As my grandmother said, she got up and went to serve the rice, and I stepped forward and grabbed the spoon. I have my own abacus, and this meal must be served by me. My appetite varies from time to time, sometimes I can't fill the pot even if I penetrate the bottom of the pot, and sometimes I stay away from it, and my grandmother can't figure it out. But my grandmother was stubborn to eat only one bowl of rice for each meal, and always said, "When you get old, one bowl of rice is enough." However, I never believed this sentence. But I couldn't break the old man's rule of eating a bowl of rice. (The older generation hates leftovers). I came to serve the rice, I filled it with force, and every time I served it, I squeezed and squeezed hard, and I didn't care about the wailing of the rice grains. Grandma still only eats one bowl of rice, and I still eat that much. Grandma is laughing, and so am I. My grandmother and I are sitting opposite each other. In this world, the heart is inexorably peaceful, and life is extremely harmonious. A smile is eternally beautiful and true.