Super Little Farmer

0In the old days, my mother had often been unable to sleep well because of her cervical spondylosis; my father, seeing and memorizing it, had collected some unknown herbs, dried them in the sun, and then carefully designed and sewn a pillow like this according to the condition of my mother's neck while she slept. Since then, my mother had to use it every night and slept well. I, on the other hand, in the most accidental of circumstances, had come to the conclusion, from very minute observations, that this Ronnie might not be able to sleep well all the time. He didn't know why, but he felt a bit of heartache, so he had been thinking of a way to resolve it.    

    

One day she remembered her father's gesture, and, inspired by it, she sewed a pillow of the same kind and gave it to him, hoping it would help her in her sleep.    

    

I am quite confident in my knitting skills. Because it's from my father and my mother, who gave it to me. It's just that I'm still a little curious. It was normal for my mother to know how to sew and how to sew, but my father was a man, and the stitches he made were very even and fine, and I could tell they were excellent, but they puzzled me.    

    

Of course, I didn't need to know that at the moment. I just needed to sew a pillow for Ronnie, as my parents had taught me. And that's what I did about three months ago. I remember that when I gave Ronnie that little pillow, her eyes were like water, not just for the little pillow, but for me!    

    

As for the size, height, shape, and shape of the small pillow, so on, so on and so forth, I also rely on my usual subtle observation to reach the conclusion. It was also thanks to the fact that during the second half of last year, Ronnie often slept with her son in the small courtyard I rented. My eyes were the eyes of a hunter trained by my father to hunt in the mountains. With just a single glance, he was able to make a rough estimation of the situation. And because of the guidance my father used to give my mother, it didn't take much effort for me to make that little pillow. It was my idea to give her Ronnie to try to sleep a few times before making any changes. Who knew that the moment Ronnie saw it, she would take it in her hands, look left and right, love it so much that she tried it out again; but this time, she found it just so happened to be the right one, and it was custom-made for me, so she never asked me to modify it again, and just directly used it until today!    

    

I explained the reasons for my sewing, the process, including my constant state of mind, my choice of fabric, my search for herbs, my father's inspiration for making a pillow, and so on. Somehow, as I said this, I felt as if I were back in my childhood, and I saw my father sewing a pillow for my mother from an oil lamp …    

    

I don't know when I finished. All I could feel was a sudden silence all around me.    

    

What happened next? What's with that little purse in that little pillow?    

    

After an unknown period of time, while I was still immersed in the memories of my parents, Ronnie finally asked me another question.    

    

The voice seemed to be choked with sobs. I looked down at Ronnie. Her face was still relatively calm, but there was a layer of mist in her eyes, as well as a tinge of red.    

    

I was curious. Ronnie, who was in my embrace, seemed to want to cry. However, her calm expression showed that she didn't seem to have that intention.    

    

I don't know why I think she is. It seemed to be just a feeling. Then I thought, Why is she crying? Just a small pillow? No way! It was only a small matter. Thinking about it, she doesn't want to cry. I'm afraid I'm a little distracted!    

    

Oh, maybe she really did want to cry, for the love between my father and my mother. Or maybe, because it was my parents, she was trying not to cry!    

    

Only, this is not the time for me to probe whether she cries or not. My first priority at the moment was to explain to her about the little purse in the little pillow.    

    

It was a masterpiece of mine. At that moment, I gathered my thoughts and calmed my heart. I continued to recall the scene of sewing that small pillow.    

    

In fact, when I made that little pillow that day, I hadn't thought of preparing another little purse for Ronnie. When the pillow was almost ready, and I had completely sewed it up, I suddenly remembered that Ronnie had another bad habit: she was so absorbed in her work that she often neglected the little things she had with her that might be important to her. When I thought of this, I felt a sense of childishness and compassion, so I sewed a small purse with my own hands. Then I exchanged three thousand yuan for a whole new one hundred yuan bill from the bank, folded it carefully, stuffed it into the small purse, and sewed it shut. Finally, he opened the small pillow a bit more and stuffed the red packet into the middle of the small pillow. He wrapped the pillow around it with the herbs and fine silk, and then sewed the small pillow back together. In fact, my thoughts were very simple, for one thing, the bill was 3,000 yuan, but because it was new, it didn't take up too much space in the small pillow, so it didn't affect the use of the small pillow at all. With the 3,000 yuan, even if Ronnie lost those important items, she could still eat a beautiful meal, find a three-star hotel to sleep in for the night, and buy a comfortable flight ticket back to Chu Jing. In any city in the country, a person with 3,000 yuan would be able to do all three of these things!    

    

I know you, Ronnie, sometimes like to drop things. My purpose is to let you, Ronnie, go home safely. My idea is that simple!    

    

I finally finished the process of making the small pouch in the pillow. Finally, I looked at Ronnie and calmly summed up my reasons. This was the truth, and it was very simple!    

    

However, although I have come back, one of my things has been stolen and will never be taken back! Ronnie listened to my explanation, and then to my calm explanation of the simple reason, and finally she couldn't help it. The mist in her eyes finally turned into tears, and she almost cried as she told me that, despite my meticulous efforts, something had been stolen from her!    

    

Ah? How could this be? What had been stolen from her that she could never find again? Startled, I looked down at Ronnie. She was crying so hard, I was sure that what she had lost was important. I couldn't help but feel a little heartache and started to blame myself. I blamed myself for being considerate in the end. Right now, he had temporarily forgotten about the harm he had done to Ronnie, and was only thinking of how to persuade her.