children's Day
VicentaLakin
Tell me the stories of my childhood — people say three years old and old, and it seems to make sense to think about it. Say to me, when I was a kid, I wanted to eat all kinds of strange ways. It was almost the same year, and it seemed like it was still growing. Because they love it, they're free to figure out how to make all kinds of good things in the heavens and the earth, and they're too hot to talk about it. When I was a child, I called my mother a cat. I saw it when I was a child. Until now, even once in a while, I'm going to tell you a lot of stories about my childhood. Unlike now, when we were children, we did not have too many homework and extracurricular training, remedial classes, and our childhood was free. The rest of the time, just do your homework. After school, Mom and Dad said, "Did you finish your homework?" And the bag went crazy with your little friend in the yard. In early primary school, when playing at home, others struggled to be bride grooms, and every time I volunteered to cook, all sorts of strange “welcomes” were spread out with a variety of picks of herb leaves, mud, and scabs. One time she stole my mother's pasturized meat from the yard, led a group of partners to hide behind the yard and set fire to roast, then smoked into the other's room, scared the family to think it was on fire, and came out to find out that it was us. The family who was so upset then went to my mother's house to sue me. The crime of arson, along with the theft of meat, led me to kneel in front of President Mao in the living room for two hours to confess. There's a game at the entrance to the school where you're going to turn a wheel of sugar, a wheel of which you're going to transfer to the owner, and you're going to have to use the syrup in two strokes. Every time I turn a chicken, a duck or something, I've never been in touch with a dragon on the plate, and one time I've gone to a dragon, and my heart's pounding, and I've been talking about my throat, and it's just a little bit of a finger in the final moment, and it's still a chicken. I went home angry and put a pound of sugar in my mother's pot, melted out something that I swore I had to put on a candy dragon. Although my mother finally covered up the mess before she came home from work, she was caught in the smell of her old man's delicate nose. The eastern window was so bad that she didn't get the sugar flowers or the flesh, but my mother almost read the cocoons. Since then, in order to prevent me from having a chance to make trouble again, with my mother's “no later setting fire to food at home”, our kitchen has completely closed to me the door full of temptations in the sound of a resolute and unwelcome attitude. The most representative thing about being a child is that two scars still remain on my legs, following them throughout their lives and telling me from time to time of the heavy cost of growing up. The piece on the calf was burned by a coal stove when one hot summer went to eat his father's ginger made in pickles; the other one was burned by steam in a high-pressure pan. Two scars are completely branded as a "favorite ghost" and can't be washed away! In fact, it's about childhood, about eating, about all the other funny things, and in retrospect, it's about the fun and the heart. Remembering years, when people grow older, become rational and urban, and increasingly lose their innocence and childishness. That is the price to pay for growth. It's just a lot of people who can grow old, grow stronger inside, but do not need to lose that child. Or just the joy of seeing snowflakes flying in the snow, or the gloom of memory that lingers after the water has passed, so that it may remain with you in a corner. Everything we've been through, we've been through, we've been through more... It's just that once we've tasted the best of our lives, we can sometimes remember that era of purity, like a piece of tea chewed finely after the rest of our meal, and the fragrance of our lips..
VicentaLakin
time is running out, and the year is coming to an end. on the 15th of the month, the south eats soup and the north eats it overnight; something like this, but it's quite different in taste. and i was a northerner of the tunnel, but i didn't like to eat the night, and then the soup came to the north, and i threw it away. and we went straight to the cuddles last year, but when it's frozen, it's broken, it's changed, it's not frozen again this year. and the cuddles are added to the recently popular healthy food potato, and we have to be healthy
VicentaLakin
This is the first time I've made bread and made a recipe. It's not that simple to think about making bread. It's hard to make bread without a toaster. And I don't know how big the fermentation is, what the butter is, and so many questions. For the first time, it's a failure, it's a bad face, it's very hard. It'll be a little better the second time, learning a lot about bread, and it's like that. When the bread was almost baked in the oven, the smell of bread was in the house, and all I made was a sense of achievement. Friends who love to make bread, you know that。
