The Longest Month of March

The woman stood on her back deck and stared at the black night sky.  The stars were bright and in their places.  Wood smoke from neighboring houses hit her nostrils.  The March air was cold but winter had lost it’s hold.

Still, she thought perhaps she should have put on a coat.

The dream had awakened her.  Had left her unsettled.  The glass of milk hadn’t done it’s trick.  Nor, the three Oreos she had eaten in the kitchen by the light of the refrigerator.

The blackness of the sky and the brightness of the stars met her dreams on the back deck.

She stared up into the darkness and witnessed a shooting star.  She didn’t make a wish.  Weeks of solitude amidst a global pandemic had worn her down.  If her spirit had ever glowed brightly………………….it now looked like the ebbing power of a dying flashlight.

That’s when the shooting star took aim.  The glow that was so far away got brighter and brighter.  The brightness that landed in her back yard made her shield her eyes.

A sleigh and eight reindeer took up her whole back yard.  A man dressed in red trimmed with fur stepped down from the sleigh.  He asked permission to come up onto her deck.

The woman granted permission.  She had no fear of Santa.  She liked reindeer just fine.  But, she had to ask.

“Is this part of my dream?” she asked as she still tasted the Oreos and milk in her mouth.

“Yes, it is.  It’s not the most important part……………………but, the part that you will remember.  The part that will make you remember the rest.” Santa said as he sat on a chair covered with leftover leaves from autumn.

“Can I invite you in?” asked the woman.

“No, you need the cold.  I can’t have you falling asleep on me right now.  If you were wearing a coat………….I’d ask you to take it off.” he replied.

“You straighten the blankets on your bed.  And, you get in.  You fluff your pillows just the way you like them.  You try to forget today’s news.  You say your prayers and you wish for better news tomorrow. But, you know, it’s not going to end tomorrow.  That the world is in trouble.  That staying in your house is the only thing you can do to help.  You’ve always washed your hands so I won’t go on at you about that.” said Santa.

“But, you dreamed.  You dreamed a crystal clear dream.  There was some solace in that dream but it troubled you.  That’s why you drink milk when you don’t really like it.  That’s why you eat cookies at four a.m. even though you’re not hungry.” he continued.

“Tell me about the dream………….now, while you still remember it.” Santa said earnestly.

“I was young and strong and full of hope.  I walked around a very large fancy hotel lobby.  It was full of people.  People my age………..older folks and lots of little kids running around.  It was a family reunion that had gotten out of control.  I had only reserved seven rooms but there were hundreds of people…………..and, they all knew me.” the woman started.

“They thanked me for the wonderful dinner…………..and, I told them, oh, thank my brother.  He is the one that arranged all that.  I gave a key to my cousin and told her to use that room since she had her daughter with her.  I told her that my husband, myself and my son could bunk in one room.” she continued.

“Out on the lawn there were more people.  They were playing family reunion games.  Softball.  Potato sack races.  And, then an announcement was made.  They all came running.  My grandparents who have been dead for eons were there.  My aunties and uncles that have passed away.  They mingled with people that I know for a fact are still alive.  It was very confusing.  They all cheered when they heard a cousin’s test had come back negative.  Then, they all went back to playing and having fun.”  the woman confided to Santa.

“What else did you see in your dream?” asked Santa.  “And, don’t be worried about seeing the dead playing with the living.”

“I saw angels………lots of angels…………their wings looked like rainbows.  They weren’t worried.  They were happy to sit on the hillside and watch everything that was going on.” the woman replied.

“Your  belief in me has brought me into this dream.  Slow your thinking down……..I know you’re scared………….what do you think it all means?” asked Santa.

‘I have no idea!  My family…………….those that are dead…………..and those that are alive all together!  My favorite auntie that I lost years ago.  Blowing up an air mattress in the middle of a fancy hotel lobby.  She saw me.  She smiled but she didn’t try to talk to me.  I have no clue!” the woman shouted too loudly on her deck in the middle of the night.

Santa put his hands up in front of his face like he was going to whisper a prayer.  He rubbed his hands together.  He separated his hands………..left …..and right.

“The living!” he said as he waved his right hand.  “Those that are gone.” he said as he waved his left.

He placed his hands together.

“Together!  You are still one tribe! ” he exclaimed.

“You have your own idea of what heaven is like.  Your faith is strong.  But, I’m here to tell you that those that are gone have never left you.  They are inches away.  They do their own thing but when needed?  They all gather.  They hold you up.  The old that have passed and the ones that haven’t been born yet.  They are all tied to you.  And, each of you? An angel stands by your side.” Santa explained.

“So, a shooting star…………….and, a sleigh and eight reindeer have gotten your attention.  Will make you remember the rest of it.” he expounded.

“I’m here because you believe in me.  I’m here to ask you to remember.  I’m here to tell you to write about it.  No matter how confusing the message.  No matter who believes in Santa and who doesn’t.  Readers believe in you.” he exclaimed.

“You take a few days to think about it and then you start typing.  You make sense of it.  Because, people need to hear it.  They are not alone.  The ones they need……. are a whisper away.  The angels are there too  They are real.” Santa said as he stood to go.

“You believe in me.”said Santa.

“I believe in you.”he continued.

“Now, write it.”

 

 

 

 

The Key To Happiness

We’re living through weird times. It won’t be long……until this is just a memory….. you can tell stories about the time when you could wave at a neighbor…….from at least six feet away.

I’ve always been a home girl.  A housewife.  I have no need to actually go out of the house.  My men are working from home now.  They have conference calls.  They tippy tap away at their computers …………..and earn their paychecks.

We go out for a walk around the neighborhood every afternoon.  To stretch our legs.  To sniff the fresh air…………….to watch the snow disappear………….to welcome spring.  To exercise our muscles and to say hello to Mother Nature.

Our problem isn’t with her after all.

Young moms and dads had their kids out today.  Roller skating.  Rolling around in the leftover snow.  Running from one end of the driveway to the other.

Every one stopped at the end of their own driveways.

Social distancing………………….hopefully, in a few months………….or a year………….that will be just a weird and distant memory.

My husband and I got to the very end of our street.  A mother and her very little girl were busy decorating their driveway with chalk.  They were drawing rainbows.  I’m sure the mom knew why…………the little girl was just glad to be out in the cold air and sun.  Glad to have Mom’s attention all to herself.

My husband and I stopped for a chat………………..over six feet away.

“What a beautiful rainbow!” we told the little girl.  “Thank you for the rainbow!”

The little girl smiled and clung to her mother out of shyness.

“We’re social distancing!” said the little girl.  As if she knows what that is.

“Well, good for you!  This summer when I walk by that will be over.  You can give me a hug.! I replied.

“Okay.”……………the three year old said with uncertainty.

“What’s your very favorite type of candy?” I asked the little girl with the golden curls and the red cheeks.

“Jelly beans…………..but, candy stores are closed now.  They’re not essential.” said the little cherub.

I was kind of in awe at this little thing’s vocabulary at this point.

“Well, I’m visiting one tomorrow.  I work there.  The store is dark and closed because people can’t be together right now.  But, I bet I can find you some jelly beans.” I said to the little girl.

“The candy isn’t sick?” she asked.

“No, the candy isn’t sick.  The candy is waiting to come home to little girls that like to eat it.  People can’t be together in a candy store right now.  But, the candy is fine.  It wouldn’t make you sick.  Jelly beans are meant to be eaten.” I explained to her.

“But, if the store is closed……….how do you get into it to get jelly beans?  Is it some kind of magic?” asked the little girl.

“Well, it is kind of magical.  I have something in my purse that very few people have.  Only a few people have the power to have all the candy that they could ever want or eat.  And, can you guess what it is that I have in my purse?” I asked as I smiled at this little rainbow drawing sweetheart.

“What is it?” she asked.

“It’s called a key.”

 

 

 

Everything Old Is New Again

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Wedding photo of Ralph and Ellie Anderson: and for those that wonder………..my mother’s suit was emerald green…………..to match her eyes.

My mother told her stories. And, I’m glad that I listened.  I tell my stories and I am gratified when my daughter listens.  We don’t write it all down………..our stories are told orally over and over again.

But, now that I think of it………….sometimes I write it all down.

Corona Virus has hit the world.  It impacted us all on different days.  We watched it roll through China and hit Europe.  The USA got down to business not too long ago.  Folks were told to work from home.  To avoid crowds.  Then the scope widened to stay at home ALL of you.  Stay six feet away from anyone that doesn’t live in your house.

My daughter is all grown up now and lives far away.  She was ordered to dust off her laptop and work from home.  We talked all about it on the phone.

“Have you ever lived through anything like this before?” she asked me.

I suppose maybe she considers me to be as old as the encyclopedias………..I’m much older than the internet anyways.

I told her no, that I had never seen anything like this in my 62 years.

But, then I thought about it.

Yes, I have seen and heard about times like these.

I was born in 1957.  The world was not at peace.  Bombs might not be bursting in air but I grew up with the threat.  I spent my grade school years doing drills at school.  Hiding under my desk.  My first grade school room was right next to the entrance to a ………………you’ll never guess……………….a bomb shelter.

I lived in an average house…………on an average street………..in an average New England town.  I was an average little girl and played with kids just like me.  We played in each other’s bomb shelters.

We were too young to have been told about the Cuban Missile Crisis.  Our parents shielded us from that fear.  But, it happened and it was real.

My own parents were born in the 1920’s.  They lived through the Great Depression.  They became adults during WWII.  They lived with deprivation.  They lived through war.  They lived for letters in the mail.  They lived with uncertainty.

They told me all about it.

I remember.

A flu epidemic swept New England in the 1930’s  My mother was about ten years old.  Her mother caught it first and was put to bed.  The nuns came to care for the family.  My Ma was awake and aware……………she stayed healthy……………..but she watched her 18 year old brother and her two year old sister succumb to that flu before her mother awakened.

Her mother woke up to find two of her children gone to heaven.  My heart broke every time my Ma told me this story.

Our government was a little slow on the uptake with this Corona Virus I think.  But, once the experts made their concerns known……………..they took action.  I’ll give the governor of my state of NY credit…………..for doing the hard stuff……………for telling us to stay home……….for sharing his concerns for his own mother and family……………..for looking into the television camera and saying to me “Please, stay home.”

Grocery stores are the one place we venture out to.  We get what we need and we return home.  We shower and wash our clothing.  We prepare another meal and are grateful for the truckers………and the grocery store workers………….the gas station attendants………….and we hope to never have to interact with the people that staff the hospitals.

Shortage of food?  I haven’t met it yet.  I hope not to.  And, yet my memory kicks in and I hear my mother’s voice yet again.

WWII was almost over.  Her engagement to my father finally had a wedding date.  She continued to work and give her pay check to her own mother.  To feed her younger brothers and sisters.  She awaited the train that would bring her fiance home.

The wedding would take place in a beautiful church.  But, there would be no special white dress.  She was pleased to have saved up enough money to buy a special suit.   Something she could definitely wear again.  Something she could wear to job interviews.

Ma had a lot of brothers and sisters.  The grown up ones all had spouses.  That pretty much made up those invited to the wedding……………with a few neighbors sprinkled it.

My mother didn’t expect a wedding reception.  She was used to the Depression.  She was used to war.  She was used to shortages.  She was used to rationing.

The rationing wasn’t over.

She came home from the company she worked at.  She packed clocks into boxes of sawdust.  “Imagine…………..most people had no money for food or rent!  But, still, people from all over the world were buying those clocks.” she had told me.

My grandmother was measuring.  Bowls stood at attention in their pristine but bare kitchen.  Flour.  Sugar.  Eggs.  Bars of chocolate for frosting.

“Ma?  What is all this?” my mother asked my grandmother.

“The ingredients to make a wedding cake.” my grandmother replied.

“But, the ration tickets!  Where did you get ration tickets for all this sugar and flour?” my mother wanted to know.

“I went door to door and said hello to all the neighbors.  They all love you and wish you a happy marriage.  Every one of them gave me what they had when I told them I was making your wedding cake.  The whole neighborhood loves you.  They want you to have cake.” my grandmother announced.

“And, where did all these beautiful loaves of bread come from?” Ma asked as she paused to touch one.

“The baker around the corner.  Shhhh!  Don’t talk about it.” said Grandma.

It seems she didn’t have enough ration tickets for all that bread.  But, my grandmother had a voice.  The most beautiful contralto in the church choir.  She had been asked to sing not that long ago at a funeral.  She had done so and refused payment.

She had sung at the funeral of the baker’s wife.  Thus, loaves of free bread.

“So, on Saturday I get married.  People come back here for bread and cake?” my mother asked.

“Oh, we’ll figure out something to makes sandwiches with.  I just said my rosary.  I said it twice.  I made a petition to the Blessed Virgin Mary.  I can only assume she likes a good party.  Her son did turn water into wine after all.” my grandmother continued with assurance.

“God will provide.” she ended with.

All those many years later my mother told me………………”Well, I didn’t care about any of that.  I just wanted your father to be my husband.  Bread?  Cake?  Whatever.  But, I did think that this was going to be one weird fiasco. ”

“My mother with her………………God Will Provide……………..yup, that’s the way to plan a reception.” Ma said with a laugh.

The next day my mother went to work.  She collected her paycheck.  Good for paying rent.  No good at a grocery store without the needed ration tickets.  She got on the bus to make her way home.

She usually walked.  She was treating herself that day.

“It was a crowded bus.  Standing room only.  Hang onto the pole and try not to bash into the person standing next to you.  Eyes open!  Watch out for perverts!  I ended up half holding up this young woman that looked terrified to actually be on a bus.” my mother explained.

“So, this girl was standing next to me………….terrified to be on public transport…………..and she’s holding a big, naked, bleeding turkey.  I’d seen some strange things on that bus…………including perverts…………..but, I’d never seen anyone holding onto a turkey almost as big as they were before.” my mother’s story went.

“I usually kept my nose in my own business on that bus.  But, I couldn’t help myself.  There stood this trembling young woman with a big old turkey……………..and she was freaking out……………….because the turkey was newly butchered…………where it’s head used to be………….blood was just flowing and running down this girl’s legs and filling up her shoes.” Ma added.

“So, I asked her.  Um……what’s with the turkey?” Ma continued.

“It seems she had won the New Year’s raffle at work.  And, the prize was a big newly butchered fresh turkey.  She was about 18 years old and she lived in a rooming house.  She told me the landlady couldn’t even boil an egg.  She had no idea what she was going to do about this turkey!” my mother laughed as she remembered.

“Every time I see that movie where Ebeneezer Scrooge buys that big prize turkey out of the butcher’s window……..and sends it to the Cratchit family…….I think of that turkey.” Ma laughed some more.

“So, I said to the girl………………..you have no way to cook that turkey…………and, no one to eat it?   And, the girl said no and she burst into tears as the turkey made a bloody puddle on the bus floor.  As the bus driver yelled at her because he could see it in his rear view mirror.”  Ma went on

“So, I said,  I’ll give you a dollar for that turkey.  I get off at the next stop.  I’ll take that turkey off your hands and give you a dollar for it.  And, that girl and that turkey threw their arms around me and said thanks.”  Ma said as she pictured getting off that bus accompanied by a turkey.

“So, I was one day away from being a bride.  I walked down the street with cats following me and howling.  My ankles were splashed with blood.  My, God, that was a fresh turkey.  I walked into my mother’s kitchen.  The wedding cake was all made.  Big and tall with chocolate frosting.   I handed my mother that turkey and she just smiled.”  Ma remembered.

“Like she was expecting it all along.”

“Like she knew what she was going to put between those slices of free bread.”

“And, do you know what she said?” Ma asked me.

“No!  What did she say!” I asked in suspense.

She said “Thank you, Blessed Mary for providing!  Jesus!  That was fast!”

 

 

 

 

Sharing

I’m very seldom speechless.  But, really, I don’t know what to say.

I’m having a hard time sleeping for the first time in my life.  Because?  I know when I wake up …………..the news is going to be worse than yesterday’s.

Yes, the times we’re living through…………it is new and unforgiving, scary territory.

I’m the one that every one calls.  I am level headed.  I’m getting old.  I’ve seen it all………..or so I thought until a few weeks ago.  I’m supposed to have all the answers.

I know many folks that get through life ……………….with help from a prescription bottle……….I don’t judge……..but a little pill helps them with their anxiety.

The pills aren’t helping any more.

I am getting old…….I’ve seen a lot……….I’ve seen good times and I’ve seen bad times.

I’ve never seen these times.

Friends are losing their jobs and unemployment doesn’t want to help.  Another friend is closing her store because she has been deemed “non-essential” during a quarantine.  The grocery stores stay open……………the truckers keep trucking………………the stock boys keep stocking…………but, still……………..where the hell is all the toilet paper?

It’s just not funny anymore.

We’re all okay here in my house.  I saw it coming.  I filled the freezer.  I filled the pantry.  I bought a few rolls of toilet paper at a time.  We’re working from home.  We’re all healthy.  We’re doing better than most.

But, still anxiety seeps through the windows it seems.

I can’t avoid facebook altogether because I moderate a large facebook page.  This page is all about hope and love and Christmas.  I have to delete posts every day.  To keep the tone happy.  To be the place where people come to get away from it all.

The meme that says “God thinks we’ve all been so bad we had to be sent to our rooms.” ………. Yeah, not funny………………….why in heaven’s name…..or God’s name……………or anyone else’s name to do you think that is freaking funny?

Our neighbors are too afraid to walk their dogs.  Our children are without schools.  We can no longer gather to worship.  Businesses are closing and many of them will never open again.

I’m usually the Pollyanna.  I’ve been accused of that in my lifetime.  I see the silver lining.  I’m your cheerleader when times are tough.  But, I have to warn you……it’s just not funny.  And, when your Pollyannas get worn out?  It is the darkest of times.

I don’t want to be accused of not having a sense of humor.  Mine is very healthy.  But, there are many things in life…………….that can not be lightened with off the cuff humor.  Give me your stories of neighbor helping neighbor.  Teacher’s getting online to teach the children from their own living rooms.  People singing outside the nursing homes because they’re not allowed to visit in the building.

I will avoid the videos of people fighting like animals over a 12 pack of toilet paper.

I will watch and shed some tears over the video of neighbors singing from their balconies in Italy because they are lonely.

We have a chance here.  Not to be remembered……………….but to remember ourselves.

I will someday say I remember being afraid.  I remember not falling asleep until the sun came up.  I remember telling my friends “It will all be okay.” even when I didn’t know what I was talking about.

It’s still early days yet.  I hope I will be able to say about myself “I shared what I had.”

 

Medium Psychic

My mother had many talents.  She was a little bit good at everything.  Okay, she wasn’t much with a needle and a thread but her cherry cheese cake was great.

Ma didn’t talk about it much…………..but, she thought she was a little bit psychic.  I don’t doubt it.  I saw her do her thing quite a few times.

She didn’t see ghosts or spirits.  I never caught her talking to herself.  But, she had FEELINGS.

I was sitting at the kitchen table eating peanut butter out of a jar.  I could get away with this I thought because Ma was so intent on her phone conversation.

Ma hung up the phone.

“Quit being a pig, and put that peanut butter away.” Ma said without a glance in my direction.

“So and so just got engaged to that nasty little guy that no one likes.” Ma said as she took the jar of peanut butter away from me.  She wiped it down with a damp paper towel and put the jar back into the cupboard.

“Wow!  Engaged?  To that nasty little ferret?” I replied.  “Well, you don’t seem worked up about it at all.”

Believe me ………………my mother could get worked up about family news………mostly the kind that she couldn’t do anything about.

“Oh………..let her enjoy her sparkly little ring.  She’ll give it back.  This is not going to happen.” my mother decided without another thought to the matter.

A few weeks later Ma got off the phone again.

Ma had a smile upon her face.

“Just as I thought……..the ferret has been kicked to the curb.” she announced to me as I used a wet finger to get the crumbs out of the potato chip bag.

I had heard her whole end of the phone conversation.

“Ma……………….if you’re a psychic………………you need to be nice about it.  You need to learn not to say ‘I told you so.’ and ‘What did I tell you?’ or ‘When are you going to learn to listen to me’ so often.” I advised.  “Keep that up?  No one is going to tell you a thing.”

“Huh!” Ma declared as she ripped the empty potato chip bag out of my hand.

“Go do your paper route!”  Ma said as she pointed towards the kitchen door.  “I predict that if you keep telling me what I can and can’t say…………..you’re going to get a kick in the pants.”

I went and did my paper route.

I got home a few hours later.  I hung my canvas paper bag up behind the cellar door.  I sniffed and took a look around. The windows were all open to the cold fresh air.  Curtains blew in towards the middle of the rooms.

I wailed!

“Oh, dear God!  Tell me we’re not having company again this weekend!  What is this?  Three weekends in a row?  Please!  I have a report to write.  I have to actually type the damn thing.  No more company!” I yelled to myself in an empty kitchen.

My mother heard me though.  She came pounding up the basement stairs carrying a laundry basket full of clean sheets.

“Sit!” she said as she began to fold laundry on the kitchen table.

Ma started to grill me.

“You’re twelve now.  Hmmmm……………the time it will start if it’s going to happen.  Tell me………….do you have dreams?  Do you meet people in your dreams?  Do they talk to you?  How do you know my mother had gray hair when she died?  Do you get feelings about things?  Do you know when something is going to happen and when it is not? Don’t lie to me.  I can read you like a book.  And, also I’m a bit of a medium psychic.” Ma said as she snapped a pillow case in my direction.

I bit my lip and tried not to smile.  I rolled my eyes just a little bit.

“A medium psychic, Ma?  Okay…………..you’re not a little psychic……………..you’re not a huge psychic………………………I suppose you’re medium.  But, maybe you want to say psychic medium ………….I believe that’s the term.”

“Just answer the question, smart ass.” the medium said as I helped her fold a fitted sheet.

“Ma!  I dream like anyone else dreams.  I don’t hear voices in my head.  I don’t see white mists standing at the end of the bed.  Does that answer your question?” I wanted to know.

“Then, how do you know we’re having company again?  I arranged it while you were away delivering papers.  How come you came through the door yelling about having company again?” Ma continued to grill me.

I could have had some fun with her I suppose.  But, I didn’t bother torturing her for the fun of it.  I had to get upstairs and finish typing a paper before the house filled up with people.

“Because!  Every time company is coming you run around like a fiend cleaning things.” I said as I headed for the bedroom stairs.

“And, this place reeks of Pinesol.”

 

 

 

Stop To Pet The Tulips

I know I had a blessed childhood.  I was born in 1957 and lived in a small town in Connecticut.  I grew up in the 60’s and was a teenager in the 70’s.  I had a small family that actually got along wrapped around me.

Daddy had a good job and Ma was happy to stay home and raise the kids.  Holidays were celebrated and birthdays too.  We went to church.  We visited the grandparents.  Aunts and uncles and cousins descended on our little house quite often.

We were happy.

I don’t often give many visuals when I write my childhood stories.  Why?  Because, I am happiest when you imagine it all for yourselves.  When my house becomes yours.  When my mother’s face dissolves into looking just like yours.

But, this story?  I’ve decided that if I was an illustrator……………..I would copy the Dick and Jane illustrations from the books I learned to read from.  I learned to read at a very young age because I loved those illustrations so much.  I liked the shapes of the people.  I liked the colorful images.  I remember them still.

I was ten and had come up with a new game.  (insert illustration of a little girl with band aids on her knees.  A tartan woolen skirt with an uneven hem.  One sock up.  One sock down.  Brown hair cut to shoulder length with bangs that were a little lopsided because of a kitchen chair hair cut.)

The new game was called “Kick the same stone all the way home”.

Winter had almost lost it’s hold.  Pussy willows decorated the teacher’s desk.  Spring smelled sweet as I started to skip home from school.

Winter had lost it’s hold except for the boots on my feet.

Sand lined the streets that I skipped down.  It had been spread around all winter by men in loud snow plows.  Small amounts of snow and ice stuck to the sand but only in shady spots.

I yearned to lose the boots.  I wished to go back to regular shoes.  But, my mother had said no.  It wasn’t time yet.  This was because I had a mother that was trying to make one pair of school shoes last all year……………….sigh.  No regular shoes until every drop of snow was gone Ma had told me.

But, it’s hard to skip in boots.  And, it is almost impossible to kick a stone all the way home with your feet encased in layers of rubber.

So, I hid the boots.  Instead of lining them up under the kitchen radiator…………I stuffed them under the sofa in the den.  Deep, deep under the sofa where only Hershey Kisses wrappers and dust bunnies lived. (This illustration of a little girl on her knees ….hiding boots under a sofa …………with candy wrappers……….puzzle pieces …….stray socks……and dust bunnies………..would totally mortify my mother).

Morning rolled around.  It was a beautiful sunny spring day outside.  We lived a five minute walk away from school (if you weren’t kicking a rock…………and no one kicked a rock to school………..only home from school).  So, I was always sent out the door at the very last minute.  Kids that lived the closest to school were always the ones skidding in during the late bell.

“Ma!  I can’t find my boots!” I yelled in my very best confused actress voice. “Where did you put my boots?”

“Do I look like I wear your boots?  Do your boots fit my feet?  Your boots are wherever you put them!” my mother yelled from her bedroom.

“Well, they’re not here!” I yelled back.

My mother came out of her bedroom and stood over me with her hands on her hips.  She glared at the row of shoes, boots and slippers stuffed under the radiator.  She looked under the table.  Under the chairs.  (Illustration of a very aggravated red head.  Beautiful.  Statuesque.  Could have been a movie star.  Wearing a turquoise house dress and a yellow apron.  An old pair of men’s underwear over her head because it was time to paint the living room ceiling.  Sorry, Ma………….I might get struck by lightning with that visual.)

“Well, I have no idea where you stuffed your boots that you were sick of wearing.  You think you’re smarter than me?  You think I don’t know what kind of crap you kids get up to when you’re told no?  Put on your school shoes.  And, don’t go scuffing them up.  Don’t go jumping into any leftover piles of snow in the woods.  We’ll talk about this when you get home.  When you get home on time!  Don’t make me come looking for you because you decide to stop and pet the tulips.  You are on my last good nerve, Little Girl.  Now, scoot…………..get out of here.” my mother said as she started to stir up some white paint.

So, I got out of there.

I ran up the hill that was Columbus Street because I was so happy to be free of those blasted boots.  I got to school a little early because I moved so fast.

I encountered the school crossing guard and the local postman flirting at the blue mail box on the corner.  Kids were crossing busy West Middle Turnpike all by themselves because those two only had eyes for each other.  The postman was moaning that he was sick of kids filling his mail box with their papers that were meant for home.  The crossing guard with her starched black skirt, sensible shoes and florescent yellow sash draped herself across the postal box in alluring sympathetic fashion.  ( I would let the great Norman Rockwell go to work on this illustration……………if only he were still alive.)

“Hey, Little Girl!” said the postman in stern fashion.  “Don’t you go filling my box with your school work, you hear?”

I have no idea why he was picking on me.  I got good grades in school.  I traded every gold star on my papers for tootsie rolls.  That was my father’s doing.  I ignored the postman and his big love scene and skipped on into school.

No clumping boots in the hallways.  No shuffling boots going to the cafeteria that always smelled like tuna fish.  No trying to stand on risers in music class wearing oversized trip you up rubber nightmare boots.

A glorious walk home from school.  All by myself………………I wouldn’t be rushed by any group of friends when I had found the perfect round stone……………to kick all the way home.

Okay, I stopped a few times to pet the tulips.  Have you ever petted a tulip?  Try it some time.

I arrived home.  I entered the kitchen.  I smelled paint.  I quietly took off my shoes and rubbed at the scuffed up toes with my thumb and some spit.  Good enough.  I stuck them under the radiator.  I put the round stone on the kitchen window sill.  This stone was good enough to win the stone kicking Olympics.  It was perfect.

So, I put it on the kitchen windowsill.  The sill that was for special stuff that you didn’t want to lose.  A small statue of the Virgin Mary.  A tiny jar with a few fading daffodils.  A medal of some obscure saint awaiting a new chain.  A miniature yearly calendar with all the holy days circled.  A spare key to the garage.

And, my perfect rock.

The next day was another perfect spring day.  Now a days kids would be standing at the bus stop wearing shorts and flip flops.  I was just happy that the red boots were still hidden as I strapped on my school shoes.

Daddy had worked a night shift so he was at the kitchen table behind a newspaper.  My mother plopped a peanut butter sandwich into my lunch box and made some “Get going or you’re going to be late.” noises.

I went to grab my perfect rock, but…………….it was gone.  My mother admitted to throwing the rock out into the driveway………………………it was just a rock was her defense.

Oh, it was a lot of years ago……………and I’m perhaps a little ashamed of the hell I could raise when I was ten……………………yes, I was dramatic.  Yes, my face was red.  Yes, there was a lot of screeching and there were a lot of tears.

We can skip the recreation of my incredible where the hell is my rock break down.

My mother got a little defensive…………….I think she realized at that moment that a rock……….yes, a rock was my new favorite toy.  She said something along the lines of “Don’t go putting a dirty rock next to my statue of the Virgin Mary.”

That’s about the time my father came out from behind his newspaper.

“Tell me about your perfect rock, Little Girl.  Tell me why you’re screaming about a rock.” my father said calmly.

Ma went to say something about him always taking my side…………………, sounded something like “Dear God!  It was just a rock!”

He stilled her with a raised eyebrow.

So, I told Daddy…………..about hating boots…………..and spring was finally here……………….and you can’t feel the sand on the side of the road wearing boots……………and petting tulips………………..and kicking a perfect rock all the way home from school.

Daddy nodded like he understood it all.

“We’ll figure out the rock situation later, Little Girl.  Apologize to your mother for screaming in her face and go and have a good day at school.  Perhaps, your mother will also apologize for throwing away your favorite rock.” Daddy said as he folded his newspaper.

My mother and I murmured “I’m sorry.” at each other.

I didn’t have a good day at school.  The flirting post man and crossing guard just looked ridiculous that day.  The tulips looked too droopy to pet.  The pussy willows on the teacher’s desk just looked dusty.  The lunch lady gave me hell for not eating my apple.

I don’t think I reacted well to fighting with my mother.

I came home to a smiling mother.  The kitchen table had a table cloth on it.  A big dish of donuts sat in the middle of the table.  Ma poured me a glass of milk.

“Now, you’ll notice that your rock is back on the window sill.  Daddy and I went into the driveway and found it.  I think it’s the right rock anyways.  Before Daddy went to bed……..the two of us kicked that rock all the way to Mr. Donuts.  I take it you kick it down the middle of the street.  Doesn’t work well on sidewalks.  Your kick a rock all the way there game is kind of fun, Little Girl.” my mother admitted.

(Illustration:  A beautiful red head.  Statuesque.  Could have been a movie star.  A tall handsome man with blonde hair, blue eyes and wide shoulders.  Arms around each other…………….as they fight with their feet to see who gets to kick a stone the farthest. Their heads thrown back in laughter.  Their faces full of love and fun. Going to buy their little girl a box of doughnuts.)

“So, are we okay, Little Girl?” my mother asked.

“Yes.  We’re okay.” I answered as I licked chocolate frosting off of my finger tips.

“If I admit to stopping…………….and petting tulips this morning……………will you please tell me where you hid your boots?” Ma asked.