Afternoon, static heart, read a book, suddenly, a wisp of fragrance wafts of food, familiar with the taste good, are at a young age, Fried quenelle of taste. Throw the book, close your eyes, smell the aroma, chan, I admire, I do not know who qiaofu, will do quenelle. Another end of the year, then Fried quenelle of season, heart a soft, feel the festival atmosphere is suffused with to have around. Burning time, please let my memory of the boat, holding skirts this fragrance, to look for a childhood the festival atmosphere.
A childhood memory of the festival atmosphere, from the twelfth lunar month, seventeen, eighteen dusted off. Wherefore they said, seven shan gold, eight silver shan. Customs in my hometown, this two days to the home clean inside and out, to welcome the New Year's blessing, good luck. Dusted off that day, my father put on your old clothes, wearing a straw hat, took a bamboo poles, tied to a feather duster, began to shan in the roof and the dust in the corner. Then, the inside of the main tools and sacks of crops, square table in front of the stuff on the table sweetmeats, front yard deadwood rotten leaves, everything clear. At that time, feel the hand of the father, is a pair of magic hand, by his hands touched a furniture, farm tools, for a while becomes clean and tidy, sister, brother and I only responsible for the garbage, wipe furniture, sweep the floor. Buzzed around the family, one afternoon, the house becomes clear and clean. The festival atmosphere, dusted off, the overflow from the busy scene.