我记忆深处一直埋藏着一个瓦罐,灰褐的釉色沾满了尘土,罐口用一张胶纸密封住,罐颈处被一根纤细的红毛线缠了又缠。母亲将这个土制的瓦罐视若珍宝,搁在靠墙壁放的一张红木衣柜上。罐子里装的是小半罐猪油。那时候,家里是养不起猪的,这半罐猪油的来历便成了一个秘密。父亲也不知道它是怎么来的,只说有一天他外出翻红苕,傍晚回家时,屋里就多出这么个罐子来。问母亲,母亲缄口不语,只凝视着那个小小的罐子沉默半晌,然后,抬起手抹眼泪。母亲的 I remember a deep jar has always been a jar, gray brown glaze stained with dust, the jar sealed with a piece of adhesive tape, jars neck was wrapped in a slender red wool wrapped around. Mother regarded this earthen jar as a treasure, resting it on a mahogany closet resting on the wall. The jar is filled with half a can of lard. At that time, the family can not afford to raise pigs, the origins of this half-pot lard has become a secret. My father did not know how it came from, saying only that one day he would go out and turn red, and when he came home in the evening, he would have more jars in his house. Asked the mother, the mother shut up silent, only gazing at the little jar for a long silence, and then raised his hand and tears. Mother’s