星期六的早晨,我正沉醉在晨梦的酣甜里,手机却淘气地唱起歌来。拿起,传来在北方城市工作的表妹的娇柔声音:“姐,我想吃家乡的泡米古了,你邮寄些给我吧。”我嘴上应着,心里嘀咕:去买呢?还是亲手做?身体里的另一个声音回答我:自己做!泡米古,即油炸蕃薯米古。从小时起,我最盼的就是秋天了。童年的秋天,天蓝蓝,水清清。稻田里的糯穗黄澄澄,地里的蕃薯胖乎乎。待到某星期日,家里上学的人、上班的人,都聚在家时,妈妈乐呵呵地把新生糯米磨成粉,和着蒸熟的蕃薯,放入滚 On Saturday morning, I was immersed in the sweet dreams of the morning dream, but my cell phone sang naughtyly. Pick up, came the cousin’s work in the northern city of the delicate voice: “Sister, I want to go home bubble meters ancient, you send me some mail it. ” My mouth should be, my heart whispered: to buy it Or personally? Another voice in the body to answer me: do it yourself! Buban ancient, that is, fried sweet potato rice ancient. Since I was young, what I really hope for is autumn. Childhood autumn, blue sky, clear water. The yellowish yellow glutinous rice in the rice fields, the sweet potatoes in the ground chubby. Until a Sunday, people go to school at home, working people, are gathered at home, my mother cheerfully to the new glutinous rice ground into powder, and steamed sweet potato, into the roll