Traditional Culture Encyclopedia - Weather inquiry - What is the main content of the green ivy in lesson 26 of the first volume of the fourth grade of elementary school?
What is the main content of the green ivy in lesson 26 of the first volume of the fourth grade of elementary school?
The green ivy
In 1963, when I was in the third grade of junior high school, I wrote an essay called "A Portrait" about a teacher who taught me plane geometry. His teaching is very interesting, and he is also very interesting as a person, so I thought this essay was very interesting. Recommended by my Chinese teacher, this essay actually won the prize in the Beijing Children's Essay Competition. Of course, I'm very happy. One day, the Chinese teacher brought me a big thick notebook and said, "Your composition is going to be printed into a book. Do you know who revised it for you?" I opened my eyes wide and was a little confused. "It's Mr. Ye Shengtao!" The teacher handed me the big book and said, "Look at how carefully Mr. Ye revised it. You can learn a lot from it!"
I opened the book and opened it. Look, there are 20 winning essays in this essay competition. I turned to my essay and was stunned: the first thing that caught my eye was the red modification symbols and the small words added after the changes. They were densely packed. There were red circles, hooks, straight lines, and curves everywhere on the several pages. That essay was like someone who had undergone major surgery and was covered in blood and bandaged. When I got home, I carefully read Mr. Ye's revisions to my composition several times. The title "A Portrait" was changed to "A Portrait", and I immediately felt the accuracy of the wording. There are a lot of revisions like this, and there are also many places where long sentences are broken into short sentences. I remember one point very clearly: "Why did you take off the book cover of the geometry textbook?" Mr. Ye changed it to: "Why did you remove the paper cover of the geometry textbook?" Delete the word "cover" in the original sentence. " This verb makes the sentence clean and standardized. It is more accurate to change "book cover" to "book wrapping paper", because the book cover can be considered as the cover of the book. I really benefited a lot from it. After all, watching the fire from a distance is different from being there. This not only made me see all the shortcomings in my composition, but also made me realize the difficulty of the literary career: without great efforts and meticulousness, it is difficult to achieve great success. Although I have never met Mr. Ye in person, I feel his seriousness, peace and warmth from his corrections, like the spring breeze blowing on my face.
Mr. Ye wrote a brief comment after my essay: This essay is all about specific facts, and the specific facts reveal his respect for Teacher Wang. If classmate Xiao Fuxing had not been deeply moved by these things about painting, he would not have been able to write so kindly and naturally." This short comment built up my confidence in writing. I was only 15 years old at that time, a It is conceivable that this young kid could receive guidance and encouragement from a great writer who was famous at home and abroad. You can imagine his inner excitement. His confidence and fantasy surged like a flying bird fluttering its wings. That's a thought that only children of that age can have.
This summer, my Chinese teacher came to me and said, "Mr. Ye Shengtao wants to invite you to his home!" "
I was surprised. A great writer like Mr. Ye Shengtao actually wanted to meet a junior high school student. Naturally, I regarded it as a major event in my life.
The weather was very good that day. In the afternoon, I came to a small but quiet alley on Dongsi North Street. Mr. Ye’s granddaughter Ye Xiaomo greeted me at the door. The courtyard was bright and elegant. The lush green ivy on the wall suddenly reduced the heat of summer, and the sunlight turned green, dancing like gentle elves with blurry light spots on it.
Ye Xiaomo led me to the living room. Mr. Ye was already waiting at the door. He shook hands with me as if meeting an adult. After I sat down, he shook my hand with me. The accent asked me my age and said with a smile: "You are the same age as Xiaomo!" "So casual and kind, the mysterious aura above the writer's head disappeared, and my sense of restraint also disappeared. The greater the writer, the more approachable he is. It turns out that he is as approachable as an ordinary grandfather.
It’s interesting to think that that afternoon, Mr. Ye didn’t talk about my award-winning essay, nor about writing. He didn’t teach me any secrets of literary creation, guides to essential elements, or anything like that. Instead, he asked me several times. How is my academic performance in science? I said that I have won merit medals for several years in a row, and my academic performance in liberal arts and science is pretty good. He said, "That's good!" People who love literature should not only read books on liberal arts, but must read more books on various subjects. He also asked me to memorize the dynasties in Chinese history. I did not memorize them all, and even recited some dynasties in reverse order. He also said: "We Chinese must understand our own history. People who engage in literature do not understand ours." Not even history. "I know this is a criticism of me and an expectation of me.
Our conversation was very harmonious, as if I was not a child, but an adult, an old friend of his. The kindness contained in his kindness The seriousness and tolerant expectation in the simplicity melted my little heart, so that I didn’t know when dusk would come, and the sunset quietly dyed the window lattice red. I once again saw the ivy on the wall in the courtyard, green in the dusk. It was so melancholy, like a thick lake, reflected on the glass window of the living room, constantly swaying, making it look alive. At that time, I had just read an essay "Creeping Tiger" written by Mr. Ye, and asked. : "Did that article "Creeper" just write about them? He smiled and nodded: "Yes, that was written a few years ago!" "As he spoke, he squinted his eyes and looked at the ivy outside the window.
I don't know what the old gentleman was thinking of at that moment.
I should be glad that this is the first time in my life that I have met a writer. He is such a great writer, a writer whose character and works are both exemplary. His talk of equality, sincerity and generous expectations for a child made the summer when I was 15 years old full of life and vitality, as if that summer had lasted longer. I seem to know or vaguely understand: This is what writers do, and this is how writers write their works. At the same time, in front of my eyes, the ivy is always so green.
Stepmother
That year, my biological mother died suddenly. I was less than 8 years old and my brother was just over 3 years old. We both cried and made noises to my father for my mother. After my father finished the funeral, he went back to his hometown. When he came back, he brought her back to us, followed by a little girl. My father pointed at her and said to my brother and me: "Quick, call mom!" My brother was so scared that he hid behind me, and I pursed my lips. With her small mouth open, she let her father say whatever she wanted, but just kept silent. "If you don't want to scream, don't scream!" She said, reaching out to touch my head. I twisted my neck and got out of the way, saying that I wouldn't let her touch it.
Looking at this strange mother-in-law, I first thought of the desolate ditty that countless people have sung: "Little cabbage, the ground is yellow, two or three years old, no mother..." I don't know what I was feeling at that time, but I always looked at her and her daughter secretly with uneasy eyes.
In the days to come, I never called her mother. When there was a parent-teacher meeting at school, I blocked her at the door and said to my classmates: "This is not my mother." One day, I took out the photo of my mother when she was alive and hung it in the most conspicuous place in the house as a demonstration to my stepmother. Strangely, not only was she not angry, but she often stepped on the stool to wipe the dust on the photo. Once, while she was wiping, I suddenly shouted to her, "Don't touch my mother." Several times at night, I heard my father discussing with her, "Shall we take down the photo?", but she always said, "It's okay, just hang it up!". For the first time, I had an indescribable affection for her, but I still didn't want to call her mom.
No child has a fuel-efficient lamp, and adults have endless worries. There is a flat, spacious cement field in our compound, which is our children’s paradise. We go there to play football, jump rubber bands, or run around aimlessly. One morning, I was hit by a bicycle that came unexpectedly. I fell heavily to the concrete floor and fainted immediately. When I woke up, I was already lying in the hospital. The doctor told me: "Thanks to your mother! She has been carrying you here for fear that you would have sequelae. You need to be filial when you grow up..."
She stood aside and said nothing. When I woke up, she leaned down and touched the back of my head, and then my face. I don't know how, I cried in front of her for the first time.
"Does it still hurt?" She asked me nervously immediately.
I shook my head, but couldn’t stop crying.
"As long as it doesn't hurt, just be fine!"
When I got home, it was already dark. The road from the hospital to home was long, and we had to go through a dark alley. I kept lying on her back. I knew that just now she carried me on her back and ran such a long way to the hospital.
For many days in the future, whether she saw her father or her neighbors, she always complained to herself, "It's all my fault for not taking good care of the child! Don't let the root cause of the disease fall...", as if she was not at fault. That hard concrete floor is not because of my naughty nature, but because of her. She didn't let out a sigh of relief until I was no longer jumping around.
Within a few years, three natural disasters came. Just to save money for the family, she married her biological daughter, an honest, obedient, kind-hearted young lady like herself, to Inner Mongolia. The young lady was only 18 years old that year. I remember very clearly that that day, the weather was very cold, and my father saw that the little sister was wearing too thin, so he put the only thick wool coat in the house on the little sister. She saw it and pulled it off. "No, let's leave it to her brother. Huh?" She didn't say a word at the station. When the train started, she waved to her daughter. In the cold wind, I saw her arms shaking like dead branches. On the way back, she murmured as she walked: "Okay, okay, my daughter is old, it's better to find a family as soon as possible, okay." I really don't know what life is like, and I don't know what she said along the way. This sentence is to comfort her own bleeding heart. She is also a mother. She gave away her biological daughter for two children who were not her biological children. Is there such a stepmother in the world?
Looking at her increasingly bulging back, my tears kept welling up, "Mom!" I called her this for the first time. She stopped, turned around, and stared blankly. I can't believe this is true. I called "Mom" again, and she cried like a child. Years of ups and downs, years of grievances, all melted into this "Mom".
Mother, you have so few requirements for your children...
This year, my father fell ill and passed away. My mother first helped other people take care of their children, and then she played cotton and picked up threads at home. She used the money she earned from playing cotton and picking up threads to support my younger brother and me in school.
Looking at my mother's body, face and head covered with cotton wool every day, I often think about my own mother. ! For many years since then, although our family's life has been very difficult, we still feel very sweet when our mother is here. No matter how late I came home, the lights in the hut were always on. In the orange fire was my mother's beating heart. As long as my mother was there, the hut was full of warmth and love.
I always felt that his* heart would beat forever, but I never thought that when we just graduated from college, my mother suddenly fell down and never got up again.
Mom, please forgive us and your ignorance in childhood, but I can never forgive myself. I know that in this world, I can forget everything, but I can never forget everything you gave us...
There is a book in the world that can never be finished, and that is mother.
Lychees
Author: Xiao Fuxing
The first time I ate lychees was when I was 28 years old. That was more than ten years ago. I had just returned to Beijing from Beidahuang, and my mother was alone at home. Standing in front of the lychee stall, my feet moved (nu$) without moving. At that time, this kind of southern fruit was rarely seen in Beijing. Once the season was over, within a few days, it would be impossible to buy it again. Think about it, I have lived to be 28 years old, but I have never tasted lychee. Think about it, my mother is almost 70 years old, and she has never eaten lychee! Although a pound costs several yuan, which is quite expensive, I gritted my teeth and still took out the money to buy a pound. At that time, I had just found a job as a middle school teacher in the suburbs. I had a salary of 42 and a half yuan per month in my pocket, which was hard and strong, and I mustered up some courage. I want my mother to try it, she will be happy.
When I got home, before I could take out the lychees from my schoolbag, my mother brought out a plate of sand fruits. This is a small fruit not much bigger than a crabapple (t2ng), but each one has scars (b1), and some even have rotten skin. I just asked my mother to pick out the scars one by one (w1n) and wash them clean. net. Each sand fruit looks crystal clear, stained with crystal water drops, and the red veins on the peel appear particularly clear. I don’t know how many times the old man washed it before it looked like this. I knew this must be the processed fruit my mother bought, which cost 5 cents or 1 dime more per catty. Living at home, the old man has been here for a lifetime. I don't know why, but I didn't dare to take out the lychees for fear that my mother would scold me for spending too much money. After all, it was the most expensive thing I bought that year.
I took a sand fruit and stuffed it into my mouth, kept saying it was delicious, and knowingly asked how much it cost per pound, and then kept saying it was really cheap - in fact, my mother knew that I was just trying to comfort her. , but this trick still makes her happy every time. Taking advantage of her joy, I took out the lychees and said, "Mom! I bought you some good things today." When my mother saw the lychees, her face immediately sank: "What's wrong with you being rich? Such expensive things, You..." I interrupted my mother: "It's such an expensive thing, why don't we give it a try?" My mother chuckled (ch9), her hand with strong veins (m4i) kept stroking the lychee, and then used her little finger. The nail plate scratches the skin of the lychee, and the skin is peeled off (b1o) carefully without letting the skin fall off. The lychee is held in the palm of the hand, like a chicken that has just pecked the egg shell, looking at it lovingly and reluctant to swallow it. , kept saying to me: "How do you think it grows? Why is there such white meat in the red skin?" After all, it was the first time to eat it, and it was delicious after all! The mother was as happy as the child.
That night, a teacher and several students suddenly came to my house as guests. They looked at the two plates of fruit on the table with something strange. Also, a plate of sand fruits is scarred, while a plate of lychees is exquisite (l$ng), the contrast is too sharp. To be honest, self-esteem and vanity go hand in hand. I feel like I am the ugly duckling on the plate of sand fruit, and I really want to magic it away. The mother brought the tea, smiled and took the fruit away casually, then turned back to the guest and said, "Try the lychee!" She said it so naturally and appropriately (tu%) (ti5).
My mother likes to eat lychees very much, but she is reluctant to eat them. She always gives me big lychees to eat. Every summer from now on, no matter how expensive the lychees are, I will always buy one or two kilograms for my mother to try. Lychees became an annual repertoire in my family until my mother passed away three years ago.
It was summer before my mother died, just when lychees were just coming on the market. I bought a lot of fresh lychees, with thin skin and small core. Once the bright red skin is peeled off, the white and bluish flesh is covered with a thin layer of water droplets, as if I have run a long way and am so tired that I open my mouth. A sweaty little face. Yes, they traveled a long distance for a whole year before meeting us again after a long separation. What comforted me (ji8) was that my mother ate juicy lychees the day before she died. I always thought it was destiny and the reward for my mother's kind and loyal life (ch2ng). If the lychees were on the market a few days later and I bought them a few days later, what a pity it would be and how much irreparable pain it would cause me.
Actually, I was wrong. Since the addition of a grandson to the family, the mother has given her grandson part of the love she originally gave to her son.
I ignored the existence of the greedy (ch2n) cat next to me. He no longer has to wait (2o) until he is 28 years old before he can taste lychees. He still doesn’t know what is precious and what is reluctant to part with. He only knows to open his mouth when he wants to eat. It was long after my mother passed away that I learned that she had been reluctant to eat a lychee before she died, and gave it to her beloved grandson who was too greedy.
Today, lychees are still red every year.
- Previous article:What is the most convenient way to get from Pingdingshan to nanzhao county?
- Next article:Beautiful ancient poems about wine
- Related articles
- An essayist who writes winter prose.
- What if the weather is hot?
- How to store Fuding white tea at home in hot summer?
- What inventions are there in China?
- What is the most convenient mode of transportation from Incheon Airport in South Korea to Daegu?
- Three people in Britain took selfies in thunderstorm weather and were struck by lightning. How to avoid such a tragedy?
- How to solve Huawei's weather positioning city?
- What is Sanming suitable for planting? What are the flowers and trees in Huacheng?
- Shanghai Tourism Festival attractions half-price magic capital special offers hit.
- An Unforgettable Military Training Composition