Organizing a book is a laborious and blissful task, time flows quickly, between picking up and putting down, time is sometimes the footsteps of a smart man, sometimes the fluttering feathers of a dull bird.

Each of the old teacher's books is very well preserved, and there is a lot of white paper in the book, and the white paper is densely written with notes.

When I was studying in the financial library, I met an old gentleman who would sit in his seat and read a book, and there would always be a stack of scraps of paper tied with rubber bands on the table, and the pieces of paper would be densely packed with notes.

I am afraid that only he can read the old gentleman's piece of paper, and others can only envy it when they read it.

Notebooks are personal things, and the most important thing is that the person who writes them understands it.

Qian Zhongshu also likes to use similar small cards, and "Talking Art" is from pieces of paper to paragraphs and then to articles.

As long as you don't lose it, your memories will be more precious as you get older and your memories become less and less reliable.

I also have the habit of using cards to take notes, especially horizontal line cards, which are a small box when I buy them, which is very easy to use.

The paper in the old teacher's book is different from the card I use every day, it is the kind of paper that is only the thickness of printing paper, and the size may be A4 printing paper folded in half in the vertical direction, then folded horizontally, and then folded again, divided into eight small rectangular pieces of paper.

It may seem easy to cut pieces of paper with a blade, but it actually requires a lot of patience, and it can be seen from these pieces of paper that the owners of these books must have been very patient and careful, because the edges of each piece of paper are very smooth and neat.

Almost every book contains such pieces of paper, neatly written, as if written with a ruler.

The more I looked at these pieces of paper, the more I felt that these books should not be so simply taken for myself, and I always felt that I had done something wrong.

That night, I didn't sleep all night thinking about these books.

At the beginning of the morning, I was blowing the morning wind on the balcony, the moon had not yet completely set, and the sky was like Japanese Japanese colored paper, and like a petal on the girl's lips.

I fantasize about the distant sky, the endless sky, the endless sea.

Cities are like that, on the balcony, looking out at the sight, the sight grows feet, jumping over the treetops, jumping over the antennas, ignoring the tall buildings, and then the sky.

When looking at the sky, it is like looking at life, you have to ignore some in order to see clarity and brightness.

That morning, I couldn't brighten or clear my mind.

Watering the flowers, running, returning to the desk and writing for a while, barely finishing a thousand words, turning a few pages of what I had been reading recently, and still not being able to be quiet.

I finally stayed up until breakfast time, knocked on my grandfather's door, and some things still had to be talked about with the elders.

Grandpa frowned after hearing what was on my mind.

I thought he would use his hearty laughter to help me dispel the water-soaked cotton in my heart, but it was like I had brought my troubles to my grandfather.

"That...... It's okay, it's okay, I just think it's weird, don't worry about grandpa, the book is still taken back in a regular way. ”

"I've been in this situation before." Grandpa seems to be stuck in memory.

"When some old people get old, they don't know who to give their books to."

With that, my grandfather stood up and ran to the kitchen to get the tea set.

"I'll make tea." I took the plate and began to pick up the tea leaves, and there was freshly boiled hot water in the kettle next to me, so I could make tea after scalding the teacup.

Grandpa shook the bamboo chair and looked at the bookshelf, "Look, these books on the top, the top row." ”

Following my grandfather's line of sight, I asked, "Is my grandfather talking about "The Mustard Seed Garden"?" This set of books has been on the shelves for a long time. ”

"Yes, many people want to buy it, but I've always been reluctant to do it, but you showed it to you when you were a child."

"Me?" Memories begin to turn, but unfortunately the object to be sought is a master of hide and seek.

I shook my head, and my grandfather smiled and said, "It's okay, it's okay, you were still very young at that time, and I heard that people were painting ink paintings, so I took rice paper and a brush and started to paint, and I didn't know these ink paintings, so I could only find you some books to read, and this set of "Mustard Seed Garden Biography" happened to be at hand, so I showed it to you." ”

"Can I read it?" I asked.

"You can't read it, but it's okay, just take it and rummage through it."

The Mustard Seed Garden is a famous painting book from the Kangxi period of the Qing Dynasty, which introduces in detail the various techniques of landscape painting, Meilan, bamboo and chrysanthemum painting, and flowers, birds, and cordyceps painting in Chinese painting. Depiction expressive, engraved Seiko, brush printing ingenuity, completely retain the charm of the original painting, each painting is a very poor, ingenious masterpiece, just turned 7 years old, but also watercolor pen and oil pastel between the rainbow foolishness, the first time to look at the plum orchid bamboo chrysanthemum, the book rhyme, although there is no opportunity to learn painting, flowers, grasses, insects, birds and many love is also somewhat influenced by the childhood of this set of books.

The poet Nishikawa once said that a life with depth and breadth is always related to poetry, when you are painting, you are related to poetry, and when you are choosing daily necessities with a sense of design, you are still related to poetry.

When I looked at "The Mustard Seed Garden" along my grandfather's line of sight, when I took off the painting that covered the surface with a layer of gentle time, I heard the poetry flowing.

"This was left by an old gentleman, and I remember clearly, when I went to Songjiang by bicycle."

"Bikes?" With an incredulous expression, I picked up my cup but didn't drink it.

"Ah, bicycle, not long after the spring arrived, I went to Songjiang with Uncle Li of the old house, he went there to see the mulberry leaves, do you remember, their family has raised a lot of silkworm babies for a few years."

"Remember, remember." I nodded frequently, the silkworm baby is drilled out of a small dot, these small dots are exactly the same size as the full stop printed on the book, the cardboard is densely covered with light yellow-gray eggs, Grandma Li spread these cardboard on the ground, I went to see a few times a day, one day, the small dots are all gone, into a gray silkworm baby, all on the ground and in the sieve, those days of silkworm babies than the stars in the sky.

Now that I think about it, I feel goosebumps, and I feel a little scared.

When I was young, I didn't feel scary at all, but I felt that these little things were quiet and not scary at all.

"And then?" I asked.

"In fact, I don't feel far away from cycling, spring, I rode all the way to it, but there are too many books than I imagined, and the person who contacted me to collect the book said that there were only a few dozen books and the boss had to go to pick them up in person, and I said it was okay, even if it was ten books, as long as the readers who bought the books here asked me to pick them up, I would go."

Grandpa took a sip of water, moistened his throat, and continued, "I couldn't hold so many books that day, and what impressed me me was the impatient eyes of my family. ”

"Can't the family tolerate more than a hundred books?"

"Everyone has their own ideas, not everyone likes books, some books are put in one place, some people look at them every day, but they may not open them for a lifetime."

I pondered my grandfather's words, imagining such and such a scene, as if I smelled the dim smell of cement in the basement.