用烤箱做最简单的饼干_曲奇饼干切刀
李 起 编译 Another Thanksgiving without Mom, I thought, picking halfheartedly at my turkey and stuffing. This was a particularly hard holiday since Mom’s death because food and family were her hallmarks. Mom worked as a short—order cook at the old H.L. Green drugstore in downtown San Antonio. I would grab a seat on one of the big swivel stools, and no matter how busy Mom was behind the counter she’d always stop to hug on her “babies” and fix us a grilled cheese or a thick milk shake. Always there with a kiss or a kind word or some little treat to make us smile―that’s the sort of mom she was. The sort of mom she was, I reminded myself, pushing away my barely touched plate. I need to feel that love again today. After dinner my husband, Andrew, and I decided to drive to Fort Sam Houston National Cemetery where Mom was buried. I must have been preoccupied with memories of her when I drove right past the entrance to the cemetery. “Don’t worry,” Andrew said. “Turn in here.” We rounded a corner and saw a big yellow Garage Sale sign. “A garage sale on Thanksgiving Day?” I said. Andrew shrugged. “Why not?” We continued to wind our way through the neighborhood hunting the road to the cemetery, but eventually even Andrew admitted we were lost. And everywhere we looked we kept seeing those darn yellow signs. Plus one of our infamous Texas thunderstorms was brewing, hardly ideal conditions for visiting a cemetery. Looked like my plans were all wet. This was exactly the kind of moment when Mom would have done or said that little something to make everything seem okay. What I wouldn’t give, Lord, to feel Mom’s loving presence once more. The cemetery would have to wait. Andrew agreed. “I know you’re disappointed, but we might as well stop at that yard sale before it rains,” he said. “We can’t seem to get away from it.” “Sure,” I said. We pulled up to the curb and got out. I wandered through displays of used clothing, dishes and toys. On one table I spied a bag of old tin cookie cutters like the ones I’d lost in a flood years ago. Mom was always buying me cookie cutters to try and replace them, but I’d never found ones I liked as much. She never gave up though, as if she could make me feel better with the perfect cookie cutters. “How much for the cookie cutters?” I asked the woman running the sale. She examined the bag. “Those were my neigh—bor’s. Let me ask.” The woman handed me the cookie cutters while I waited. I hadn’t noticed before but printed on the bag was the name Jennie. I looked up to heaven. Mom, are you trying to tell me something? That was Mom’s name too. And only Mom would know they were exactly like the ones I’d lost. Now it really felt like a day for giving thanks. 又是一个没有妈妈的感恩节，一边想着一边漫不经心地挑选着我的火鸡与填料。
自从妈妈去世以后，这是一个尤其辛苦的节日，因为食物与家庭之事是她的特点。
妈妈在圣安东尼奥市中心的古老的H.L.格林杂货店做一个快餐厨师。
我会在一个大号转凳上抢占一个座位，无论柜台后面的妈妈多么忙碌，她总是停下来，拥抱她的“宝贝们”并为我们准备一个烤奶酪或一杯浓奶昔。
总是还有一个吻或一句体贴的话语或使我们笑的某些小乐事――她就是那种类型的妈妈。
今天，我需要再次感受那种爱。
午餐后，我的丈夫，安德鲁，与我决定驱车前往萨姆・休斯敦堡国家公墓，妈妈被安葬在那里。
我一定是满脑子都在回忆妈妈，以至于开过了公墓的入口处都没察觉。
“别急，”安德鲁说。
“在这里拐入。
“在感恩节旧物销售？”我说。
安德鲁耸耸肩膀。
“为什么不可以呢？” 我们继续蜿蜒经过城区，寻找着去墓地的路，可是最终连安德鲁也承认我们迷路了。
而且我们的一场声名狼藉的得克萨斯州雷暴即将来临，几乎没有扫墓的理想境况了。
看样子我的计划都泡汤了。
这确实是那种时刻，那时，妈妈会做或者说那些小事，使得一切好像都安然无恙。
我愿放弃一切，上帝啊，让我再感受一次母亲的慈爱吧。
扫墓之事还得推迟。
安德鲁同意了。
“我知道你失望，但下雨前我们不妨在那个旧货场逗留一下吧，”安德鲁说，“反正好像现在也走不了了。
” “没错，”我说。
我们把车停在人行道靠近路缘的部分，下了车。
我漫步穿过陈列的旧衣服、器皿以及玩具。
在一张桌子上，我突然看见一袋旧的锡质曲奇饼干切刀，像许多年前我在一次洪水中丢失的那些。
妈妈后来总是给我买曲奇饼干切刀以尽力代替它们，可是我从未碰到同样喜爱的曲奇饼干切刀。
然而她从未放弃，仿佛她借理想的曲奇饼干切刀能使我觉得好一些。
她仔细看了看那个包。
“那些是我邻居的。
我问一下。
而在此之前，我没有注意到印在包上的名字是珍妮。
我抬头往上看着天国。
现在，感觉的确像感恩节了。
（责编：王莉娟）。