As a child, the sound of firecrackers can drive away the bad luck of the year

In my memory, there is no bad radish, stewed vegetables, and I feel that there is no taste of the New Year. There is no long several hanging whip, ear-shaking double cannon, and I feel that there is no New Year's weather, my father often said, "the sound of guns can drive away the bad luck of the year."

On New Year's Eve that year, my mother prepared lunch: stewed vegetables and stir-fried radishes. Radish is bad, boiled meat soup, pour water fried radish slices, soak for a few days, radish will enter the meat flavor, which is what I said "New Year"; Stewed vegetables, cooked pork belly, cut into millimeter thick slices, hot pan fried rich fat, and cabbage, vermicelli stewed together, with boiled pork belly, cabbage and vermicelli are also into the "New Year flavor". It was a must-have for Chinese New Year when I was a kid.

Mother cut the meat and said that father was not back.

After days of heavy snow, the gray and black village was wrapped in a thick quilt, and the road leading from the village could only be discerned by the footprints and ruts of sparse Lala. Father went to the town early in the morning, and the town was not far away, let alone by bike.

The mother wanted to go out to see, but suddenly, hearing the clanging bolt, she put down her knife and meat, went from the kitchen to the living room, pushed open the cotton curtain hanging in front of the house, and then a stream of hot air rushed out of the door, only to be forced back by the cold inside the courtyard, and the white fog formed during the struggle spread everywhere.

It was my father who came back and saw him push the car to open the gate, the entrance was not far, and parked the car near the wall on the inside of the gate, and the big red bag hanging on the handlebars swayed back and forth.

Mother hurriedly let go of the curtain, stepped through the "squeaky" snow in the yard, and came forward to untie the big red bag that shook.

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It turned out that my father had gone to the market town to buy fish, and remembered on the way back that he had forgotten to pay, so he hurried back again, and there was a delay in the round trip. While speaking, my father had entered the room with my mother, and I secretly laughed at my father's immorality in my heart.

The living room, directly opposite the door, attached to the back wall is a yellow face and black edge of the paint table, with a long time, the color has become dim. In the middle of the table is placed a gray black double hook ear incense burner, after the incense burner a purple paper pasted on the back wall, writing the name of recent generations of ancestors, line by line is the blood handed down from generation to generation.

After lunch, the sky gradually dark down, mother began to make dumplings, father will prepare incense.

Night hung down, hot dumplings out of the pot, according to the rules, the first bowl to worship ancestors, I took the bowl of chopsticks put behind the incense burner. Father cleaned up the old ashes in the furnace, lit incense, and inserted them in turn. My father used to say, "Incense is a messenger to the other world, a reminder of our ancestors." On the floor of the table, my father lit a paper fire, and the flashing fire jumped up enthusiastically, a warm rush to my chest, I looked at the smoke slowly rising, gradually, my mind emerged when my grandfather took me to the south of the village to play.

It's time for the cannon. The father went to the middle of the courtyard, holding the cannon in his left hand and lighting the shinanzi with his right hand. Hearing the sound of "Bessie", I took a few steps to hide under the eaves. Looking at his father from a distance straightened his left arm, and in a flash, the cannon flew out of his father's hand, and with a bang, the flash of fire in the air illuminated the whole courtyard, and also illuminated his father. Father was of medium height, but so tall in the firelight.

The night was already deep, and the family sat around the charcoal fire in the kitchen, listening to grandma tell them about their eventful years. The snow in the yard set off the light from the Windows and glistened on the huge bug tree in front of the house.

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