Fudge

I was warned.  They were coming.  The campers.

The candy store was cool.  It was quiet.  I took care of the business of filling in the candy case.  I cranked up the air conditioners.  I knew they were coming.

Yes, it sounds ominous.

I mean it to.

The local college plays hosts to summer camps full of our smartest pre teens.  They come in groups of thirty.  Their camp counselors look like they need a liquor store.  They’re that wiped out.

These young teenagers might be spending their summer vacation looking for the cure for cancer.  But, they seem to have trouble knowing what money is.  They’ve been equipped with twenties and even hundred dollar bills.  I have experience with the overly smart.  I count back their change carefully.  I say things like “Your change is ninety one dollars and eleven cents.  Would you like me to count that back to you again?”

I receive blank stares in return.

They understand how Jolly Ranchers work. How microscopes work.   Coin change………….not so much.  They actually throw that over their shoulders like salt for good luck.

A group of young men from Hogwarts stood in front of the fudge case.  They leaned on the glass.  I asked them not to.  They breathed on the glass.  I asked them not to.  I was glad the glass was drool proof.

Those boys changed their mind about what kind of fudge they’d buy the longer I ignored them.  I was dealing with a line of twenty people at the cash register.  I murmured at them once in a while.

“You’re all together, right?” I asked.  “You’re all travelling in a bunch?  I’ll get to you at the end.  I’ll cut fudge at the end.”

Will this never end, I thought as another twelve year old threw a hundred dollar bill at me.  Hundred dollar bills on a day when the banks are closed.

The youngest boy in front of the fudge case looked like Harry Potter.  His glasses kept sliding down his nose.  The store was getting warm because the camp counselor couldn’t seem to keep the door closed.  He’d let two campers out and holler for two more to come in.  I yelled for him to shut the damn door.

“Oh, doesn’t  matter if they sweat a bit.” he said to me in a charming fashion.  He was twenty and good looking.

“I don’t give a crap who is sweating in here.  I need to keep this chocolate cold.  Shut the door.” I said to him as I closed the cash register on a dwindling amount of change.

Two flies had traveled in with the campers and the heat.  I would hunt them down later.

Harry Potter called me over to the fudge case.  He was alarmed.

“Is that a fly on the praline fudge?  I do believe that is against health codes.  I find this rather alarming.” he said to me and the other campers on either side of him.

This was his way of trying to make friends with the new boys.

“It’s a fly, you moron.” said his buddy.  “That idiot counselor won’t shut the frigging door.  This woman is dealing with forty kids all by herself.  You called her over to look at a fly.  I am going to f’ing kill my parents for making me come to this camp with shit heads like you.  I could have gone to soccer camp.”

I asked my knight in shining camp tee shirt what his favorite fudge is.

“Plain chocolate.” he answered.

I cut a quick bite and handed it to him.

“I give out one free sample a day. I like your face.  It’s your lucky day.” I said to him with a wink.

“Hey, what about me?” asked Harry the Lord of the Flies as he pushed his glasses up his sweaty pointy nose.

“You’d better buy something wrapped in plastic, sweetheart.  You let that fly in with you.  It’s been following you around like a puppy.  No fudge for you.” I said as I turned back to the long line at the cash register.

“I love it here!” said the older boy as he bit into his fudge. He chewed it with his mouth open.  On purpose.  Just to get to Harry.

I wish I’d given him a bigger piece.

 

 

Cardinals and Tattoos

My daughter is messing with me.  I hope.  Our vacation to visit her and her husband is coming up soon.

She sent me a photo on Facebook.  A photo of a big tattoo on a woman’s thigh.  It’s a rendition of a large G clef with bright red cardinals sitting on it.  She suggested that I take the time during our holiday to get such a tattoo.

She sounds serious.

I got serious back.  I told her to forget it.  Not going to happen.  I don’t like needles.  The only thing I like permanently near me is my husband.  I finished our online discourse by saying “I guess it’s time for a visit since you don’t seem to know me anymore.”

My daughter knows I love cardinals.  My mother loved cardinals.  Cardinals would visit and sing for her when she was having a bad day.  When she was worried about something.  The sight of them made her calm down.  They have the same affect on me.  Except when they’re pictured in a tattoo.

People the world over think of cardinals as a sign from a deceased loved one.  I thought it was just me.  But, I see enough of them on Facebook that I now know lots of people think of them as signs.  Along with hawks, eagles and dragonflies.

I often see cardinals in my backyard.  My mother isn’t trying to drive me insane with signs from the other side I know.  They just happen to live in the hemlocks back there.  I recognize their voices.  They can be pretty loud as they call back and forth across the yard.

A bright red bird will flit by and I’ll think of my mother.  Most times I’m already thinking of her when I see one out of the corner of my eye.  That’s when I think she may be saying hello.

This morning I was on the back deck.  I walked around and dead headed some flowers in pots on the railing.  I was thinking of cardinal tattoos.  I was thinking that if I was the type to get a tattoo…………….that one my daughter sent a photo of was beautiful.

That’s what I was thinking when the bright red cardinal landed on the railing.  It was about three feet away from me.  I stopped moving so I wouldn’t scare it away.  No worries.  This bird was not shy.  It stared me right in the eye.  It opened it’s mouth and sang at me.  It didn’t sing for me.  It sang at me.

This bird had attitude.  It had something to say.

I’m thinking an exact translation of that song would be “Tattoos?  Are you out of your mind?  You tell my granddaughter to snap out of it.  Don’t you go messing up that beautiful skin of yours with ink.  You tell her I said so.”

The cardinal finished delivering it’s message.  It cocked it’s head and glared at me one more time.  Then it flew off to join it’s mate in the maple tree.

Message received.

For the Richards of Columbus Street

We were getting the house on Columbus Street ready to sell.  The rooms were almost bare.  A few pieces of furniture were scattered across the glowing wooden floors.  New crisp curtains hung at the windows.  All this was to entice a buyer.  All this would buy my Daddy another year in a private room at the nursing home.

My brother asked me to plant some colorful annuals around the yard.  The real estate agent said it would add to the”curb appeal”.

I went to Woodland gardens and filled the trunk of my car up with flowers in glorious bloom.  I spent two days jumping up and down on a shovel trying to make holes to put the flowers into.

I hit nothing but roots.  I spent two nights on the couch in the bare living room.  My muscles were so sore I had a hard time taking off my socks.  I couldn’t manage the stairs to the upstairs bedrooms.

Underneath that new mulch lie the roots of the bushes that were planted over fifty years ago.  Those bushes must have been chain sawed out.  I was out of patience with the shovel.  I was out of steam.

I went back to the garden center and bought a bunch of plastic terra cotta pots.  I put the beautiful plants into pots.  I lined the driveway with them.  I sat on the front steps and had a little weep.  I really should have done stuff like this when my father was still in the house.  He would have enjoyed it.  Actually, he might have moaned about having to water them.  I was in the mood to be sad so I decided he would have been pleased at the plantings.

I knocked on the next door neighbor’s back door.  I explained that I hadn’t been able to get many plants into the actual ground.  I offered to pay the trio of young boys that lived there to water the flowers throughout the rest of the growing season.  I live out of state.  I wasn’t going to be able to care for the flowers I had just planted.

The next door neighbor told me that her boys loved their Papa Ralph.  They would be pleased to care for his plants.  She would not accept any money.  I visited for a while and filled her in on how my father was doing. I was thankful that he had such good neighbors for the past decade.  They were the ones that realized something was wrong the day my father fell in his bathroom.  They were the ones that saved him from an excruciating long day laying helpless on a floor.

I went back to my old childhood home on Columbus Street.  I walked the stripped down rooms.  I listened to the echoes of my own footsteps.  I listened to the echoes of days gone by.

I sat at the kitchen table and poured myself a glass of chardonnay and remembered.  I remembered back through the years.  I recalled the power and goodness of knowing your neighbors.

Summer night called to me through the open windows of the Columbus Street kitchen.  I enjoyed the night sounds and the breeze coming through the screen.  I don’t get to enjoy screen filtered summer nights much anymore.  My husband has allergies.  Air conditioners rule our household on hot sultry nights now.

I glanced at a few hand made cards still left on my father’s refrigerator.  I got up to read them.  Happy Veteran’s Day said one card.  A picture of a flag drawn with red, white and blue crayon graced the front.  Inside the names of the boys next door lined up in a row.

I remembered back to my own childhood.  Summers spent playing every game imaginable outside with a large group of neighborhood kids.  Sleep outs.  Penny candy.  Week long monopoly games.  Nancy Drew books read under the leafy apple tree.  Paper routes and swimming lessons.  And, at home arts and crafts.

I took the card off of the refrigerator and sniffed deeply.  I found that I still love the smell of crayon and poster paint.

I remembered back to a summer day long, long ago.  My girlfriend and I were bored.  Nothing my mother suggested we do to keep ourselves busy passed muster.  She finally put a big box of craft supplies on the picnic table and told us to get busy.

Create!  Create art she said.

My friend and I collected flat rocks from around the yard.  We brushed them off and got busy with the paint.  We painted daisies and roses.  We painted Happy Faces and puppies with big eyes.  We showed them to my mother.  She was delighted.

She gave us each a dollar.

“For what?” we asked.

“This is art!  And the artists should be paid for their talents.” she replied.

She got on her hands and knees and placed our rock art all around her geraniums and petunias in the flower bed near the driveway.

“Now, that is perfect!” she said as she clapped the dirt off of her hands.

She bent down and picked up a medium sized rock.  It was smooth and round.  It was painted with daisies.

“Here.  Bring this up to Mary next door.  Tell her you painted it just for her.  Tell her that it will look beautiful next to her pot of violets that she has on her kitchen window sill.” said my mother.

I got shy.  Mothers love their own children’s art I knew.  The neighbor lady might not be pleased.

“Go on.  Get up there and make Mary happy.” my mother insisted.

My friend and I stood nervously on the neighbor’s kitchen stoop.  I knocked and presented my mother’s friend with a hand painted rock.

“We made this for you to put next to your pot of violets.” I said shyly.

“You made this for me?  Oh!  How beautiful!  How kind!” Mary said as she touched the rock reverently.  “Come in!  Let’s see how pretty it looks on my window sill!”

She plied us with home made pizza and ginger ale.  She kept turning to touch the rock on the sill.  She petted our hair.  That rock still sat in that exact same place many years later when I delivered newspapers to her.

Mary opened a drawer and grabbed a pile of blank paper.  It was thick and lustrous.  It was made to hold water color and ink.  It was an artist’s dream.

“Here!  You two are artists.  Maybe you could use some paper for your artwork.” she said as she kissed our cheeks goodbye.

My friend and I spent days filling up those sheets of paper.  We painted trees and flowers.  Houses and dogs.  Rainbows and clouds.  We remembered how happy a painted rock had made the lady next door.

We spent the next week secretly making the neighborhood happy.  We put a drawing in every mailbox attached to every house on Columbus Street.  We even had enough to deliver to the corners of Bolton Street.

We got caught quite a few times.  Our artwork was exclaimed over.  We sat in many kitchens eating cookies.  We drank Koolaid.  We slurped on popsicles.  We ate bowls of ice cream.  We collected hugs and kisses and love.

Except for that one guy.

He was on Bolton Street.  He watched from his kitchen window as we had delivered  a piece of artwork into his mailbox.

He was not happy.

He banged on our kitchen door.  My mother answered as my father listened from the kitchen table.

“Tell your kid to quit putting this crap in my mailbox.  I’ll call the post office.  This is mail fraud.  Only mail from the US Post Office should be put in my mailbox.  What’s the matter with your kid putting shit like this in my mailbox?” he exclaimed from the back stoop.

“Well, I think it was a gift.  It’s certainly an unappreciated gift.  I’ll tell my kid to stay away from your mail box in the future.  I’m sorry that you seem to be frightened to have children painting you a picture.  Don’t worry.  It won’t happen again.” my mother said gently as she closed the door in his face.

I ran to my bedroom and slammed the door.  I threw myself onto my bed and cried.

I was embarrassed.  My artwork had actually offended someone.

My father tapped on my door and entered.  He held the picture in his hand.

“This is very beautiful, Little Girl.  Did you paint this?  Is this a picture of our house from the back?  It must be.  I recognize the apple tree.  It’s really very good.” he said as he sat on my bed.

“Yes.  That’s our yard and our apple tree.  It’s not very good.  That man got mad because I touched his mail box.  He was awful.  He was mean.  What’s the matter with him?  Everyone else seemed to like their presents.  He hated it!” I exclaimed.

“Well.  I don’t know him.  But, I would guess that he’s very old.  He lives all alone.  He doesn’t see many people.  He doesn’t know any children.  Sometimes people forget what it’s like to be around other people.  They don’t recognize kindness.  They’re always a little afraid.  He hurt your feelings.  I suppose he didn’t mean to do that.” he tried to explain.

Daddy tried.  I didn’t understand.

That night my mother made her meatloaf.  I loved her meatloaf.  She had me help prepare dinner.  I got to stab the potatoes with a knife before she baked them.  I counted the potatoes.

“Why are there six tonight?” I asked.  We were a family of five.

“Because.” she answered.

Dinner was over and my mother put the leftovers away.  She made up a plate on her prettiest china.  A big square of meatloaf.  A baked potato with lots of butter.  She lined up green beans in an artful display.  She covered the plate with tin foil.  She taped my artwork to the top.

I glanced at the picture.  She had written something at the bottom of the picture.  It said “Please come in for a little visit when you return the plate.”

She threw four of the chocolate chip cookies I had baked into a baggie.  She handed it all to me.

“Go.  Go knock at that man’s door.  Tell him that you hope he likes meatloaf.” she said as she started to fill the sink with soapy water to do the dishes.

“No!” I exclaimed.

“No?” she asked without turning around.

“No! He was mean to me.  He was mean to you.  I’m not knocking on his door and giving him a plate of meatloaf!” I yelled at her back.

“You will.  And, you will do it now.” she said quietly as she washed the silver ware.  “Go!”

I went.

I knocked at the man’s door.  I could see him twitching the kitchen curtains.  He wasn’t going to answer.  I rang the door bell and waved to him in the window.  He eventually opened the door a crack.

“Hi!  My mother wants you to have this.  She said she hopes that you like meatloaf.  I baked the cookies.  They have chocolate chips in them.  I hope you like chocolate chip cookies.” I said to the dark door.

He opened the door all the way and took the plate from my hand.

“Thank you.  I love meatloaf.  My wife used to make meatloaf.  I don’t cook much.  Mostly sandwiches and those new fangled frozen dinners.  The fried chicken one isn’t bad. ” he said as he sniffed at the plate.

I turned to go.

“I’m sorry.” he said to my back.

I turned and looked him in the face.

“I’m old.  I’m crabby.  I spend too much time by myself.  I forget how to deal with little children.  Your picture is very pretty.  I will stop for a visit when I return the plate.” he said as he closed the door.

I remembered that day as I put the neighbor children’s artwork back on my Daddy’s refrigerator.  I touched the magnets with his grandchildren’s faces on them.  A snapshot of my mother that she would have hated.  Taken from the wrong angle.  A letter that I had written him years ago.  Creased from many readings and yellowing with age.

I thought of phone calls.  He’d call me with news.  The neighbor children were active.  He loved to watch them out his windows.  Their play spilled over into his driveway.  He loved it.  They would race across his back yard when they played tag.  He knew all their names and ages.  He’d report that a plate of pork chops and potatoes had just arrived.  Enough for two meals.  He’d exclaim over the goodness of neighbors.

He got old.  He didn’t get crabby.  He didn’t become afraid of children.  He loved any commotion they could throw his way.

If only there was something he could do for them he’d say.  If only you were here to bake them some cookies he’d remark.

“Well, Daddy.  I do work for a candy store.  It’s the most famous candy store in upstate New York.  Perhaps, I could send them a basket of chocolate and put your name of the card.” I’d suggest.

“You’d do that for me?” he asked.

“I’d love to do that for you.” I replied.

“Remember the old days?  When you’d paint a picture.  Maybe you could paint a picture of their house and stick it in the basket.” he suggested.

“Well, Daddy.  I don’t really paint pictures anymore.  I was ten years old when I did that.  But, I do write stories.  Perhaps someday I’ll write a story just for them.  I’ll tell that family how much they mean to you.  I’ll tell them how much you love them all.  How about that?” I asked.

“That would do nicely, Little Girl.  Someday you write them a story.” said my Daddy.

Someday is here, Richards family. Your Papa Ralph loved you very much.

 

 

 

 

 

Uninvited Furry Guests

Children’s books are full of them.  Sweet furry little creatures.  Mice wearing vests and smoking pipes.  Bats hanging upside down telling fantastical Halloween stories.  City Kitties.  Rural Squirrels.

They’re cute and sweet on paper.  Read the stories out loud.  Tuck your smiling children into their blanket nests and shut out the light on another day.

Cute until those little varmints actually try to move into your house.

Leave the attic window open by mistake and a bat moves in.  Not so cute in real life.  The kids watch Daddy go all commando.  He grabs the BB gun out of the cupboard and blasts bat parts all over the sheet rock walls.

Somehow……..Mommy is always left to clean up the carnage the next day.

A mouse runs across the kitchen floor dragging a cookie behind.  Daddy lies in wait.  He hides behind a potted fern.  He slows his blood pressure down to almost snoozing Ninja level.  The mouse appears again.  Kind of slow since eating that oatmeal cookie.  Daddy Ninja takes aim with an elastic band the width of his thumb.  I don’t know why he has such a lethal elastic band.  I don’t know where it came from.  But, the kiddies stand still and watch Daddy blast the cute little mouse across the floor with the power of elastic.  Every bone in it’s little body is broken.

Little kids look at their murderous father with big blue eyes.  I expect tears and recrimination.  Instead they jump up and down and cheer him in their jammies.

Mommy disposes of the body.

Everybody!  Wash your hands and go to bed.  I don’t know why I want you to wash your hands.  Just do it.

The next day I hear a weird low cheeping coming from the dining room.  I stalk the noise like a cat.  My ears twitch in different directions.  The kiddies follow me.  Mommy has turned out to be much more entertaining than Sesame Street.

I hunt down the noise.  Little baby mice are living in a shoe.  Mommy has been murdered via elastic band.  Babies are starving and are noisy about it.

My husband dumps them into a jelly jar decorated with Flintstones.  He stares at them.  They are pink and blind.  He feels like a murderer.  He is an orphan maker.  He must do the right thing.  He must put them out of their misery.

He paces.  The kids pace behind him.  Think!  The best way to send these motherless orphans into the next world.  He comes up with a complicated plan.  He will tape this Flintstones jar to the tail pipe of his car in the driveway.  He will gas them into extinction.  They will go to sleep.  They will dream of their mother and her oatmeal cookie stealing ways.  They won’t wake up.

“Oh, Jesus.  Give me a break.”I exclaim as I grab the jar of mice out of his hands.  I dump the tiny pink things into the toilet and I give them a mighty flush.

Burial at sea.  Or, at least burial at septic tank.  The kids are disappointed that I did it so quickly they didn’t get to see the bodies swirl down the pipe.

I’m starting to wonder about my kids and their love of everything vicious.

Years go by.  We start to collect cats.  They take care of most errant small creatures that find their way into our house.  I find a mouse carcass now and then.  It’s been sucked dry.  Some cats are naturals.  Some cats are dim witted.  They sit and watch a mouse eat their kibble.  The cat finds me and complains.

I take care of the mouse.  Like most female murderers…………..I use poison.

The upstairs of our house consists of a bathroom and three bedrooms down a hallway.  We all sleep with our doors closed.  A cat sits sentry in the hallway.

One early morning our teen aged daughter opened her room and went down to the bathroom.  She left the hallway light on to illuminate her process of taking a pee.

She sat on the toilet half asleep.  You really don’t need to wake up all the way to do such things.  She noticed the cat doing a silly little dance in the hallway.  The cat stopped dancing long enough to spring up a few feet in the air.

Stop it kitty.  You’re waking me up she thought.

She flushed and watched the cat sit and sway it’s butt back and forth in the hall way.  She followed it’s intent glance up.

That’s when she started to scream at the top of her lungs at 3 a.m.

“A rat!  A rat!  It’s a rat!  A son of a bitching rat!  Daddy!  Daddy!  A rat!” she screamed from the bathroom.

My husband and I both woke up sitting straight up in bed.

“What?  What?  What did she say?” he screeched at me as he sprang from the mattress.

“Something about a rat.” I murmured as I pulled the pillow over my head.  The lights flipped on in the room as he threw open the bedroom door.

I wasn’t going to be able to sleep through this show.

My husband is a warm sleeper.  He can’t stand his shoulders being cold though.  So, his night time clothing consists of a long tee shirt and nothing else.

He bounded down the hall way to find my daughter trembling in the bathroom.  The cat was still on point in the hallway.  She ignored the fact that her father stood in the bathroom door pulling down his tee shirt to cover his bits and pieces.

She pointed over his shoulder.  She pointed to the molding over her brother’s closed bedroom door.

“A rat!” she gasped.

My husband turned and was eye to eye with a terrified squirrel with a scanty tail.

My son had heard the commotion and went to open the door to his bedroom.  That would have given the rat squirrel egress into a room full of toys, blankets, pillows and a floor covered with clothing.

“Shut that damned door!” my half naked husband yelled.

I couldn’t sleep through this so I started into the hallway.

“Get back in that bedroom and shut the door.  Shut the other door on your way.” he screeched at me.  I thought he shouldn’t be so bossy when he wasn’t wearing any pants.

He pushed my daughter into the bathroom and slammed that door shut also.

Then he went half naked commando.

He threw blankets over the railing.  He made a tunnel straight to the opened front door.  He did this with every light in the house on in the middle of the night.  He did this without wearing any pants.

The cat was no help.  She kept getting in the middle of the squirrel and the door.  My husband grabbed her by the back of the neck.  He opened our bedroom door and threw the cat at me.  I took one look at my husband with his hair standing up straight.  Long tee shirt with holes in it.  Furry legs.  Bits and bobs swinging loose.

I collapsed onto the rug in front of my bedroom door.  I clutched the worked up cat and I laughed until I needed the bathroom that I couldn’t get to.

I dumped the cat onto the bed.  I opened the dresser drawer and found a pair of my husband’s shorts.

I opened the door and threw them into the the hallway.  I yelled at him through the closed doorway.

“You’d better put on those shorts before that squirrel climbs up your furry legs and tries to steal your nuts!”  I yelled.  The cat and I rolled around the bed laughing our butts off.

My husband threw on the shorts.  He yelled for my daughter to open the bathroom door and hand him the plunger.  She did.

He stood back and took aim.  He swung.  He connected.

The squirrel hit the wall.  It stood up and shook itself off.  The rodent saw the plunger coming at it again.  It had enough.  It ran down the stairs and straight out the door.

My husband ran down the stairs with the plunger in his hand.  He went to shut the door behind the uninvited squirrel.  A neighbor across the street that never sleeps cheered him.  My husband waved the plunger over his head and gave out a whoop.  He kicked the door shut.

We all went back to bed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Meeting Hewie and Dewie

I’m not a vegetarian.  I eat meat.  I understand vegetarians.  I’m told that they can’t eat anything with a face.  I get it.

I especially love chicken.  I have never loved a chicken.  I love to eat chickens. It’s good for me that I don’t find chicken faces all that attractive.  I think it’s because they don’t have lips.

My husband and I were invited to eat dinner at a friend’s house.  They live out in the country.  MapQuest could hardly keep up with the winding country roads that changed names at every curve.  We finally arrived at the wooden house that glared with lots of windows facing the woods.

I wondered if we’d ever find our way home again.

We were given a tour of the grounds.  I had read Mother Earth News magazines when we were newlyweds many eons ago.  My husband had dreamed of a self sustaining lifestyle back then.  I could grow a tomato in a garden.  I still wanted to eat a Twinkie now and then.  We both grew out of his fantasy of living in a log cabin and dipping our own candles darn quick.

We like electricity and cable TV. And Twinkies.

I looked at the pond with the swans floating across it.  I thought it was a serene scene for about two minutes.  Wait for it, I thought.  Swans are mean.  They started to attack each other’s necks.  Long ago I would only see a beautiful scene that should be emblazoned onto a Hallmark card. I’ve smartened up.  Now I see two white birds that will crap all over every thing I own.

Yup.  I’m still not a nature girl, I thought.  Not then, not now.

We got taken for a walk through the woods the couple owned.  I nodded at trees and ferns.  I had seen trees and ferns before.  I suppose when you own the trees and ferns you feel an affinity towards them.  You’re proud of them.  Look at how much they’ve grown!  All I was thinking about was ticks.  And Lyme disease.  And when are these people going to feed me.

We came out of the woods and were in the great back yard half acre facing their house.

If I was going to be introduced to every carrot and radish in their garden there was going to be trouble.  I can’t bullsh*t and smile and pretend to be having a great time like I could when I was thirty.  At my age I’m more likely to turn to my husband and say “I’ve reached my capacity for bullsh*t.  I’ll wait for you in the car.  I’ll be chewing on my own arm because I’m very hungry.  But, honey.  I’ve had enough.”

I don’t worry as much about hurt feelings now as I did as a youngster.

My husband was starting to sound like a moron with his “Wow, look at that!”  and “Good for you!  Sweetest smelling compost I’ve ever come across.” remarks.

I felt like running howling for the car.  If  I pretended I was absolutely nuts I could cut the garden tour short.  Couldn’t I?  I mean my husband might be embarrassed for a while.  But, after all these years he’d have to forgive me by Monday.  Right?

My husband was starting to give me the sideways looks.  I suppose some of my aside comments were starting to leak past my lips.  I wasn’t just thinking wise ass stuff.  It was starting to leap past my mouth.

I was imagining out loud what my host could do with his cucumbers when a naked chicken walked by.

The naked chicken shut me up.  For a minute.

“What the heck is that?” I asked my host.

“Oh, that Sadie.  She’s had a rough winter.” he said.

As if that was explanation enough.

Not enough for me.

“Sadie has had a rough winter?  Did she pull all her feathers off and make a pillow?  What the heck?  That was a chicken, right?” I asked as three more naked chickens checked out my ankles and walked on past.

“Well…………..it’s a long story.  We raise our own chickens.  We’re learning as we go.” said our host as he pulled us towards his chicken coops.

Oh, God.  It’s my own fault.  I had asked.  Now, I was going to get a freaking tour of two state of the art chicken coops.

Nicer than most Air B and B places I’ve seen on the internet.  But, where the hot tub and water bed should be were row upon row of roosting naked chickens.

When I say naked chicken…………………….I mean a Butterball that walks by with a ruff of red feathers around the neck.  A naked body.  These chickens weren’t even embarrassed to be digging around in the dirt without their pants on.

“I’ve called in a chicken expert.  I mean you can’t learn everything from books.  We’re first generation chicken growers.  It seems we put too many females in with too many roosters.  The females were hassled for sex day and night.  They responded by getting very stressed out.  When chickens are stressed out they stop laying eggs.  They lose their feathers.  So, my chickens are kind of coming back from nervous break downs.  I’ve removed most of the roosters.  Sex crazed roosters.  The feathers should come back if I don’t eat them first.” our host said in a friendly voice.

I went to open my mouth.  I’m sure I had something interesting to say.  My husband kicked me in the ankle.  It hurt.  I shut my mouth.  I concentrated on the pain coming from my ankle bone.

I started to pace myself.  I have been in awkward get me the hell out of here places before.  I now knew that I was in count down mode.  I had about two hours in me.  After that I couldn’t be held accountable for what I said or did.

I met the Save a Stray Pit Bull on the porch.  He lay on his side doing his deep breathing exercises.  I guess he was afraid of naked chickens too.

We were introduced to the wife.  I went into my own wifey mode.  “Is there anything I can help you with in the kitchen?” I asked.

I meant can I just eat a Twinkie and go home?  I’ve really had enough.  If you built these kitchen cupboards out of toothpicks that you whittled yourself?  I really don’t want to hear about it.

“No, just keep me company while I cook.” said the friendly wife in the apron decorated with strawberries.

I noticed that the sun was going down.  The kitchen was very dim.  The wife was cooking something in a sauce in a huge cast iron skillet on the stove.  I need lots of light in my kitchen.  This woman was actually cooking in a dark kitchen by the 25 watts of light over her stove.

This can’t be good.

I’m thinking the electricity for this domicile came from  the methane provided by one constipated cow.

I helped by stirring a big pot of rice.  Thank God.  Rice.  I can eat rice.  She couldn’t have grown this rice herself.  I didn’t see a flooded swamp out there.  I mean I couldn’t have missed it.  The tour of the acres had gotten cut short when the mosquitoes the size of humming birds had started biting.

We sat down in a beautiful dining room lit by a few candles.  The chandelier over the table glowed with a few watts of light.  I slugged down a half a glass of chardonnay.  I figured I could be a good girl for a few more hours.  I had chardonnay.  There would be rice.

Then I got introduced to the chicken on my plate.

This thigh and a wing had originally belonged to either Hewie or Dewie.  They were a nasty set of twin roosters.  They were bullies.  They were rapists I was told.

My knife and fork clattered onto my plate.

“Honey.  Get the calendar from the kitchen.  Just wait!” said the hostess chef.  “Wait until you see how beautiful Hewie and Dewie were in life.”

A huge full sized calendar was held up in front of the dinner guests.  There were twelve months of chicken photographs.  Full bright colorized glamour shots of chickens.  Yes!  Some were coy.  Some were demure.  They all wore their feathers well.  Before they went bald.

“I think Hewie and Dewie are the month of June models, honey.” said the hostess.

Honey intently flipped pages until he found June.

He held up a beautiful shot of two red roosters staring intently at the camera.  Two male chickens with attitude stared into the lens.

“Come on, make my day.” said Hewie on the left.  “You talking to me?  Are you talking to me?” asked Dewie on the right.

Chardonnay came shooting out of my nose.  I coughed and I sneezed as I tried to hide my laughs.  My husband bruised my leg with his forefinger as he tried to shut me up.

I excused myself from the table with a fake coughing fit.

I went to the bathroom and laughed my ass off as I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was red from trying to hold back laughter.  I stared at myself in the looking glass and I let it rip.  I had a good old fashioned laughing fit.  I sat on the toilet and had a pee because I was in a bathroom.  I flushed the composting toilet.  It let out a squeal and a screech.  I jumped a foot and laughed some more.

I went back to the table and sat down.  I faced the gray chicken pieces in my plate.  I sawed at them with a serrated knife.  I needed a chain saw.  I snorted again.  I tried to control myself.  I ate a few bites of rice.  I tried to hide Hewie’s thigh under the turnips.  Dewies wing went under a piece of Italian bread with two bites out of it.

I finished my glass of wine in two gulps.

Conversation had ebbed.  My ears picked up peeping and squawking coming from under my chair.

I couldn’t handle much more without a good cleansing laugh.  I knew I’d get a good talking to on the way home if I let go any more mirth.

I shut my mouth.

Instead, my husband brought it up.

“What’s that sound?” he asked as he stared at his feet.

“Oh, after dessert I’ll take you into the basement and show you!’ said our host.  “Got a shipment of turkeys in yesterday.  What you’re hearing is Thanksgiving and Christmas singing a song. You’re a cook, Mike.  Do you have any good recipes for stuffing?”

That’s when I lost it.  I roared with laughter.  Thank goodness………..every one around that table joined me.

We stopped for pizza on the way home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Girl With The Big Nose

My mother insisted she didn’t need glasses.  Her eyesight was just fine, thank you very much.

A family friend was in the back yard visiting.  My mother glanced out the window at his car sitting at the curb.

I was busy drying and putting away dishes.

“Well, he should have invited his girl in.  Not leave her in the car like a dog.” she said in a huff.  She parted the lace curtains and took a closer look.

“Oh, the poor thing.  Do you think he doesn’t bring her in and introduce her because she’s homely?”  she asked.

“Who is homely?” I wanted to know as I stacked the multi colored mixing bowls in the only formation that allowed them space in the tiny cupboard by the stove.

“That poor girl he has waiting in the car.  She’s so homely he’s ashamed of her.  Isn’t that awful?  Oh, the poor soul.  That is the biggest nose I’ve ever seen.  Thank God, Darlene!  Thank God right now that you were born with a pretty face and my nose.” she said as she moved to the window over the front door.

She wanted a closer look.  The window she had been looking through had too many leafy branches in her direct line of sight for her liking.

“Don’t you ever go out with a man that is ashamed of you.  You make sure you pick a man that thinks he’s lucky to have you.  He should want to introduce you to all his friends.  Not, leave you in the car like a dog.  Just because you have a big long nose.  I mean look at the beautiful blonde hair.  I bet she is funny and sweet.  Sometimes you have to develop a great personality to make up for having a nose like that one.” she said.  She stood on her tip toes to look out the front door window.

Okay.  Now,  I had to get a look at this girl for myself.  I was hoping she didn’t get sick of waiting for her guy.  I despaired at the thought that she’d ring the doorbell.  My mother would never pull it off.  She’d stare at that nose.  She’d probably say nose twice in each sentence as she tried not to bring attention to that nose.

I went to the front door and bumped my mother out of the way.

I took a sharp look at the poor, ugly step sister sitting in the front seat.  The girl that was too homely to introduce to your friends.  The girl that thought she was so lucky to go out with the guy in the backyard she was willing to sit patiently.

“Jesus, Ma!  Will you please, please go and get your eyes checked?” I asked as I laughed my ass off at the window.

“My eyesight is just fine, thank you very much.” she huffed at me.  “Are you telling me that girl isn’t the homeliest thing you’ve ever seen?  I mean apart from the beautiful wavy blonde hair.  That can’t make up for that nose!” she said as she bumped me out of the way to take another look.

“Oh, the poor homely soul.” she sighed.

“No, that girl is beautiful.  That is a good girl.  Prettiest girl in the world.  She loves to play ball.  She loves hot dogs at the ball park.  She loves to play Frisbee.  She’s a cheap date.  She doesn’t drink alcohol.  She loves to go for long walks on the beach.” I said.

“Oh, so you know her!  Go out there and get that poor girl out of that car.  Invite her in.  But, for God sakes!  Do not mention the size of her nose.” my mother said as she opened the front door for me.

“Mom!  The only thing I can agree with here is that girl has great wavy blonde hair.  That’s the only thing I can agree with.  Your eyesight is just fine?  You don’t need glasses?  Jesus, Ma.  That isn’t a girl.  That is a dog.  And, I’m thinking she has an average sized nose for a golden retriever.”

 

Firefly Summer

I was on the back deck with someone near and dear to me.  He is from out of state.  New York State had been just a place on a map to him.  And, now he was here.

Dusk had turned into darkness.  A trio of tree frogs were spread out between two backyards.  They screeched and bellowed at each other.

“What is that awful noise?” he asked.

“Tree frogs.  They’re hanging around the edge of our pool and the neighbor’s pool.  They’re talking to each other.” I explained.

“Tree frogs?” he asked.

“They’re so loud.  But, if you actually see one?  They’re not much bigger than your thumb nail.” I explained.

“Right…………..” he answered.

The foliage that edges the property darkened from green to black as daylight vanished.  The ferns and bushes at the edge of the woods lit up with fireflies.

I noticed my out of state friend bend his neck in an awkward way.  He was trying to look at the bushes out of the edge of his eye instead of straight on.

“Okay…………..” he said as if to pacify himself.

“Okay?  Is there a problem?” I asked.

“No.  No problem.” he said as he turned his back to the woods.  He whipped around and glared at the dark green ferns that were quickly disappearing into the blackness of the woods.

The fireflies were out in the hundreds.  The humidity had brought them out.  They were putting on a spectacular show.

“Okay………….what are all the twinkling lights that appear and then disappear in the bushes and the woods?” he asked.

“Fairies.”  I answered.

“Cut the crap.” he replied.

“Okay.  They’re fireflies.  Lightening bugs?   If one landed on your hand it looks like a little black beetle.  Out in the woods they light up.  They’re active in June and July.  Especially when it’s humid like tonight.” I explained.

“Yeah, right.” he murmured at me.  “There are no such thing as fireflies.  That’s just something out of books where little kids catch lightening bugs and put them in a jar.  What is really making those blinking lights in the foliage?”

“Fairies.” I explained.

 

Chivalry Lives

I’m usually a rule follower.  Breaking rules makes me nervous.  Especially when it comes to my car.

My inspection sticker was telling me and the world that I was a few months overdue on getting my car inspected.  In the old days I would start to hyperventilate driving a car that was two days overdue.  I’ve gotten to the age where this stuff doesn’t get to me much.  What are they going to do?  Throw me in jail?

Perhaps I’d get an expensive traffic ticket.  A policeman or State Trooper would tsk tsk at me.  I’m past the age where a flirt or a few tears will get me out of a ticket.  I’m past the age where I even want to try.

My reaction now a days would be “Blah, blah, blah, blah, just give me the ticket already.  My popsicles are melting.”

The inspection was so over due even the car was starting to make fun of me.  That sticker on the windshield was yelling at me.  Even from inside the car where I have to read it backwards.

Alright already.  I’ll go get the car inspected and an oil change while I’m at it.

I went to a major chain with  Lube in the name.  They usually work fast.  The waiting room was over air conditioned.  I sneezed a few times as the over head air conditioner blew on me.  I got a tickle in my throat.  I didn’t want all the people waiting with me to think I was Typhoid Mary.  So, I got a half a cup of decaf coffee at the counter to stop the throat tickle.

I was surprised at how good the coffee was.

A technician identified me at the garage door as “Ford Fiesta 2013”.  He had my name.  I don’t know why he didn’t use it.

I followed him into the noisy garage so he could point at his computer screen.  He yelled over the noise of cars being worked on.  He was also competing with an overhead jet engine type fan trying to keep the open air garage at an even 90 degrees.

He pointed at the screen.  I okayed the very expensive oil that the Ford Corporation says is the best choice for my car.  I told him I thought he was a great guy for wanting to rotate my tires.  Good news!  My windshield wipers are just great!  Almost like new.

Then he got to the computer page where he was going to offer me a Fuel Injection Cleaning.  I read the screen as I was having a hard time hearing him.  Ford says it should be done at 30,000 miles.  I’m about a hundred miles from hitting that mile stone.  The computer also said it would be another 80 bucks.

I was about to yell “Go ahead, do it.” when the technician started his sales pitch.

He had already told me that my coffee smelled great.  He had already let me know that my inspection sticker had been so out of date ……………”You didn’t get a ticket because you’re still a good looking woman.”

Still?

It’s too hot in here to make this man miserable I thought.  I’ll let that one go.  He’s just a guy who thinks he is funny.  He actually thinks he just gave me a compliment.

Don’t make him bleed.  I’ll get out of here so much quicker if I don’t bother to make him bleed.

“So, since you’re a woman………let me describe Fuel Injection to you.  You probably use that Aqua Net stuff on your hair.  You go to spray your hair one day and lo and behold you can’t get the nozzle to spray.  You clean it out with hot water and voila!  Good as new!  That’s kind of like what a Fuel Injection Cleaning is like.” he said with a big grin.

I need to screw with him I thought.

“Sorry, the fans are so loud.  Can you go over all of that again for me?  And, I wouldn’t use Aqua Net.  Could you substitute Suave?” I screamed over the noise.

He did.  He did his little “let’s make the little woman understand” speech again.  He substituted the word Suave for me.

Some of the noise right behind us stopped.

I said “I understand what Fuel Injection is. I understand why the system should be cleaned. Your price is a bargain compared to the Ford dealership.  I would like you to take care of that today.”

“Okey Dokey, Sweet Thing.” he replied as he tapped at his computer with one big finger.

Sweet thing.

“I’m still thinking that coffee smells great! But, with the temperature out here…………….I’d only drink it if it’s iced coffee.” he said with a smile.

I decided to help him out.

“Well, since you’re a MAN…………….I’ll explain it to you.  What you want to do is get a big cup.  You fill it up with ice.  Then you pour the coffee over the ice.  Voila.  Iced coffee.  The sweet thing at the front desk is drinking her coffee over ice.  I bet you that little lady might share her cooler of ice with you.  But, I would do one thing.  Just one itty bitty thing.  Learn her frigging name instead of calling her Sweet Thing.  Bet you that would get you some ice for your coffee.” I said as I left the garage.

 

 

 

Mortimer Gets Married

Mortimer was busier than he’d ever been.  Christmas was approaching fast.  That was no problem.  Mortimer was a whiz at delegating.  He’d had a meeting with his section leaders.  Christmas would be on time as usual.

Mortimer stood in front of his dry erase board.  He stared at all his notes.  His eyes were tired.  He knew he needed to go and sit in his recliner and have a ten minute nap.  He was over tired.  He hadn’t slept in weeks.

Mortimer was almost a thousand years old.  Not ancient in Elf years.  He needed very little sleep.  He’d been too busy to get any at all.

He sat on his red recliner.  He leaned back.  He hit the heat and massage buttons.  He set his internal clock to wake himself up in ten minutes.  Ten minutes would refresh him.  Longer would leave him woozy and slow witted.

Mortimer’s fiancé Sarah tapped on the door.  She opened it and stuck her head into Mortimer’s cozy cottage.  She saw that he was napping in his favorite chair.  She let herself in.  She quietly stood in front of the dry erase board.  She read the copious amounts of notes.

Mortimer had the next few days mapped out in different colored ink.  She shook her head at the myriad amount of details on his board.  Her wedding was planned out in front of her in Mortimer’s neat block lettering.

The wedding details were all outlined in red.  Her eyes widened as she perused the long list of details.  She got to the notation “Doves of the whitest of wings shot out of a cannon.”  Her knees went a little weak and she sat down on the arm of Mortimer’s recliner.

This was not the type of wedding she had hoped for at all.

It had been exactly ten minutes.  Mortimer awoke refreshed to find his fiancé sitting on the arm of his chair.

“Sarah!  I was just about to come looking for you.  That’s next on my list.  I hope you haven’t read too many of my notes in red.  You told me I was to plan the wedding of your dreams.  There are some things I want to be a surprise, though.” Mortimer said as he hopped out of his recliner.

“I didn’t read all that much.” she replied in a quiet voice.  She was truthful.  She had gotten to the part where innocent little birds would be shot out of a big gun and her eyes had gone blurry.

“We have an appointment with Santa in a few moments.  You know the whole “Marriage Decree” thing.  He has to okay our wedding on Christmas Day.  We’ve been engaged a year as of today.  So, it should all be full speed ahead.  I don’t foresee any kind of a problem.” Mortimer said as he straightened his jacket and set his High Elf cap on his head.  He adjusted his red feather in the mirror just for luck.

“You look very beautiful, Sarah!  Blue velvet!  It matches your eyes.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen you out of red or green!  Very fetching.” said Mortimer.  He had read somewhere that females like compliments on their attire.

“I’m out of uniform, Mortimer.  Blue is my favorite color.” Sarah said.  She wondered why Mortimer was only noticing this today.

“Well, let’s get this formality over with Santa.  And, then we can perhaps have a snowy picnic in the town square.  We can oversee the loading of the sleigh without looking like we’re overseeing the loading of the sleigh.” said Mortimer with a smart little laugh.

Sarah didn’t really like picnics in the snow.  She was more a beef stew in front of a roaring fire kind of girl.  She wondered why Mortimer didn’t know this.

Mortimer and Sarah arrived at Santa’s office five minutes early.  They found him in his office listening to choral music.  He stood in front of his Christmas Tree with his eyes closed.  He swayed to the music.  He pretended he was directing the beautiful voices that sang some of his favorite holiday songs.

Santa waved Mortimer and Sarah into two chairs sitting in front of his desk.

“I’ll be with you in approximately four minutes.  You have got to hear this last song on this tape.  It’s not really a Christmas song.  But, it’s a perfect ending for a holiday concert.  It’s called “Let There Be Peace On Earth”.  It’s so perfect it well……………it just gives me joyous chills.  So, be quiet and listen.” Santa said.

The song ended.  Santa popped the tape out of his tape player.  He sat at his desk and placed the plastic tape into the envelope it came in.  He perused the small note that had come with the gift of choral music.

He placed the envelope in front of Mortimer.

“Do you recognize that handwriting, Mortimer?  Do you distinguish the hand drawn holly leaves on the envelope?  I received this a few days ago.  A little girl on Columbus Street sent me a gift.  Me!  Santa!  She sent me a gift!  And, do you know what that note says?  Do you know what that Letter to Santa says?” Santa asked in his jolliest voice.

“No, I have no idea what the letter from Columbus Street says.” muttered Mortimer.

“That note asks after my health.  That note asks after Mrs. Santa and you, Mortimer.  And this little girl, Darlene?  She says in her letter that she needs nothing at all.  She has everything she needs.  She recorded a final rehearsal of her Round Table singers for me.  She recorded it just for me!  She wishes me a Merry Christmas.” said Santa as he pounded his fist on his desk.

He was no longer smiling.

“This little girl is on the list of “faithful” that you visit every year.  But, somehow you haven’t gotten around to your visits to the faithful this year.  You’re too busy ordering flowers and having candy snowmen made for your wedding.  You!  The Exalted High Elf!  You can have a lavish wedding at the snap of your fingers.  You’re doing it all yourself and neglecting the visits to the faithful.  This little girl from Columbus Street is singing joyous Christmas music.  She sends me a letter filled with love.  She doesn’t even mention that you failed to visit her this year.   How old is she now?  About ten?” asked Santa as he tried to calm himself down.

Sarah sat stiffly in her chair.  She had never seen Santa get angry like this.  Mortimer had.  He wasn’t afraid.  He was mortified at his own negligence.

“Columbus Street?  That would be  Darlene you’re speaking of.  She is sixteen this year.” said Mortimer.

“Sixteen?  You have a sixteen year old girl on the cusp of adulthood.  She still believes?  Her parents still believe?  And, you mess with that?  Mortimer!  If this wasn’t such an important meeting I would tell you to get out of my sight!  So, you two!  Just sit there and be quiet while I listen to this last song again.” Santa bellowed as he put the tape into the machine once again and hit fast forward.

Let There Be Peace On Earth did it’s job.  It calmed Santa down.

Santa reclaimed his chair behind his desk.  He folded his hands together and stared at the Elf couple in front of him.

“So!  By Exalted High Elf Decree I now have to provide marriage counseling.  Oh, be quiet, Mortimer.  I know exactly how this came to be.  You had a marriage craze on your hands and you started spouting off while holding your hand over your heart.  So, you have decreed that I have to okay a marriage after 364 days of engagement.  You have ignored part of your job to plan a wedding that I haven’t even put my stamp of approval on yet.  Oh, quit quivering in your chair Sarah.  You’re not in any trouble.  You haven’t done anything wrong.  I’m not looking to get in the way of true love because I’m aggravated with your fiancé here.  I’ve thought long and hard on this decree of yours, Mortimer. ” Santa said as he popped a sugar cookie into his mouth.

“I veto your decree.” Santa said as he put the top on his cookie canister without offering any to the couple in front of him.

Mortimer went to open his mouth to argue.  He saw the glint in Santa’s eye and he shut his mouth.

Smart Elf.

“I understand the thought behind your decree.  Not bad actually for a spur of the moment ruling.  Marriage shouldn’t be gone into lightly.  I am vetoing the wording of your decree.  I am no expert on marriage.  I can’t look into the hearts of  Elves in a short meeting.  But, a heartwright can.  Mrs. Santa is a heartwright.  She will be meeting with you instead.  She will say yes or no to this wedding coming up in a few days.” said Santa as he gave a whistle.

Mrs. Santa came through the door.  She had obviously been expecting to be summoned.

“Santa!  You have an intercom. Use it.  Don’t whistle for me like a dog!” said Bonnie.  Mrs. Santa was not amused.

“Sorry, Bonnie.  I’m a bit worked up.  Sorry, it won’t happen again.” said Santa.

“Until next time.” said Bonnie with a smile for the engaged Elf couple.

“So, you’re in need of a heartwright.  I’ve read the Marriage Decree and Santa’s addendum.  I can help you out if you’ll let me.” she said as she stood in front of Mortimer and Sarah.

“Yes, please.” said Mortimer.  Sarah shook her head up and down in agreement.  Sarah felt herself become Shy Sarah again in front of Mrs. Claus.

“Please, stand.” said Mrs. Santa.  “I just need to place my hands over your hearts.  It will only take a second and it won’t hurt.”

The couple stood.  Mrs. Santa placed a hand over each of their hearts.  She shut her eyes and she swayed back and forth for more than a few seconds.

“Please, be seated.” said Mrs. Santa.

“Sarah, your heart is pure and your love is strong.  You need to lose the shyness with your own fiancé.  You need to open your mouth and say no when you dislike something he is doing or saying.  He is not a mind reader.  He is a male elf.  He has very little experience with females.  You need to spell it out for him.  He is receptive.  You need not fear speaking your mind with him.  Ever.” said Mrs. Santa.

Sarah’s eyes flew open in astonishment.  She had heard of the power of heartwrights.  She didn’t know there was one at the North Pole.  Now, she knew.

“Mortimer!  The wedding you have planned is off. ” Bonnie said to the Exalted High Elf.

“You’ve got it all wrong.  Shooting doves out of a cannon.  Flying Elves doing snowflake formations in the sky.  Are you losing it?  Do you need a forced vacation?  I would suggest another year’s engagement so you can become more attuned with the wonderful Elf you’re to marry.  But, that is not what her heart wants.” Mrs. Santa started in on Mortimer.

“Your heart aches that you missed your visits to the faithful, Mortimer.  You have time before your wedding day to make one visit.  I suggest Columbus Street.  It is the location your heart yearns for.  You are late.  You are so late that the people in the house may not recognize you.  I would suggest that you take Sarah with you.  The two of you have lessons to learn there.  When you return?  We’ll discuss the wedding. Or?  Your hearts will choose the moment of your marriage.” said Bonnie the heartwright.

Santa looked impressed.  Mortimer looked distressed and embarrassed.  Sarah looked relieved and excited.  No birds would be maimed at her wedding.  She’d never seen a human’s house before.

“You’d better get going right away.” exclaimed Bonnie.  “Please stand one more time.”

She placed her hands over the couple’s hearts again.  “It says in Santa’s addendum that your heart shall guide you until your marriage vows are done.  So, until then you have the power of a heartwright.  That means you can read the hearts of others.  You are Elves.  You are Santa’s Elves.  You have the power to make your hearts desire a reality until your wedding vows are taken.” said Bonnie in a seer’s voice.

“After that?  It’s back to doing everything the hard way.” Bonnie said in her Mrs. Santa’s voice.

Sarah caught on quickly.  She knew that she and Mortimer weren’t dressed for travel.  She also knew she wanted to leave that very minute.  Her heart’s desire at that moment was that they’d both be dressed warmly for their travels.

Sarah found herself wearing a beautiful blue and silver full length coat.  Her velvet hat was smart with red tassels.  Her heart couldn’t leave out red tassels at Christmas time.

Mortimer wasn’t having the matching coat Sarah had put him in.  He switched magically back to his regular attire.  He wore his Exalted High Elf traveling coat made of humming bird feathers.  He shined his brass buttons with his sleeve.

Bonnie burst out laughing.  Santa popped open his cookie canister again.  The engaged Elves held hands and they were off.

Mortimer usually visited Columbus Street alone.  He usually arrived on the Saturday before Christmas.  He always got there in time for brunch.

Mortimer opened his eyes.  He made sure Sarah was still next to him.  They stood in the snow in front of the Columbus Street house.  Dusk was strong in the sky.  It was almost evening.

Sarah took her breath in with a gasp.  Mortimer let her take her time.  His heart’s desire was to make this a perfect trip for his fiancé.  She had never left the North Pole before.  She had never met a human family before.  He let her turn left and right.

Sarah looked up and down Columbus Street.  She took in the beautiful twinkling Christmas lights decorating the landscaping in front of the little Cape Cod houses.  She noticed the lovely Christmas trees lit up in all the front windows.  She laughed with glee at a big plastic Santa standing attention on the porch across the street.  She sniffed deeply of the wood smoke coming out of chimneys.

“I think they’re home.” said Mortimer.  “If they don’t remember me……………how can I apologize for letting them down?”

“It is my heart’s desire that they remember you, my love.” said Sarah as she clutched Mortimer’s hand.  They walked up the shoveled walk to the front door.  Mortimer allowed Sarah to ring the door bell since she’d never done that before either. He gave her a boost.

The front porch light came on.  Darlene swung the door open.  She looked right over the couples heads.  She looked a little confused.  Then, she looked down.  Elves are only about three feet tall after all.

“Mortimer!  Where have you been?  We’ve been worried about you!  I wanted to mention in my letter to Santa that I was worried.  But, then I thought no.  Maybe you’d get into trouble.  And, who is this?  Oh, I’m sorry.  You must be cold.  Please, come in.” said Darlene as she opened the door.

Sarah and Mortimer stood tentatively in the little living room on Columbus Street.  Sarah took the room in.  She looked past the tall girl to notice the Christmas tree in the corner with it’s twinkle lights.  She bent down and perused the village under the tree that spilled out and went under the table in front of the picture window.  She noticed the nativity scene on a table in the corner.  It was lit with one small light in the shape of a star.

Sarah’s eyes filled with tears.  Mortimer had described this room so many times.

Sarah was looking at Christmas.

“You two must be hungry!  Come into the kitchen.  Mom’s in the bedroom getting dressed for my concert. Daddy will be back in a minute.  He’s gone to Vic’s to pick up a big pizza for dinner.  Please, sit!  Can I get you both something to drink?” asked Darlene.

“Darlene.  You remember me?” asked Mortimer.

“Of course, I remember you Mortimer. But, I would like to be introduced to your beautiful friend.  I hope you don’t mind me saying this but you are the most lovely being I’ve ever seen.”  said Darlene to Sarah.

Darlene was looking at the most exquisitely beautiful miniature woman.  She was perfect.  She had cascading red hair.  Her eyes were bright blue and her lips were red.  Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.  She was dressed all in royal blue velvet with silver trim.  She had red tassels hanging from her perfect cap.

“This is Sarah, my fiancé.  We’re to be married soon.  I am so sorry that I missed our regular visit.  I got carried away with wedding plans.  I was so caught up with silly nonsense……………I’m so sorry.  I won’t say that I neglected my duties though I did.  But, coming to visit this family has never been a duty.  It has always been a joy.  I neglected my joy.  You have my sincerest apologies.” said Mortimer with a rush and a deep bow.

He was after all speaking to a teenager.  Teenagers hardly ever believed.  If Darlene stopped believing …………..Mortimer was terrified it would be all his fault.

“Oh, Mortimer!  Don’t worry about it!  Wedding always make people crazy!  Trying to plan a perfect day can make you forget your own name!  I’m very pleased to meet you, Sarah.”  Darlene forgave him in an instant.

“Mom!  We have company!” Darlene yelled at the closed doorway at the end of the hallway.

Ellie came out and greeted the relieved couple.  Daddy Ralph came in with a very large square pizza.  The five sat around the table and ate and chatted and laughed.

Mortimer asked Ralph and Ellie how long they’d been married.

“Almost thirty years.” Ralph told him as he smiled at his wife.

“Do you have any advice for an engaged couple?” asked Sarah forgetting her shyness.

“Well.  I guess I’d say that if a woman loves her man more than herself………….and that man loves his woman more than himself………….and they talk every day……………well……..how can they go wrong?” answered Daddy Ralph.

Darlene looked up at the clock and said “Please.  I hope you all stay and visit.  But, I have to go upstairs and put on my Roundtable costume and do my hair.  The Christmas concert is tonight and I have to leave in a half an hour for the high school auditorium.”

Mortimer stood up as if to leave.  Darlene didn’t like that.  This Elf visit hadn’t lasted long enough.

“Sarah!  My room is a little messy.  But, would you like to come up and see my room while I get ready?  I’m thinking this is your fist time in a house like this one?” invited Darlene.

It was Sarah’s heart’s desire to see a human female teenager’s room.  She nodded her head up and down.

Sarah boosted herself up onto the brass bed.  She took in the books and magazines laying around the floor.  She smiled at the tiny Christmas tree on the desk.  She was curious about the hot hair rollers being plugged in.  She poked around a bag full of makeup.

“What’s this?” she said as she pulled out a lipstick.

“That’s called lipstick.  It’s to change the color of the lips. And this is mascara to make the eyelashes longer and darker.  And, that’s blush to put color on the cheeks.  It’s all to make me beautiful.” Darlene explained with a self conscious laugh.

“Come here.” said Sarah from the edge of the bed.

Sarah ran her hands over Darlene’s face.  Darlene felt a tingle.  She looked at herself in the mirror.  She liked what she saw.

Darlene turned towards Sarah.

“What did you do?” asked Darlene in wonder.

“Nothing.  It’s my heart’s desire that you see yourself the way that I see you.” said Sarah.

For a moment Darlene had forgotten that this small female was an Elf.  Now, she remembered.

“Are you in a hurry to get back?  Do you have to be somewhere?  I mean…………if you want to………..you and Mortimer might like the Christmas concert.” whispered Darlene as she looked at herself in the mirror while she unrolled the curlers from her hair.

“That would make my heart happy.” declared Sarah as she jumped off the bed.  She ran her hands through Darlene’s hair and was delighted with the results.

The family of humans and Elves piled into the Mercury station wagon.  Darlene skidded into the warm up room only five minutes late.  Her director scowled and then threw Darlene a kiss as she took her place in the chorus.

Mortimer and Sarah sat towards the back in the darkness of the auditorium.  They shared a red velvet seat as they are so small. They listened intently as the human young people sang of love and forgiveness and the beauty of the Christ Child.  They held hands and were thrilled to be where they were.

They were mesmerized by the chorus’s rendition of T’was The Night Before Christmas.  They’d never heard the Ode to Joy done with lyrics before.  Finally came the song they were waiting for.  The chorus ended the evening with Let There Be Peace On Earth.

Sarah thought that this was the perfect moment.  She couldn’t wait for the Elf sitting next to her to be her husband.

Mortimer thought that this was the perfect moment.  He couldn’t wait for the Elf sitting next to him to be his wife.

The chorus flourished into to their big finish.  “And let it begin with me.” they sang.

That is the moment when the Elves were filled with light and love.  They looked down at their hands that buzzed with the power of adoration.  That’s when they noticed the wedding rings on their fingers.

They were married.