母亲的睡房,静静卧着一架老旧的缝纫机,生了些锈迹,母亲便以机油浸润,并将淡黄色的台面擦拭得光洁无比,黑色的机体油黑发亮。这台缝纫机见证光阴的变迁,静默地将往事藏在记忆。我上小学一年级的那年春天,父亲专门约一位搞运输的亲戚到城里,帮忙买了一台缝纫机。当一台崭新的“华南牌”缝纫机运到 Mother’s bedroom, lying quietly on an old sewing machine, gave birth to some rust, the mother will be infiltrated with oil, and light yellow countertops wipe clean incomparable, black body shiny black oil. This sewing machine witness the change of time, silently keeping things in memory. In the spring of that year, when I was in the first grade of my elementary school, my father specialized in traveling to the city about a relative who was in transport and helped to buy a sewing machine. When a brand new “South China” sewing machine shipped to