere to be seen in the winter. The wheels, the wheels, the aisles, the droppings and feathers of the ravens. The first man who came to the rice was scolding for half a day, and then the second and the third came off and on. It was a very lively time. A village of several hundred families of several hundreds of people came rice, pushed the roller, "creak creak" to run for half a day, "creak" finished, the second one went on, "creak creak", more than half a day. Push the treadmills are wobbly, waiting for you sleepy, endure not to live, a butt sitting on millet bag, fall asleep, not sleepy adhere to look at, one aspect with the last talk, another aspect afraid asleep, other people cut in line. Say, say, yawn, the person of rice of rice say, you sleep, wait I run over call you. The house ran over, pushed down the house, untied the string from the bag, poured the grain onto the wheel, and began to "tickle". Didn't run over five or six home the whole day, and sometimes my grandma's white head sheave, not to the middle of the night, taking to the villagers is sleeping sometimes, this opportunity is very few, go or no use, has been rice milling. My grandmother's home is a place to move, no matter how low sound you try to please, always melt into the village people's circle. Plus I play as a child, standing on the wheeled cart, do not prevent fell, its legs into the spokes, the driver also didn't notice, wheel rotation, pinch off the grandpa's leg, can't keep up with medical condition at that time, also have no a good doctor, his family back, with rags wrapped around a bit. Grandpa a man crouched on the kang, grinning teeth, a big mouth, crying father. Probably decades later, grandpa, oblique to stand up, once the wind rain, old ah, rheumatism leg pain is very shrink into a knot, is old, on crutches, staggered to walk, like not like the stump of a piece. Fortunately, grandma came in, and after the birth of my aunt, my uncle, my mother and my aunt, my grandfather's home was in full bloom. My grandfather still took a turn, but the old man taught him the craft of the table, no longer he. My grandfather cut the reed in the fall, ran the reed, broke the reed, and struck the mat in the winter. In winter, long night, there are snow outside. Grandpa black sit, meet to bump to knock on the mat, the reed stick interspersed in the hand, confusion, awake for a while, really can't hold up, just go up to bed, the next night next dozen. A few days later, a mat, rolled up, back to the street to sell. The mat sells can change the glutinous millet to eat, can not sell hungry belly, one mat is changed back home several litres of glutinous millet! The production team's glutinous millet plus the millet that buys back, go to shell to want to eat one winter. Sit on the burning kang, fragrant glutinous millet porridge, add a few chopsticks head radish of pickled vegetables, that is a fragrance. Thinking of corn millet porridge, pickles, thinking about bad dirty family, grandmother, aunt and my mother does not sleepy, sweep the grandmother hurriedly run over the stone mill, fell on the corn millet, younger sister and mother holding the bear turned around. Crushed stone "GeZhiZhi" rubbed, mi grain early irrepressible, took off his body thick hard shell, will change yellow clothes, they follow a grain, grain huddled together, waiting to run over the stone rolled over, and then after to climb under the grinding stone, endured the pain of thoroughly remould oneself. Grandmother holding a mi MAO broom, sweeping around the edge of the ground, said: "push hard, hard not cold!" The northwest wind outside the kiln blew, the cold in the kiln, the wind, like a dog's tongue licking, piercing pain. After a dozen laps, the broken shells and grains are separated from each other and are mixed on the pan. Grandmother knelt on the ground, dialed into a dustpan, winnowing, the shell floating out, the rice grain happily cluster in the dustpan, that is more precious than gold millet. Spare a few meters from ox hair rope pocket, there is no hulled corn millet, is joined to the pan, grinding stone continue to roll, a drag on corn millet air conditioning, bite a tooth drilling under the stone roller, the moment is so quiet, as if by magic, only heard countless tiny "GeZhiZhi" sound. The stone ran over and over again and again, and the glutinous millet slowly unfolded, like the open shell of the shell, which was full of jade, and the grains of rice were trying to breathe, stretching the waist and showing a charming smile. In this way, the grinding, winnowing, and winnowing, repeatedly winnowing, to the jangling, the confusion and the tired, the millet went to the shell, all became golden millet. I can't push it anymore. There's a family. Grandma sweeps clean and millet shell, sweeps into a dustpan, niang and small aunt lotus sticks, dangles in the fold of cow hair pocket, shakes leisurely go home.
Years later, said niang, at that time. People are hungry. There is no surplus food. Grinding and others from the left in the kiln, lie outside the kiln dogs that nasty, they jump into the pan, front legs kneel and bow hind legs, a long tongue licking the stone that comes over and over again, pan, and the walkway under the pan...
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