学进去

The Italian dinners we had every Sunday when I was a boy were feasts fit for a king. There were 1． (loaf) of Italian bread ready to be eaten. They were great with butter and even 2． (good) when you dipped them in the sauce (调味汁) . My grandma, 3． was called “Nanny”, would always bake them a day ahead so they would be ready. I remember 4． (watch) her make the dough (面团) . I would often ask to help but only because I wanted to have 5． bite of the dough before she placed it in the pans to bake. One day I 6． (foolish) asked Nanny why she didn’t just buy bread at the store 7． (save) time. “Because they’re not as good,” she said in her thick Italian accent. Then she laughed, smiled, 8． gave me a piece of dough to eat. Nanny was right.

Today I buy my bread at the store and it isn’t as good. It is factory-made and 9． (lack) all the taste, warmth, and love that Nanny put into hers. Store-bought happiness is a sad substitute for homemade joy. If you want lasting love, permanent peace, and endless joy, then you have to bake them 10． your own.