湯罐中的遺贈

你曾感覺到過自己的生活雖然更忙碌卻更空虛了嗎?一個周一的早晨，我盯著自己的記事本——無數的會議、最后期限、計劃也瞅著我，困擾著我的辨別力，堅決要求我的關注，我心中又浮起那個問了自己無數次的問題:“這一切真的重要嗎?”

最近，帶著這樣的疑問，我一直在想自己深愛的外婆。她只接受過6年教育，卻有豐富的餐桌上的智慧及令人驚嘆的幽默感。熟悉她的人都認為她出生于4月1日十分恰當——這個搞惡作劇、滑稽有趣的日子——因為她終其一生都在振奮身邊每個人的精神。

外婆并不是一個有多高深的人，對孩子而言，她卻是迪斯尼世界的化身。與外婆的每次活動都成為一次歡慶、一個發笑的理由。一日三餐是外婆的主要支柱——是她認為需要認真準備、仔細品嘗、充分享受的時刻。熱乎乎的、必須坐下來好好吃的早餐是必做的。午餐從每天上午10:30開始準備，用文火慢慢煨自制的湯。晚餐計劃從下午3:30開始，給肉販打電話訂肉。外婆終其一生都在滿足家人的最基本需求。

我的思緒又飄回到了外婆的廚房:只有一根支柱的舊橡木餐桌，不計其數的湯罐，廚灶上總是煨著菜、肉汁，舒適的桌布上有著以往用餐時留下的愛的污漬。天哪，我突然想到，自己40多歲了，還未煲過湯呢!

驀地，身邊的外賣飯盒看上去簡直讓人難以容忍。我感覺自己好像有幸得到了絕妙的遺產，卻由于種種原因，沒有將它傳承下去。

第二天，我在閣樓上亂翻，尋找一個硬紙板盒。25年前，外婆終于決定從老宅搬到新家時將那個盒子送給了我。少年時，我模糊地記得看過自己“繼承的遺產”。每個孫女都得到一個女用手袋。我的是一個飾有寶石的晚宴手袋，我記得參加大學畢業典禮時曾提著它。然而，由于接受“繼承的遺產”時還是任性的少年，我未曾真正對“遺產”中其他的東西留心。它們塵封在那個盒子里，被遺忘于閣樓的某個地方。

找出盒子并不難，打開它甚至更容易。膠帶已經老化，很輕松就拽斷了。掀起盒蓋，我看到了外婆用舊亞麻餐巾包著的一件件東西——黃油碟、花瓶，最里面是她的一個舊湯罐。罐口用膠帶封著。我撕去膠帶，揭開蓋子。

罐底擱著一封信，信上是外婆的筆跡。

我親愛的芭芭拉:

我相信多年后的一天你終會發現這封信。當你讀信時，請記住我是多么愛你。因為那時我將與天使在一起，無法親自告訴你。

你總是那樣任性、那樣聰明、那樣急于長大。我時?？释阌肋h都是個孩子。當你停止奔忙、放慢腳步的時候，我希望你取出外婆的舊湯罐，把你的房子變成一個家。我隨信附上你最愛喝的湯的烹飪食譜，在你兒時，我經常為你煲。

記住，我愛你，這份愛是永遠的!

你的外婆

那天清晨，我坐在那兒反復地讀那張短箋。想到原來外婆在身邊時自己從不曾充分理解她，我抽泣起來。原來您對我是如此的寶貴，我在心里痛苦地呻吟。為什么您在世時我從沒費心朝罐里瞧一眼呢!

于是那天晚上，公文包依舊鎖著、電話答錄機頻繁閃爍著、外面世界的災難暫時擱在一旁，我煲了一罐湯。

A Legacy in a Soup Pot

Have you ever noticed the busier your life seems to be， the more empty it appears to become? I remember staring at my date book early one Monday morning - scores of meetings， deadlines and projects leered back at me， assailing my senses and demanding my attention. I remember thinking for the umpteenth time， “What does all this really matter?”

And lately， with all this introspection， I had been remembering my beloved grandmother. Gram had a sixth grade education， an abundance of kitchen table wisdom and a wonderful sense of humor. Everyone who met her thought it was so appropriate that she had been born on April 1 - the day of practical jokes， good laughs and hearty humor - and she certainly spent her lifetime buoying up everyone’s spirits.

Cerebral she was not， but to a child， she was Disney World personified. Every activity with Gram became an occasion to celebrate， a reason to laugh. Meals were Gram’s mainstay - occasions to be planned， savored and enjoyed. Hot， sit-down breakfasts were mandatory. The preparation of lunch began at 10:30 every morning， with homemade soup simmering， and dinner plans started at 3:30 P.M.， with a telephone call to the local butcher to make a delivery. Gram spent a lifetime meeting the most basic needs of her family.

My mind traveled back to her kitchen. The old， oak kitchen table， with the single pedestal... the endless pots of soups， stews and gravies perpetually simmering on the stove top... the homey tablecloths stained with love from a meal past. My gosh， I thought with a start.

I’m over forty， and I haven’t yet to make a pot of soup!

Suddenly the cardboard take-out containers next to me looked almost obscene. I felt as if I had been blessed with a wonderful legacy， and for one reason or another， I had never quite gotten to the point of passing it on.

The following day， I rummaged through the attic searching for a cardboard box that had been stowed away. Twenty-five years ago， that box had been given to me when Gram decided to move from the old homestead. I vaguely remember going through my “inheritance” as a teen. Every granddaughter had received a pocketbook. Mine was a jeweled evening bag. I remembered I carried it at my college graduation. However， being a headstrong teen at the time of my “inheritance，” I never really bothered with the rest of the contents. They remained sealed in that same box， buried somewhere in the attic.

It wasn’t that difficult to locate the box， and it was even easier to open it. The tape was old and gave way easily. Lifting the top， I saw Gram had wrapped some items in old linen napkins - a butter dish， vase and at the bottom， one of her old soup pots. The lid was taped to the pot itself. I peeled back the tape and removed the lid.

At the bottom of the pot was a letter， penned in Gram’s own hand:

My darling Barbara，

I know you will find this one day many years from now. While you are reading this， please remember how much I loved you， for I’ll be with the angels then， and I won’t be able to tell you myself.

You were always so headstrong， so quick， so much in a hurry to grow up. I often had wished that I could have kept you a baby forever. When you stop running， when it’s time for you to slow down， I want you to take out your Gram’s old soup pot and make your house a home. I have enclosed the recipe for your favorite soup， the one I used to make for you when you were my baby.

Remember I love you， and love is forever.

Your Gram

I sat reading that note over and over that morning， sobbing that I had not appreciated her enough when I had her. You were such a treasure， I moaned inwardly. Why didn’t I even bother to look inside this pot while you were still alive!

So that night， my briefcase remained locked， the answering machine continued to blink and the disasters of the outside world were put on hold. I had a pot of soup to make.

[譯自美國《心靈雞湯》]