Recommended prose by Bole Caiwei: This is a touching and reminiscence prose. As long as the author can remember, his mother has loved writing calligraphy. Even though she was busy every day, her energy was limited, and her material conditions were extremely difficult, she continued to write calligraphy for decades. She continued to practice unfailingly, and the poems, songs, tunes, and encyclopedic knowledge she copied in official script embody her deep love for her children.
Reason for recommendation: The dignified and delicate language and art show the mother's seriousness, perseverance, forbearance and tranquility. Despite the tragedy, her desire for cultural knowledge, yearning for a better life and unremitting efforts for it are the epitome of her life. Pure feelings, rich heart, and diligent pursuit are admirable!
I was 5 years old when I came back from my grandma’s house in Fujian. Before my sister was born, my mother treated me as a little baby and told me stories from "Historical Records" in the vernacular every day before I went to bed.
? She was lying on her side, and I was lying in her arms. She talked about Ximen Bao's governance in Ye, and the illustration showed the pretentious local officials huddled in a ball and shivering. Ximen Bao's eyes widened with anger, pointing directly at the bad guys, and the left corner of the picture showed a surging river. Because I was interested in the story but could not read, I lay down and stared at the illustrations in the book over and over again. Those pictures are still vivid in my mind. During the long winter, the north wind was extremely powerful, roaring day and night between the sky and the earth. The doors and windows were blown and creaked, as if a giant beast was gnashing its teeth to knock down the house and eat the children. Listening to my mother read the vernacular "Historical Records" made me forget about the "giant beast" outside the door. ?
My friends and I play in front of and behind my mother’s office every day. Sometimes when there are no friends to play with, I rub my elbows against my mother’s desk back and forth, and my whole body sways and twists rhythmically. Go and make a small moan from your mouth, commonly known as "grinding". My mother is either busy working or knitting sweaters. She is not as fond of telling folk stories, singing nursery rhymes, and coaxing children as much as her grandma, uncle, and third aunt. The work she did was extremely boring in the eyes of children. "Mom! Mom! I'm bored! No one wants to play with me." I finally groaned louder, repeating it over and over again, stamping my feet angrily. My mother looked at me helplessly and said, "Then let me teach you how to write calligraphy." As soon as she wrote, I was no longer bored.
The whole process of writing calligraphy is very new to me, and it is much more fun than knitting sweaters. The mother opened the inkstone, poured in the ink, took out a brush from the pen holder, her expression became very focused and quiet, her eyes were staring at the paper without blinking, and after skillfully dipping the brush in the ink, she placed a small amount of it in the ink cartridge. She wiped the pen lightly on the ball of silk for a few times, then lifted the pen to see if it was sharp; if it was not sharp, she would continue to rub the pen in circles until all the bristles had returned to the line, and she was satisfied with the pen and swiped it on the paper; If the brush has thorns in the middle of writing, rub it a few more times until the naughty one obeys. The contrast between the thickness of the strokes in the calligraphy written by my mother is great, and the structure of the entire font is very flat and upright, so my mother's calligraphy is very special. I have heard many times that my mother’s old colleagues praised my mother’s words for being very interesting, but she shook her head indifferently.
? Viewed horizontally, it looks like a ridge and the side looks like a peak.
? It has different heights near and far.
? Don’t know the true face of Mount Lu,
? Just because you are in this mountain.
——Inscribed on the wall of Xilin by Su Shi
After my mother wrote these four lines of poetry with her brush held vertically, she began to teach me to recite it over and over again in her northern Shanxi dialect. This is what she taught me. The first poem I memorized. Memorizing poems is of course fun. After I quickly recited them, my mother pressed the copied poems under the glass plate. There were already many ancient poems she had copied with a brush. A few days later, she pointed at the glass plate to question me again, so I pointed at the poem and read it back, knowing every word by heart.
? My mother was working at an artificial rainfall and hail prevention station, only 10 meters away from home. Red brick and red tile houses are surrounded by tall poplar trees. The glass windows are brightly polished, and the golden sunlight shines through the dense leaves on the table, covering it with spots like blinking eyes. The breeze in July blew the white singlet with blue polka dots that my mother was wearing at that time, and her soft black hair that was short to her ears. Her round face was white and clean, and her eyes with single eyelids were particularly kind. She was 37 that year. age. Looking at her photos from that time, she was quite elegant and delicate but often sad.
As long as I can remember, my mother has loved writing calligraphy. In the entire institution, there are two uncles who are good at calligraphy, and the only other one is my mother. In that poor era, there were only two cold Xinhua Bookstores in the entire city, one further away than the other. Without exception, the bookshelves on the four walls of the bookstore and the empty space on the ceiling are routinely covered with solemn portraits of leaders. These powerful old-timers all sit upright and stare into the distance. When I was young and illiterate and followed my mother into the Xinhua Bookstore, I stared at the leaders on the walls carefully, but they were never willing to smile at me. Before the 1980s, bookstores did not sell calligraphy copybooks, and my mother’s calligraphy materials were very poor, which meant that she had no chance to practice according to the calligraphy copybooks.
? My mother finds time to write calligraphy when she is at work, but she usually only writes for a short time.
She must spend her free time knitting sweaters, woolen pants, socks, gloves, sweaters, pants, socks, gloves, etc. The warm clothes worn by the five members of the family are all made by her mother's hard work; after get off work, her father She has been at the construction site all year round, and all the heavy and trivial labor at home belongs to her mother, which distracts her time and consumes her energy. So it is conceivable that my mother's love for calligraphy can only flow slowly, and she persists over time, and has reached a certain level of writing, but she can never put aside her work and housework and devote herself to her hobbies. This is such a pity. If the teacher's inheritance was clear and there was enough time, my mother's calligraphy would definitely be better. Calligraphers like today often have exhibitions, competitions, and auctions to win prizes and so on.
? Mother not only writes official script with a brush, she is also good at writing with a hard pen. No matter how cheap or broken the ballpoint pen is, as long as there is still a drop of oil, it will be held by the mother and write beautiful words. She never writes popular cursive scripts, but writes official script all her life. Her speed is very fast, no slower than cursive scripts, soft and powerful. To this day, my mother is the most beautiful person in the family in writing. She is only the first, not the second. There is an ordinary bamboo pen holder on my mother's desk all year round. The ink characters on the barrel are said to be carved by family members. I guess it is my father. The bamboo pen holder was naturally brought by him from his hometown in the south. He used a knife to carve the characters and then painted them. black ink. There are brushes of different sizes and thickness inserted into the pen holder. Next to the bamboo pen holder is a black stone inkstone, which shows a different style from the desks in the entire department and even the entire bureau. My mother also copied good poems and quotes from famous people that could help me improve myself with calligraphy and pressed them under the glass plate.
When I was in the fifth grade of primary school, my mother came home one day, her eyes shining and she said confidently: "I read the newspaper today and there was an article that said that if you read 300 Tang poems by heart, you will not be able to do it. I can compose poems and recite them. Let’s memorize Tang poems from now on.” My mother always copied ancient poems and memorized them, but they were not many, just over a hundred. From then on, her enthusiasm for reciting ancient poems increased greatly. She specially copied ancient poems in official script, and she continued to do so. But my mother was reluctant to use the sponge leather notebook (a high-end notebook at the time) awarded to her by her employer to copy poems. Her official script handwriting is on scattered pages, in small palm-sized books, and in the blank spaces of scrap newspapers... Thinking about it now, I suddenly understand her mother's shy wish at that time. If she memorizes poems, she can learn to recite poems. Then she would like to be a poet.
? The source of my mother’s search for poetry was very narrow and very folk. In those years, before leaving for work in the morning, she would always stop at the door for a moment and raise her hand to turn the page of the month card hanging on the wall at the door. She always knew the holidays, the 24 solar terms, or the lunar dates by heart. “What’s the date today on the Gregorian calendar?” But she never forgets to add: “What’s the date on the lunar calendar?” The cover is clamped so that on the last day of the year, she can take off one calendar intact and hang up a new one. The old calendar she took down became her notebook, with the blank pages or the back used to copy poems. My mother was so diligent in writing her official script, no matter that the paper the calendar was printed on was very thin and always white, red, blue, green, and yellow, and the translucent front could be seen from the back.
The calendar card has become one of my mother’s treasure troves for finding riddles about poems, songs, and poems. At the bottom of the date on each page, poems, poems, tunes, and poems are printed for each day, as well as knowledge points that she finds very smart, including tips on firewood, rice, oil, salt, sauce, vinegar, and tea. . During the years when I was with her, my ears were filled with poems, lyrics, and songs that my mother copied from books, newspapers, and calendar cards, recited them, and recited them with gusto as if she were "reciting sutras." I did have some resistance to her fascination with classical literature, because she couldn't speak Mandarin, but she read poems in dialect! Her dialect is called Tuoxian dialect, which belongs to the northern Shanxi dialect. In the elementary school where Mandarin was popular at that time, my mother's dialect really made me lose face and I always wanted to cover my ears. She was too embarrassed to imitate the announcer on the radio when she spoke in a rhythmic, colorful and emotional way. She read poems like a rhyme. I became a top student in the poetry recitation class at school. When I came home, I was even more disinclined to listen to my mother reciting poems in dialect, but she only smiled. In addition to the monthly cards at home, there was also a desk calendar issued by my father's work. My mother was even more reluctant to throw it away. Desk calendars were often made of good quality paper and had many blank spaces for messages. She tied the holes on one side of the desk calendar with a string and turned it into a thick little book. She carefully copied the verses with a brush in the blank spaces.
? My mother has told us many times that she has heard from her grandmother since she was a child that children should study hard. Grandma's name is Han Zhentang. She should be 113 years old this year. She is wrapped in a standard three-inch golden lotus. She teaches herself Chinese and arithmetic. She is a devout Catholic. Because she is well-educated, she also served as a teacher in the church before liberation for a long time. My mother's second uncle is called Han Guoliang, and he should be 125 years old this year. He was a leader of the people in the Tumochuan area. He led the people to build forts, fight against grain, soldiers and bandits. After liberation, he worked as a Chinese teacher in a middle school. He was a strong-willed hero who dared to tell the truth. My mother has been deeply influenced by her grandmother and uncle since she was a child. She is very eager for cultural knowledge and hopes to become a cultivated and knowledgeable person, so her mother is so willing to read books, read newspapers, and write well with calligraphy.
? One day she talked about practicing calligraphy when she was young. "I read a comrade's official writing in my unit and said it was good, so I started practicing it myself.
"When she said that, I clearly saw a faint smile on the corner of her mouth, and heard her deep admiration for that good teacher. I suddenly realized that the origin of her calligraphy comes from official script, which is amazing, because she is creative and did not follow The comrade my mother talked about was good at calligraphy. Who was he? Is he older or younger than my mother? Or is he the same age? What does he look like? Is he still alive? What is his fate? The mother used extremely vague words to describe him, and she would never say another word about him. I never mentioned his name and quickly changed the topic. My mother was really good at hiding this top-secret information for many, many years. I could only think about it and let it go. This talented man hidden in the government had a wonderful influence on my mother, who loved official script in her own way throughout her life. ?
My mother’s spiritual temperament and cultural pursuits have a subtle influence on us sisters. In high school, I practiced Liu Gongquan's calligraphy for three years, and then practiced official script, hard-pen regular script, and running script. In college, the subject of character design required practicing calligraphy every day. Thanks to practicing calligraphy in my youth, I have a good foundation and experience in learning this lesson. , got good marks in the exam. Now that we have the third generation in our family, my mother still pays attention to the handwriting of her grandchildren, and always praises her children when they are done. When my daughter was in the third grade of junior high school, she bought a calligraphy book written by Song Huizong in thin gold. , saying that we should practice calligraphy well. I called my mother and told her: "This is your inheritance. The child is very willing to write well." "My mother was very happy to hear this.
? After my mother entered her 70s, I continued to undergo major surgeries. My father's dementia became worse day by day, and my mother's mood became more and more painful. I have seen her I copied a book of poems during that period, all of which were tragic and heart-wrenching. I guess every word of the poem she chose was the outlet for her soul. She had endured the unfair judgment of fate her whole life, and could only find poetry. After my father became seriously ill, he occupied a back room alone, and my mother could only lie on the big bed in the dimly lit partition, lying on the bed and continue to copy and recite poems. My mother has always wanted to have a desk, but she brought back an old elementary school desk from somewhere and placed it in the narrow and dark living room as a place for her to write. The eye-catching old yellow paint was very inconsistent with the things in the house. There are the brushes and ink cartridges she used when she was young! She doesn't let us mess with her things. It's a pity that my mother has always been fond of calligraphy but never bought herself a good pen or a decent desk. I have never written on rice paper, I have never even seen rice paper, and I have never hung up the words in a grand manner to appreciate them.
Gradually, handwriting was replaced by computers and mobile phones, and even letters from home were replaced. It gradually disappeared. I haven’t written to my mother for a long, long time and only talked through WeChat videos. During the Spring Festival of 2014, I went back to my mother’s house to cook the New Year’s Eve dinner, and from time to time I turned on my phone to look up recipes. ! I wrote and copied good poems and common sense about life, and I wanted to leave them with you, so you might be able to use them in the future. Who would have thought that you can check it all with your mobile phone! All the notes I copied for you are useless! ! "My mother's voice was full of disappointment and huge regret. She was sitting on the sofa, her eyes widened, looking straight at us, and her hair was about to stand on end! Her two thin hands were beating hard Thighs!
? I was shocked, and my sister was shocked. We both turned to look at her. At that moment, I suddenly understood every word of the official script that my mother had worked so hard for. Love is like a "book of love" written to her children! People in the whole world can not understand her, but her daughter has no interest in reading it! , the notes she copied were of no use at all. She felt that her deep love for us was neglected and ignored! The exclamation from her mother was heart-wrenching and extremely rare! Throughout her life, only in her later years did she cry out in anger!
How could she make her mother feel that her writing was important? A series of notebooks from the primary school textbooks of the Republic of China, half of which were Chinese language lessons, and the other half had blank pages. The design of the notebooks was simple and interesting, and my mother was reluctant to buy them all her life. My sister asked my mother to copy poems and famous quotes on the blank pages every day, but my mother refused to do so. I wrote it. My sister said affectionately: “Mom, you have to write it. There are fewer and fewer people writing now, and my mother’s handwriting is so beautiful, so it will become more and more precious! When I miss you, I look at your writing. "My sister gave my mother a set of exquisite four treasures of the study. Paper, ink, pen and inkstone were all placed on the table. This professional and grand treatment made my mother at a loss. She touched it, took a look, shook her head and said nothing. Reluctant to use it, she stored it again. She started writing again, using an old inkstone and old pen and ink that she was familiar with. She wore reading glasses and began to write at her desk, stroke by stroke, as before. Seriously, as if he was doing something great.
I took out the notebook that won the prize in the autonomous region composition competition when I was 13 years old. When I was a child, I couldn't bear to write a word in it. When I always wanted to live an ideal life, I would use this notebook to record it carefully. Unexpectedly, even in middle age, I still don’t have the courage to write in that beautiful notebook. I solemnly decided to ask my mother to copy Tang poetry and Song lyrics in official script in a notebook that I was reluctant to write. Mother agreed. Before she started this copying project, she wore reading glasses and carefully wrapped and glued my beautiful notebook with several layers of clean old newspapers, as if she was working in the "Red Room" in middle age and tightly packed and mailed it. Precious cargo from afar!
One day, I discovered that my mother had copied the poem onto my favorite photograph that I had admired thousands of times as a child! In the past, frugality came first, and my mother also habitually saved paper so that the poems could be squeezed together as much as possible, and she could write as many poems as possible on one page. As a result, each page was as crowded as a group of aunts and uncles queuing up to buy special offers at the vegetable market. I was shocked, and my mother apologized repeatedly: "I'm sorry! I'll be careful next time I copy!" Now I really regret it, how could I fill in the imprint of an entire era on her life!
In mid-December 2015, my father could not walk, and my mother broke her back while trying to help him. My younger sister quit her job and went home to take care of her parents for a long time. The mother did not want to delay her sister's lifelong events and future prospects, and became increasingly worried. When I went back during the Spring Festival of 2017, I brought back the memoirs of my great uncle from Korea. "How commemorative is such a precious manuscript! I am afraid that future generations will not know about the hero Han Guoliang! There is a novel serialized online recently, which only mentions my maternal uncle, but does not describe it in detail. This is all because The information has never been made public." This convinced my mother to start copying.
Under the warm light of the afternoon, my mother was sitting on the bed, leaning on the small kang table to copy. She was wearing huge reading glasses and her body was so thin. My mother was writing quietly, which made me feel more at ease.
? My mother passed away on April 25, 2019. Later, my parents' house was demolished, and I went to do the final cleaning. I said goodbye to the home where I grew up, and encountered the vernacular "Historical Records" that I had read as a child. The cover of the book is faded, the pages are slightly curled at the corners, and the patches on the grid paper are still there where the spine is damaged, full of the flavor of time. I was surprised to find that the book written 40 years ago was dull, colorless, gray, and so old, but my mother's calligraphy was still clearly written in the book without fading at all. I couldn't read it when I was a kid, but now I can. Some of my mother's inkblots are comments on events, and some are sighs about the tragedies of characters, but they are all very brief, with only a few numbers.
? I was instantly surprised by my mother’s inner turmoil! What a woman my mother was! ? She endured great political pressure and never dared or could express her aspirations boldly. She could only occasionally leave a few words of grief and indignation in the blank spaces of the pages. She wanted peace and happiness in her life, but she suffered all her life!
? It took me from childhood to middle age to gradually understand my mother.
However, it was too late!
2022.1.10