母亲的礼物散文(5)

　　After the play, I took home the flower I had stuffed in the apron of my costume. My mother pressed it between two sheets of paper toweling in a dictionary, laughing as she did it that we were perhaps the only people who would press such a sorry-looking weed.演出结束后，我把塞在演出服围裙里的那朵蒲公英拿回了家。母亲将花接了过去，用两张纸巾将它压平，夹在了一本字典里。她一边忙碌着，一边笑，想到也许只有我们俩会珍藏这么一朵打了蔫的野草花。

　　I often look back on our lunchtimes together, bathed in the soft midday light. They were the commas in my childhood, the pauses that told me life is not savored in premeasured increment, but in the sum of daily rituals and small pleasures we casually share with loved ones. Over peanut-butter sandwiches and chocolate-chip cookies, I learned that love, first and foremost, means being there for the little things.我常常回想起和母亲在一起度过的那些沐浴在和煦阳光之中的午餐时光。它们是我孩提时代的一个个小插曲，告诉我一个道理：人生的滋味，就在于和我们所爱的人在一起不经意地共度的日常生活、分享的点点滴滴的欢乐，而不在于某种事先测量好的"添加剂"。在享用母亲做的花生酱、三明治和巧克力碎末小甜饼的时候，我懂得了，爱就体现在这些细微这处。

　　A few months ago, my mother came to visit. I took off a day from work and treated her to lunch. The restaurant bustled with noontime activity as businesspeople made deals and glanced at their watches. In the middle of all this sat my mother, now retired, and I. From her face I could see that she relished the pace of the work world.几个月前，母亲又来看我。我特意请了天假，陪母亲吃午饭。中午，饭馆里熙熙壤攘，做生意的人忙不迭地从事交易活动，他们不时地看看手表。如今已经退休的母亲和我就坐在这群人中间。从母亲的表情中，我看得出，母亲打心眼里喜欢上班族这种生活的节奏。