Christmas Tips

We all know them.  The person that is hard to get a dollar out of.  You wonder if they don’t have it?  Or, they just won’t spend it.

When I was a kid…………….I had an allowance.  I helped with chores and I was rewarded with a shiny quarter.  Yup, 25 cents.  I eventually talked my father into doubling that allowance.  It was such an easy thing to do………….I should have asked for a dollar.

I pegged laundry to the ropes.  I chased socks and underwear out from under bushes on windy days.  I ironed handkerchiefs and pillow cases.  I dusted furniture legs.  Anything my mother could think of to keep me earning those fifty pennies.

I was quite willing to spend my money.  The Good Humor Truck lady knew my name.  Floyd from Floyd’s Market probably had a deal going with my dentist.  The ladies at Mr. Donut’s gave me a break on doughnuts if I purchased a hot chocolate also.

If a brother asked to borrow a dollar until Friday…………….I usually said no.  Because, I didn’t have one.

Christmas meant gifts.  I’ve always been a supporter of ‘It’s better to give than receive’.  Thank goodness for grammar school teachers.  They always came up with a craft that took up the month of December.  Crafts that took up four art periods were usually good enough to give to Moms and Dads for Christmas.  Brothers tended to roll their eyes at such bounty with a bow on it.

Then I got a paper route.

The Manchester Evening Herald cost the customer 42 cents a week back then.  I was a stranger that threw a paper in their doors when I started.  A stranger got fifty cents on collection day with a “Keep the change” before the door closed in my face.

I did a lot of walking for 8 cents a week X 35 customers.

So, I gave them the personal touch.   Once they learned my name……….once I learned theirs……………my tips grew by leaps and bounds.

Women didn’t go out to work when I was a paper girl.  These ladies were harried people.  Feeding six kids on a pound of hamburger………………..sewing on hand me downs.  Trying to comb their hair before the husband came home.

They were lonely.

I gave these ladies a bit of chat.  I learned their names.  I poked at pretty babies sitting in ancient carriages getting some air.  I spent five minutes talking at clothes lines while I handed women clothes pegs.  I trained a corgi to bring in the paper.

I looked at dusty scrapbooks with old people.  I became well acquainted with one old lady’s button collection.  She had buttons from all over the world in glass cases in her living room.  They were lit up.  She even flipped on ‘mood music’ on the hi-fi when she’d get my attention for the five minutes I would allow her.

I would give ten minutes to her Hummel collection in the dining room…………..if the weather was nice and it wasn’t getting dark yet.

My brother had this paper route before me.  He told me what I could expect in Christmas tips.  He told me what day to put a Christmas card in their paper for maximum Christmas bounty.  I wasn’t all that impressed with the amount he told me.

“You never bothered talking to any of these people, did you?” was my response to the paltry amount he quoted.

“You’ll see.” he said.  “They’ll hand you a cookie and say “Merry Christmas”.  You’ll get a handful of butterscotch candies.  If you’re lucky you’ll get a buck in a card on collection day.  And, they’ll wait until the last minute.” he warned

“Have a good time shopping at Rexall Drug Store on Christmas Eve.” he added.

I accompanied my mother and auntie when they went Christmas shopping.  Auntie drove but only in daylight.  So, a few mornings in December my mother would shake me awake.

“Rise and shine, Sunshine!  Christmas shopping and lunch at Grants today with Auntie!”  she’d crow as she pulled the blankets off of me.

They didn’t bring me along because I had money to shop.  They brought me along as a “purse guard”.  I was the cart pusher.  I was never to leave the purses alone for a moment.

I grew into the job.  Eventually I was the one pointing out great deals to them.  I talked them out of velour shirts for men.  I reminded them to buy batteries for the new flash lights.  I was the one that knew not all girls played with dolls.  I was the one that knew toy slushie makers were a big fat waste of time and money.

I didn’t have my Christmas tips yet.  But, that didn’t keep me from scoping out what was for sale at our favorite store.  I made mental notes.

“What do you think of these, Darlene?” my mother asked as she stroked long woolen boot socks.  “They’d be great for Daddy and your brothers.  But, I really don’t like the price.  What are they made out of? Gold?  Oh, forget it.  I’ll buy them somewhere else.”

I knew she wouldn’t.  The minute she walked away from that table full of socks ………..they were forgotten.

And, my brothers and father could really use those socks.  I’d seen the state of their winter socks.  I was the one that matched them together on laundry days.

“I’ll be right back.” I told her.

“Make it quick.  And, don’t you take your eyes off of our purses.” my mother murmured as she checked out packages of men’s underwear.

I went up to the courtesy counter.

“Excuse me.  The long men’s woolen boot socks.  When do they go on sale?  There’s a million of them so I figure they’re going on sale soon?” I asked the pretty red headed girl behind the counter.

“Hold on, I think you’re right………………..”she said as she flipped through a big loose leaf binder.  “Mens…………..mens…………….socks.  Yup, buy one pair and get two pairs free starting next Monday.  But, really.  Be here on Monday.  They’ll go fast.”

I had seen my mother touching a wooden jewelry box.  It was shaped like a piano.  I knew the way she smiled at it and then had shaken her head “no”………….she liked it for herself.

But, mothers never bought things for themselves.

“Do jewelry boxes go on sale any time soon?” I asked.  I had seen the price on that piano shaped box.  It was not music to my ears.

“Next Monday.  Jewelry and all jewelry boxes are 40% off with coupon. Don’t let anyone see this.” she said as she gave me a book of coupons a week early.

“Aren’t you my grandmother’s paper girl?  She loves you.  You take the time to look at her button collection.  And, those Hummels?  How many does she have now?” the red headed girl asked me with a laugh.

“42” I answered.

The next day I got busy baking.  My father got pretty excited at early Christmas cookies.

“You can have a few, Daddy.” I told him.  “But, I’m baking for my paper customers.”

He smiled at me as he popped a cookie shaped like a wreath into his mouth.

“Ah, a business plan.  Very subtle.  Better than a signed Christmas card that says tips appreciated.” he chuckled.

He knew my brother very well.

I baked a lot.  I knew how many people lived in each house.  Two a piece.  One house that was sort of like ‘The Lady That Lived In A Shoe …………..with so many children she didn’t know what to do!” got a few dozen.

I delivered cookies.  On the next collection day I was so rich I felt like I should have had an armed guard accompany me on my walk home through the darkened streets.

I told my mother I would be late home from my paper route on Monday.

“I’m going to Grants to do my Christmas shopping.” I told her.

Those coupons worked great.  I became a great fan of Buy One Get Two Free all throughout that store.

I came home with my canvas paper bag full of Christmas booty.  My mother was a little taken a back by the fact that I had to drag that bag up the stairs to my room one step at a time.

“Dear, God!” she yelled from the bottom step.  “You haven’t taken up shop lifting have you?”  She was kidding I think……………….or, maybe a little serious.

I wasn’t insulted.  I used to be the girl that never had any money.

Times had changed.

“I’m a paper girl!  A paper girl with lots of friends! I bake great cookies!  My customers love me!  I turned down a collector Hummel shaped like a paper boy today! ” I yelled down the stairs as I stashed every thing under my bed.

“Huh!” my mother replied.

Christmas morning came.  My family blinked at brand new store boxes………..filled with new tissue paper…………..and the stuff that I had bought.  No more things made out of cotton balls and pipe cleaners.

My mother actually gasped when she opened the box that contained a jewelry box shaped like a piano.  There was even a new Christmas tree pin inside.

My father and brothers each got three pairs of long woolen socks.  I had unsuccessfully crossed out the price on the cardboard…………………..on purpose.

“How the hell much money did you make in Christmas tips?’ my brother asked later as he ate a cinnamon bun in two bites.

I leaned over and whispered into his ear.

“No freaking way!” he whispered back.

The day after Christmas my father got me all alone in the kitchen.

“Little Girl………………you didn’t need to spend all your money on us.  We like your hand made gifts.  Here, this is for you.” he said as he tried to press a ten dollar bill into my hand.

I put the money on the kitchen table and walked away.

I must have been a little insulted…………………..after all, I remember that after all these years.

A week later………………unexpected company was coming for New Year’s Eve.  My mother handed my father a shopping list.  She twirled around with a vacuum cleaner and a dust cloth.  She had me scrubbing the bathroom.  My father had to go to the grocery store.

Daddy didn’t use charge cards.  Daddy kept his check book under lock and key.  He payed for everything in cash.  He looked into his wallet and groaned.

He yelled for my brother.

“The banks are closed.  I wasn’t expecting to shop today.  Do you have twenty dollars you can lend me?” he asked my big brother.  “I’ll pay you back on Monday when I can get to the bank.”

“I’m sorry Dad.  I have like four bucks left after Christmas shopping.  I’ll go get it, but it’s all I have.” my brother told him.

I went to the kitchen junk drawer.  I took out my little box from the very back of the drawer.

My father and brother’s mouths hung open when I flipped through a stack of bills and pulled out four five’s.

“Here you go, Daddy!  Take your time paying me back.  Whenever is fine by me.” I said as I put my not so secret box back in it’s place.

My father put his head back and roared with laughter.

“I see the cookies worked their magic!  You should skip delivering papers, Little Girl.  You should just sell your cookies.” Daddy said as he put the money into his wallet.

“It wasn’t the cookies, Daddy.  I talk to lonely people.” I answered.

 

 

 

 

 

Hidden Treasures

My daughter was brokenhearted.  Oh, she brushed it off after a quick cry.  But, still it hurt.

I had given her a carnival glass bowl for a bridal shower gift.  It had belonged to her Grammy Ellie.  It was precious to her because she had loved my mother.  She missed her.

The precious bowl sat in the middle of her dining room table.  The cat didn’t mean to do it.  She got a claw stuck in the table cloth.  The kitty tugged and the bowl flew onto the floor and smashed.

Later that night………..I went on line.  I scoured Ebay and found the same exact bowl.  I called my daughter over to the computer.

“Why don’t I replace that bowl?” I asked her as my finger hung over the ‘Buy It Now’ button.

“No, don’t bother.  It’s not the same.  Grammy didn’t own that bowl.” she said as she walked away from the computer.

So,  I didn’t bother.

I thought of that today while I delved into the depths of my hutch.  I’m cleaning it out because I want to paint my dining room.  I decided some of these sets of dishes have to go.  Most of the things stuffed into this piece of furniture just have to go.

I came across a lot of stuff that isn’t going to go.

Like …………..handmade Mother’s Day cards.  They say things like “I love you Mom.  I love you, but I don’t love your meatloaf.  Still,  you’re okay.”  Construction paper decorated with flowers and painted hand prints.

Awww!  That stuff went into a “KEEP” pile.

I filled up half a trash can with socks.  Yes, I just said socks.  Sigh…………..I fold laundry on the dining room table.  Orphaned socks sit in a little pile on the corner of the hutch next to the bowl of candy.  Usually; within a week I will find mates to these socks.

But, if company is coming?  As I twirl around with a dust cloth and a vacuum cleaner…….I’ve been known to open up the hutch door and shove that little pile of socks into the cavern where they won’t be seen.

Over and over.  Never to be thought about again.

I’m glad I didn’t go and die………and have some estate sale person ………..find my hutch full of socks.  Really…………..I may be quirky……………..but a hutch full of socks just seems nuts.

I had piles of dishes stacked around me.  I wondered why fourteen saucers only had seven matching cups.  I threw cloth napkins with stains at the trash can.  I’ll keep the ones that my Auntie cross stitched holly and berries on.  Not that I’m in to cloth napkins anymore……………but, I did love my Auntie and she’s gone now.

I took one of those old socks to dust out the inside of the hutch.  I thought it was empty but it wasn’t.  My hand hit something made out of glass in the very back corner.

I drew out a vase.  To my eye it’s beautiful.  To your eye it may be ugly.  It’s one of those items.  All in the eye of the beholder.

Inside the vase I found two pieces of paper.

My mother Ellie’s handwriting!

She had written out the past few generations of her family tree.  And, then she’d shoved it into this vase.

And, it was in my hutch.

My mother died in 1998.

I lie back on the rug as my hips no longer like sitting crossed legged for long.  I put my feet up on the rim of the hutch.  I held the vase to my chest and I breathed deep.

“Memory don’t fail me now.” I thought.

I lie quietly for five minutes.  I didn’t shut my eyes.  I stared at the ceiling that needs to be painted.  The reason I’m lightening the load in this hutch………….it has to be moved soon.  I looked at the vase…………..and my mother’s handwritten notes.

I remembered.

“Here.  I want you to have this vase.  I think it’s ugly.  Your father thinks it’s pretty.  It’s one of those things.  I found it under my kitchen sink at the very back.  It was my mother’s.  One of the few things I have that belonged to her.  I wrote down what I remember of my family tree.  You should know who your people were.” my mother said to me twenty five years ago.

That memory flooded back.

I must have stuck that vase where I knew it would be safe.

And, sadly forgot all about it.  Until today.

Could this pretty but maybe ugly vase really be old enough to have belonged to the grandmother I’d never met?

I went online.

The mark on the bottom tells me that it was made by a company named Northwood.  The vase is over a hundred years old.

So, yes, I think I’m remembering it right.

My daughter is the family genealogist.  She’s delved further back into our history than my mother’s notes go.  She’ll note that my mother wasn’t even spelling her own mother’s maiden name correctly.

Something tells me I won’t own this vase or these handwritten notes much longer.

Something tells me that I’ve found the items that can replace that bowl that was broken a few years back.

Something tells me that I need to buy some bubble wrap.

 

 

 

 

The Power Of Prayer

I suppose I spent too much time sitting in a church pew when I was a little kid.  Words swirled around me.  Candles burned and incense filled the air.  I had quite a few questions.  They were answered to the best of my parent’s ability.  My parents that didn’t question anything about their religion.

“Ask Sister…………..and, have faith.  Just have faith.” my mother would say to me quite often.

I’m not much of a church goer as an adult.  Oh, don’t take that as a statement of disbelief.  I believe in God.  I believe he is everywhere and in everyone.

“Thank you for this beautiful day.” stated from the seat of my lawn tractor is a testament to God.  I know who I’m talking to.

But, prayer………..real prayer.  I save that for the important stuff.  I don’t think the Lord has any interest in the outcome of a football game or an audition.  I give thanks and I save the requests for the health and safety of the people I love.

My husband had a horrible pain one night.  We had just returned from a retirement party.  I had warned him to stay away from the sausage and peppers.  But, did he listen?  No.

So, when he clutched his chest and said dial 911?  I did it.  But, deep in my body I thought he was suffering from the worst case of indigestion he’d ever had.

He ended up staying in the hospital for triple by-pass.

I was never so scared in my life.

I found out that when I’m really upset I don’t break out the Girl Scout cookies.  My body refuses to be nourished.  I sleep with one eye on the clock.  I’m a jumpy mess.

And, the prayers?  The ones I learned by heart as a little girl?  Oh, they’re still there.  But, I had to say them slow.  Think about every word I was saying.  I decided that the words didn’t fit my situation.

I thanked God for putting my husband in my path 40 years ago.  I told Him that he was still needed.  Here with me.  I asked for His will to be done ………………as long as it matched up with my own.

You know how that goes.

I didn’t tell many people what was going on.  A few close friends.  My husband’s family.  I never got around to asking my husband how private he wanted to keep this.  So, I just shut up and dealt with it myself.

My son came downstairs the night before the big surgery.

“When is the last time you ate something?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” I answered.

He made me eggs and toast.  He stuck a fork in my hand and watched me chew until the plate was empty.

My daughter was so far away.  She couldn’t be with us.  But, she went to Facebook.

She put up a request on my own page while I was eating.

“My father is having heart surgery tomorrow.  My mother has called to tell me all about it.  She is being positive.  But, I can tell from so far away that she is scared to death.  So, I ask that her friends step up.  Send her your good wishes and your prayers.  I know she has been a good friend to you.  She needs you now.”

I sat at the dining room table.  I told my son that I hadn’t wanted to eat but I felt so much better with something in my stomach.

And, then the speaker on the computer starting to bling, bling, bling.  Messages were pouring in so fast it sounded like a one note symphony.

I went to the computer to see who was having an emergency.

It turned out it was me.

“Do you need me to sit with you at the hospital?  I have some personal time I can take from work.” said one friend.

“Are you okay to drive?  I can take you and wait with you.” said another friend.

Hundreds of well wishes and prayers were being sent through my computer.

One message said “Take a deep breath.  He is in good hands.  He’ll be as good as new.  Bow your head right now and pray with me.  “Our Father…………………………”

I bowed my head and prayed with my friend.  The computer continued to say bling, bling, bling throughout the prayer.

And, then warmth…………………physical warmth spread through out my body.

And, that’s when I heard my mother’s voice again.  It was behind my right ear.  It wasn’t my imagination.

The power of those prayers brought her back to me for one instant.

“Have faith.” she said.

And, he was given back to me.  As good as new.