Stories and essays that only belong to you and me.

What I can't forget is not only the years I can't go back, but also the simplicity and happiness I once had.

-Inscription.

As long as people are old, they will keep some old things at home more or less. Even when they move, they will take away some things that don't seem to have much use value, not because of how valuable those things are, but because those old things have stories that belong only to them, only to you and me.

Until the 1970s, in our remote village, few people had wall clocks and many children. Therefore, parents can't remember the birthdays of the children born at that time. Rural people are superstitious. Some people go to fortune telling, but they can only tell the date of birth roughly, so the fortune teller has to squint for a long time.

When I was a child, I slept on a big kang, and five or six people in my family crowded on a big kang. Later, my brothers and sisters grew up, slept separately and went out to study in the commune. Going out to study is not as strict on time as in the village. Father bought a wall clock with the money dug out of his teeth and hung it on the north wall of Kang. At that time, I slept in the north of the big kang, and this wall clock hung above the side where I slept.

The wall clock can only be moved by manual strings. Two buttons, one for running time and the other for reminding hours. Every hour, it will ring "when-when-when-". When I took a nap in summer, my father was afraid of noise and didn't play the strings during that time. The noise of the wall clock is nothing compared with us crazy children, and it is even more boring for my father who takes a lunch break in summer. It seems that in the summer of childhood, children don't have the concept of taking a nap. They are playing hide-and-seek and chasing after the poisonous sun at noon. I often let my big white goose sing "ga-ga-ga" around her neck and tear off my friends who follow me. The "high-pitched singing" of the Great White Goose woke my father during his lunch break, which often aroused a bitter scolding, or shut us out of the gate and let us make a scene in the scorching sun.

Every once in a while, the wall clock will go slower, and the sound of "tick" will feel weak. Then, it is necessary to open the glass cover with peony flowers on the side, dial the minute hand backwards, wind it up by the way, and twist it for more than ten turns, so that you can run for about half a month. I don't know how old I am, but I am in love with entanglement. For a time, I always wound the wall clock. Every time you twist the spring, it will make a "squeak, squeak" sound. The more turns you twist, the tighter the spring will be. Finally, you feel a little tired and your strength is almost enough. Then you gently swing the pendulum, and the wall clock has a new life-maybe the reason why you were obsessed with winding was for this last gentle swing.

This reminds me of a story I once saw about Sherlock Holmes solving a case: a man went out for two months and just came home to find that his home was stolen and something very important was lost. For two months, there was no one at home, the doors and windows were not damaged, and no suspicious fingerprints were found. This man did go out for two months, and someone proved it. Then how was his house stolen? Later, after a patrol, the detective pointed out that the informant was lying, which surprised all the people present. At that time, stories in magazines would be sold cheaply. Tell me where to find the answer. I looked between the lines and finally found the answer: because the detective saw that the wall clock of the informant was still ticking, it was impossible for it to run for two months without winding it, even if it was more precise. From this we know that the informer is lying. Such an inconspicuous detail in the article has become the key to solving the case!

I was depressed when I saw the answer. You said I hung a wall clock all day, but I just forgot this. I have to admire the detective's meticulous observation and the writer's ability to observe the details of life.

I tried my best to recall the bits and pieces about the wall clock, but found that it gave me the greatest comfort that I fell asleep in the ticking sound and the "Dangdang" sound of the hour when I was a child, and slept until dawn! How happy it is to think that you can't sleep for half a night now!

I'm used to using my mobile phone to tell the time. However, every time I go back to my mother's house with my mobile phone in my pocket, I will habitually go to the back room to look at this old object hanging on the wall. Perhaps, the moment I returned to my mother's house, my heart went back to the past.

The wall clock is just a drop of water in the long river of years, but it has experienced the prosperity and loneliness of a family. Witnessed the growth and marriage of children, witnessed the ups and downs of parents' life, slowly changed from a handsome young man to an old man in his twilight years, and witnessed his father's sudden death due to illness. ...

Time slipped away quietly like this. ...

I have two uncles, and my mother is my grandfather's only daughter. Before the land reform, my grandfather was a landlord. When it comes to fighting landlords, the first thing that comes to mind may be people like Zhou Pipi in film and television dramas. Actually, it is not. Grandpa's family has some fields and rich family background, but it doesn't mean that he is a local tyrant who runs amok in the countryside. Grandpa is kind, charitable and has a good reputation. Only at a certain time in China, people like him not only lost their scenery, but also suffered some unwarranted charges. My father is Hong Miao, and both generations are from party member, but my family is also very poor.

My father and mother only took a group photo once when they were children. I took it when I got married, because I moved twice and didn't save it. My uncle's house only has one photo of them at that time. I still remember seeing my father handsome and my mother beautiful when I was a child. They are a perfect match. I don't know if there was some motive for their marriage at that time, but it was this fate that made them the parents of our four sisters.

The dustpan used for mother's wedding fashion dowry was woven by herself. Clumsy mother tied the sorghum stalks with equal thickness into strips and soaked them in water. When they become soft, they scrape off the pulp inside and weave them with skin. Those pimples have a lot of fine burrs. If you are not careful, they will get stuck in the meat and have to be picked out with a needle. There is a needle and thread duster, which my mother taught her by hand when she was a beginner. Later, my mother made two mistakes in her own lines. Grandma said, wrong is wrong, don't change it.

After my mother got married, I didn't have many decent articles for daily use when I separated. My grandfather, not afraid of the long journey, transported a whole panel step by step with a trolley. My mother still uses that panel. It is a part of a whole tree, very thick and heavy. It's hard to imagine what kind of mood it is for Grandpa to push the heavy panel step by step on the rugged and muddy road.

When I was a child, I followed my mother to my grandfather's house. My impression of my grandfather is very vague. I only remember that he was a big man with a round face and a wide body, and he was amiable, but he was very old. Every time we go, he is on the kang, lying or sitting. When he saw me, he grabbed a handful of candy from a jar in the corner of the big kang where he slept and gave it to me. Later, when I was four or five years old, my grandfather passed away. Grandpa didn't get sick or get fat in his later years. He fell asleep. Mom said that your grandfather is a good student of the World Bank.

Sometimes I wonder what kind of person my grandfather should be. He can think about the details of life so thoroughly, not just a panel, but everything he gives his children contains a deep father's love!

We have been urging my mother to throw away those tattered old boxes and cabinets, but she is always reluctant to part with them, saying that they are still in use.

In fact, we don't understand that everything in those things has a story that belongs to that era and belongs to the mother.

After reading this passage, I feel very meaningful: when you move to a new house or change the environment, don't throw away all the old things and leave some memories for yourself. When you are particularly lonely, it will be your spiritual comfort.

When our children get married and leave home one by one, only these old things will accompany their elderly mothers as always. They are not only her lifelong companions, but also the witnesses of many people, events and feelings. With their mothers, they won't give up their mission. They will also resolutely accompany their mother and her warm yard and play an unforgettable love song between people.