snapshot of herself in a bathing suit； which drove me to the wildest of fantasies。 I mentioned the possibility of marriage in my next letter； and almost immediately her replies became less frequent； less personal。
The first thing I did when I returned to the States was to call on Rachel。 Her mother answered the door。 Rachel no longer lived there。 She had married a medical student she’d met in college。 “I thought she wrote you。” her mother said。
Her“Dear John” letter finally caught up with me while I was awaiting discharge。 She gently explained the impossibility of a marriage between us。 Looking back on it； I must have recovered rather quickly； although for the first few months I believed I didn’t want to live。 Like Rachel； I found someone else； whom I learned to love with a deep and permanent5 mitment that has lasted to this day。
Then； recently； after an interval of more than 40 years； I heard from Rachel again。 Her husband had died。 She was passing through town and had learned of my where abouts through a mutual friend。 We agreed to meet。 。 想看书来
初 恋（3）
I felt both curious and excited。 In the last few years； I hadn’t thought about her； and her sudden call one morning had taken me aback。 The actual sight of her was a shock。 This white…haired matron6 at the restaurant table was the Rachel of my dreams and desires； the supple mermaid of that snapshot？
Yet time had given us a mon reference and respect。 We talked as old friends； and quickly discovered we were both grandparents。
“Do you remember this？” She handed me a slip of worn paper。 It was a poem I’d written her while still in school。 I examined the crude meter and pallid rhymes。 Watching my face； she snatched the poem from me and returned it to her purse； as though fearful I was going to destroy it。
I told her about the snapshot； how I’d carried it all through the war。
“It wouldn’t have worked out； you know。” she said。
“How can you be sure？” I countered。 “Ah； colleen； it might have been grand indeed—my Irish conscience and your Jewish guilt！”
Our laughter startled people at a nearby table。 During the time left to us； our glances were furtive； oblique。 I think that what we saw in each other repudiated what we’d once been to ourselves； we immortals。
Before I put her into a taxi； she turned to me。 “I just wanted to see you once more。 To tell you something。” Her eyes met mine。“I wanted to thank you for having loved me as you did。 ” We kissed； and she left。
From a store window my reflection stared back at me； an aging mall； with gray hair stirred by an evening breeze。 I decided to walk home。 Her kiss still burned on my lips。 I felt faint； and sat on a park bench。 All around me the grass and trees were shining in the surreal glow of sunset。 Something was being lifted out of me。 Something had been pleted； and the scene before me was so beautiful that I wanted to shout and dance and sing for joy。
That soon passed； as everything must； and presently I was able to stand and start for home。
。。
家
佚名
我与一位路过的陌生人相撞了。我赶忙说声：“对不起！”他却说：“我也很抱歉……我没有注意到你。”我们彼此都彬彬有礼——陌生人和我。之后我们道别，各自上路。
但是，在家里的情况却完全不同。我们是怎样对待自己的爱人、孩子和老人呢？之后，当我在厨房做饭时，我的女儿蹑手蹑脚地进来，静悄悄地躲在我的背后。当我转身时差点撞倒了她。“让开！”我皱着眉头咆哮。她怏怏地离开，带着破碎的小小心灵。我没有意识到自己说得多严厉。
那晚，我躺在床上，上帝轻声地对我说：“与陌生人打交道，你沉着冷静、彬彬有礼。但与亲人相处，你却很容易激动……现在，去看看厨房的地上，你会看到门边的一些花。那些美丽的花朵是她带绐你的。她亲手采摘下来的——粉色的、黄色的，还有蓝色的。她悄悄地站在那里，是想给你一个惊喜。你都没看到她眼中的泪水。”
到现在，我感觉自己很悲哀、很渺小，此刻，我的泪水开始奔涌。我悄悄地来到她的床前，跪在床边：“醒醒，小甜心，醒一下，”我轻声地唤着她，“那些花是你采给我的吗？”自豪的笑容浮上她的嘴角，“我在外面的榆树旁发现的。我用一张餐巾纸包起来，就是为了送给你。我知道你一定会喜欢，尤其是蓝色的。”我感动地说：“对不起，宝贝，我今天没看到它们……我不该那样对你大喊大叫。”
她低声地说：“没事的，妈妈……不管怎样，我还是爱你。”我紧紧地拥抱住她说：“妈妈也爱你……妈妈也爱宝贝送的花，尤其喜欢那些蓝色的。”
你是否意识到这点：如果你明天就要死去，你所在的公司不到几天就会找到替代你的人，而你抛下的家人，会在余生里感受着失去你的哀伤。好好想想吧，我们把更多的精力投放在事业上，而不是在家庭上，这是多么愚蠢的投资啊！
Family
Anonymous
I ran into a stranger as he passed by“I’m so sorry！” was my reply． Then he said，“Excuse me too。。。 I wasn’t even watching for you．” We were very polite； this stranger and I． Then we went on our ways after saying good…bye．
But at home； a different story is told． How we tread our loved ones， young and old． Later； in the kitchen； as I cooked our meal； my daughter crept up to me； very still． When I turned； I nearly knocked her down． “Get out of the way！” I barked with a frown． She sauntered away，with her little heart broken． I didn’t realize how harshly I’d spoken．
That night，as I lay awake in bed，God’s quiet voice spoke to me and said，“While dealing with a stranger； you’re calm and polite，but with those you love，you’re quick to excite。。。 Go look right now on the kitchen floor； you’ll find some flowers there bythe door． Those are the flowers she brought for you． She picked them herself—pink； yellow； and blue． She stood there quietly； not to spoil your surprise； and you never saw the tears in her eyes．”
By this time； I felt sad and small and now my own tears had begun to fall． I quietly went and knelt by her bed； “Wake up，sweetheart； wake up；” I said． “Are these the flowers you picked for me？” She smiled；“I found’em； out by the tree． I wrapped’em in a napkin； just for you． I knew you’d like’em． Especially the blue．” I said； “I’m so sorry that I missed them today。。。 And I shouldn’t have fussed at you that way．”
And she whispered； “Mommy； that’s okay。。。 I still love you any way．” I hugged her and said． “I love you too。。。 And I love my flowers； especially the blue．”
Are you aware that：If you die tomorrow； the pany that you are working for could easily replace you in a matter of days。 But the family you leave behind will feel the loss for the rest of their lives。 And e to think of it； we pour ourselves more into our work than into our families—an unwise investment indeed。
。 想看书来
金秋时节（1）
佚名
我突然想起了自己的小女儿，现在她在阿姆斯特丹生活。她一会儿就会打电话过来问：“你种上洋葱了吗？”然后，我就会跟她开玩笑说，事实上，我正等她回来帮我呢。这样，我俩便双双陷入回忆之中，因为，我们曾经总在整个金秋时节的午后，一起种洋葱，当她还只有三岁半时，就满怀孩童的热情和欢欣来帮我了。
那天午后，她最后一次陪在我身边，因为她已经准备上学了。她拿着小桶和铁锨无忧无虑、满心欢喜地走来走去，用土盖洋葱时喊着：“晚安”或者“睡觉觉”，稚嫩的声音叽叽喳喳地说个不停。她发现了“洋葱宝宝”“小洋葱”和“洋葱爸妈”——后者总是偎依在一起。当我们非常卖力地干活时，我刻意去观察自己的孩子，她如此娇小，刚学会走路，挺着一个小圆肚子晃晃悠悠的。
每年秋天我们都会一起种洋葱，在她的童年中无一例外。我每年秋天都能看到她的变化，从蹒跚学步的孩童变成一个女学生，坦率而现实，活力四射。她从不两手插兜地展开幻想，也不再满心欢喜地纵容自己沉湎于幻想。女学生双腿修长了，下巴的线条也改变了，她还剪短了头发。又一个金秋时节，我想，“再见了，玫瑰；再见了，蝴蝶；再见了，女学生。”我一边听她讲故事，一边用力挖土，播种春天的希望。
突然之间，这比我想象的要快很多，我的身边站着一位高挑的少女，她已经长得比我还高了。以往见面的仪式被沉默所取代，我们不再海阔天空地交谈。我想起她的房间满是海报和小装饰品：装满白色卵石、一枚铜制胸针、彩色图画等“宝物”的瓶子，在对钱财一无所知的孩子们看来，这些如此珍贵：她还曾想让大人大声给她念故事书，曾焦急地看着自己房间的蜘蛛问：“它想跟我做朋友吗？”
终于，那个秋天到了，我必须独自栽种洋葱了，我知道从那时起，将不会再有人陪我。但是每年秋季，女儿都会说起种洋葱，言语中流露出怀旧之情，怀念无邪的童年、仙境般的花园以及夏季的最后时光。我们都如此深深地渴望拥有一部时光机器，回到过去，即使仅有一天时间。
母亲对女儿的爱是无限的，每一个瞬间对她来说都是一种幸福、一种震动，哪怕只是有关“洋葱”的这些小事，也能让母亲记忆犹新，回味悠长。
Altogether Autumn
Anonymous
Suddenly I think of my youngest daughter； living now in Amsterdam。 Very soon she will call and ask； “Have you planted the bulbs yet？” Then I will answer teasingly that actually I’m waiting until she es to help me。 And then we will both be overe by nostalgia1； because once we always did that together。 One entire sunny autumn afternoon； when she was just over three and a half years old； she helped me with all the enthusiasm and joyfulness of her age。
It was one of the last afteruoons I had her around because her place in school had already been reserved。 She wandered around so happily carefree2 with her little bucket and spade； covering the bulbs with earth and calling out“Night night” or “Sleep tight”； her little voice chattering constantly on。 She discovered “baby bulbs”and” kiddie bulbs” and “mummy and daddy bulbs”—the latter snuggling3 cozily4 together。 While we were both working so industriously； I watched my child very deliberately。 She was such a tiny thing； between an infant and a toddler； with such a round little tummy。 。 想看书来
金秋时节（2）
Every autumn； throughout her childhood； we repeated the ritual of planting the bulbs together。 And every autumn I saw her changing； the toddler became a schoolgirl； a straightforward realist； full of drive。 Never once dreamy； her hands in her pockets； no longer happily indulging her fantasies5。 The school girl developedlong legs； her jawine changed； she had her hair cut。 It was autumn again and I thought “Bye roses； bye butterflies；bye schoolgirl。” I listened to her stories while we painstakingly burrowed in the earth； planting the promise of spring。
Suddenly； much quicker than I had expected； a tall teenager was standing by my side： she had grown taller than I。 The ritual became rather silent； we no longer chattered away from one subject to another。 I thought about her room full of posters and knick…knacks； how it had been full of treasures in bottles and boxes； white pebbles； a copper brooch； colored drawings； the treasures of a child who still knew nothing of money； who wanted to be read aloud to and who looked anxiously at a spider6 in herroom and asked； “Would he want to be my friend？”
Then came the autumn when I planted the bulbs alone； and knew that from then on it would always be that way。 But every year； in autumn； she talks about it。 Full of nostalgia for the security of childhood； the seclusion of a garden； the final moments of a season。 How both of us would dearly love to have a time machine。 To go back。 Just for a day。
。。
祖母的瓷器（1）
克里斯蒂娜·朗德奎斯特
1949年，父母带着我们3个年幼的孩子，从伊利诺伊州的罗克福德搬到了很远的加州南部。母亲把许多珍贵的传家之物小心翼翼地包裹起来，其中包括祖母留下来的4箱手绘瓷器餐具。祖母选用了“勿忘我”的图案，并亲手绘制在了这些瓷器上。
遗憾的是，在搬家的时候发生了一些意外，其中一箱瓷器没能运到新家，此后也没有再找到。因此，母亲失去了那些茶杯、茶托和碗，只剩下3箱大小不一的盘子和一�