三十年前那个腊月三十真是改常。从早到晚,天上想一丝云彩都没得,暖烘烘大日头连蚊虫都晒活过来,嘤嘤嗡嗡乱飞。中界午时,家家户户忙着吃团年饭。满石桶鞭炮声,满石桶火药味。我爹看一眼堂屋方桌上端好饭菜,也把晒好鞭炮挂到场边桃树上放。扑扑嗵嗵一阵爆响,满石桶都是回声,火药烟味直朝堂屋扑。我爹正在得意,鞭炮突然剪引,红彤彤半头挂着不响。我爹蹙着眉再用烟头点,扑扑嗵嗵响过后又剪引。再点,再响,再剪引。我爹骂一声卖逼养合作社,拎起小半挂鞭 Thirty-thirty years ago that Thirty-month really unusual. From morning to night, the sky would like a glimmer of clouds did not have to, warm the big sun with mosquitoes sunning over, 嘤 嘤 buzzing fly. At noon, every household is busy eating reunion dinner. Full of stone drum firecrackers, full of stone pot of gunpowder smell. My dad took a look at the top of the party house table, good food, but also good drying firecrackers hanging on the sidelines peach put. Flogging burst while a burst of explosions, full of stone bucket are echoed, gunpowder smoke straight toward the Church House flutter. My father is proud, firecrackers suddenly cut, red glow half hung. My dad frowned and then use the cigarette butts, flutter flutter rang again cut. Another point, and then ring, and then cut. My father scolded forcing to sell cooperatives, picked up a small semi-linked whip