最后,日子还是得一日三餐地过下去,便只好走进母亲的厨房,虽然母亲1987年就从厨房退役,但她在世和刚刚走开的日子里,我总觉得厨房还是母亲的。每一家的厨房,只要有母亲还在,就一定是母亲的。我站在厨房里,为从老厨房带过来的一刀、一铲、一瓢、一碗、一筷、一勺伤情。这些东西,没有一样不是母亲用过的。也为母亲没能见到这新厨房和新厨房里的每一样新东西而嘴里发苦,心里发灰。为新厨房置办这四个火眼带烤箱炉子的时候,母亲还健在,我曾夸下海口:“妈,等咱们搬进新家,我给您烤蛋糕,烤鸡吃。” In the end, they still had to go on a three-day meal day and had to go into the mother’s kitchen. Although her mother retired from the kitchen in 1987, I always felt that the kitchen was still a mother when she was alive and just gone. Every kitchen, as long as the mother is still, it must be the mother’s. I stood in the kitchen, taking a knife, a shovel, a spoon, a bowl, a chopsticks, and a spoonful of wounds brought over from the old kitchen. These are not the same things that mothers did not use. But also for his mother failed to see every new thing in this new kitchen and new kitchen and his mouth bitter, gray heart. When I set up these four fireside oven stoves for my new kitchen, my mother was still alive, and I boast about the sea: “Mom, let’s move into a new home and I’ll give you a cake and roast chicken.”