Qianmai returned home from school.
In the corridor, Qianjia Grandpa stopped her: "Your dad said you want to learn calligraphy, come over after dinner."
Qian Mai was overjoyed when he heard this, and hurriedly thanked Qian Jia's grandfather. Dong Dong Dong ran into the back room, but Yang Yong and Qian Liqin were not there. He filled a bowl of sweet potato rice and swept the fallen leaves with a gust of autumn breeze with dried plums. Finally, I ran to the pig house and took a look. The pig brothers were very well-behaved and quiet. They fell asleep on the ground with a bulging belly, thinking they had been fed. Then you don't need to work on it yourself, go back to the house and pack your utensils and go to the front house.
She was a little flattered that the grandfather of Qianjia wanted to teach Qianmai how much. She was always in awe of this serious-faced elder Qianmai, and never dared to get his personal teaching in the luxury, and originally planned to slowly peck it by herself. . The pie fell from the sky before I thought, and it hit her. Haha.
Latent Wheat's overjoyed surprise is not without reason. She has always been confident in the calligraphy produced by the authentic Chinese rural private school. Don't look at these old men who are silent and patchy, but occasionally, that word can definitely scream and knock down a group of people, and it is not inferior to the works of the professional calligraphers in the exhibition hall. As for the words of Grandpa Qianjia, you don’t need to look at anything else, just look at the sign of the grocery store and you can put a hundred hearts on it.
Why should I learn Chinese calligraphy? Qianmai himself is not quite clear. Sometimes when I wake up in the morning, listening to the roosters crowing outside one by one, listening to Yang Yongqian Liqin's muttering of the parents' short discussions, listening to the clanging of bowls and daggers in the courtyard of the courtyard, there is always a trance for Harmium, and I always feel so beautiful. The days come so inexplicably, I stole it by myself, lest the owner finds out he wants to rush to take it back. Therefore, listening to the "a, o, e, 1, 2, 3" in the classroom, she cannot be satisfied. The young Yidong’s heart desires many, many, and always wants to do what she dreams of in this stolen time. thing. There are many, many things I want to do, and Latent Wheat hasn't had time to plan, and now I don't have the physical strength and financial resources to complete. But there must be something to do, as if this is the only way to soothe the anxiety and anxiety deep in my heart.
Practicing calligraphy is undoubtedly the first choice. A pen, a bottle of ink, some paper, and an inkstone are the highest consumption that parents can satisfy her now. Qianmai didn't dare to call "calligraphy" in vain. The realm was too high. She likes to call it "calligraphy" and practice Chinese characters. Although I know that pens and computers will become the main writing tools in future life, a beautiful handwriting is still a personal appearance. If... If this life is the repetition of the previous life, and eight years later, he still has to embark on that arduous road, then he undoubtedly needs a superb skill to survive. In Qianmai’s view, if the “pyramid” is used to describe the training process of hand skills, then a certain knowledge of calligraphy and painting is undoubtedly the bottom of this “pyramid”.
In short, it is a good thing to start practicing calligraphy by yourself now.
The grandparents of the potential family have already eaten. Qian Xiaohai was sitting on the table at the counter playing with stacks of paper, his legs dangling, and he was talking with Qianjia's grandma. Seeing her sister enter the door of the room, she wanted to follow her, but she didn't want to be stopped by Qianjia's grandfather.
The calligraphy class is set on the table of the Eight Immortals in Qianjia's grandparents' kitchen. Latent wheat is first covered with a thin layer of plastic paper to prevent the ink from staining the table. Then put on the brush, inkstone, ink and paper. The paper is a stack of white paper that Yang Yong has pressed on the bottom of the box for many years and has turned yellow, and the ink is sponsored by Qianjia's grandparents (Yang Yong went to help Qianmai buy ink last night, Qianjia's grandparents did not collect any money).
Grandpa Qianjia came in and put away the paper, took the soaked brush and looked at it, and said, "This is center Yanghao, your father gave you?"
Qianmai nodded: "Dad said it was exchanged for American ginseng."
Grandpa Qianjia nodded: "He is willing to spend money on children."
Having said that, holding the brush in his right hand, he introduced to Qian Mai: "The posture of holding the pen is very important. If the pen is not gripped well, you can't write well after practicing for a long time... You can see clearly: the pen holder should be placed on the thumb, index finger and middle finger. Between the tips of the three fingers, the index finger is in front, the thumb is in the back, and the middle finger is in the lower right. Hold the pen firmly. The ring finger and little finger are slightly bent back and forth, gently holding the pen... When writing You can’t move your hands, your wrists must be flexible, all your energy must be on your hands and wrists, and your attention must be on the paper, do you understand?"
Qian Mai nodded, took the writing brush and shook it up. Grandpa Qianjia slightly helped her adjust her fingers, and suddenly he tightly grasped Mai's hand.
"Wow, good vise." It hurts! Qianmai almost shouted out.
Grandpa Qianjia said: "Where can you sit so softly? When you squeeze it tightly, press down your thumb and forefinger, and the bowl stands upright."
"Yes." Qianmai used it as he said, and it was more decent.
"Stand on the small bench! The legs are straight!" Qianjia grandfather walked over and raised Qianmai's arm: "Your task today is to hold the pen and stand in this position for two hours. Don't loosen it." I went to the grocery store in front.
The petrochemical people are full of black lines, quack, what kind of kung fu I am practicing.
I don't know how long it took, Qianmai's arms were sour. Qian Xiaohai sneaked in from the door, and saw Qian Mai look strange: "Sister, what are you doing?"
Qianmai replied: "I'm practicing qigong!"
The little guy flashed his eyes, "swish" and came over: "What kind of work did you practice?"
Yes, I also want to know what kind of exercises I practiced? Dedicated to the wheat.
"Don't speak, your arms are raised." Grandpa Qianjia's solemn voice came from outside.
sweat! Diving Xiaohai, don't come to hurt me, okay.