Prince Rupert & King Delbert the Deliberate

Dedicated to Miss Patricia Bailey and her students at Walker-Hackensack-Akeley Public Schools. They were excellent listeners, gave me wonderful advice, and encouraged me in the crafting of this little tale.

1- King Delbert

Once upon a time, there was a little kingdom that was almost perfect. The crops were good and prices were fair. All the houses were in excellent condition and the roads were free of rocks and boulders. The market was always busy with buyers and sellers, and all of the people in the kingdom were very content.

The ruler of this happy little land was King Delbert. He was a fair and just man. He always checked with his Royal Advisors, the Royal Astronomer, and all the neighboring kingdoms to get advice and counsel before making any new laws or starting any new projects.

King Delbert gave carefully worded speeches to his people explaining every new law he signed, each new road that was to be built, or any new project he believed would make their lives better. He spoke slowly and carefully, just as he did everything slowly and carefully, and very, very de-li-ber-ate-ly.

In fact, the people began to call him “Delbert the Deliberate” because he was always so very careful in all that he did and said.

The people asked each other questions such as,

“How does ‘Delbert the Deliberate’ brush his teeth?”

“Well, he brushes up and down, then side to side, then in and out, then back and forth, then round and round, then rinses and repeats!”

Then they would laugh and laugh at their oh-so-careful king. As time wore on, the little jokes about the king’s careful and cautious ways were heard more and more often. Some of the stories weren’t really funny, but actually sounded a little mean.

“Do you think the sun will come up tomorrow?”

“Well, I don’t know. I suppose old ‘Delbert the Deliberate’ will have to check with the moon to see if it is done shining, next he will have the Royal Astronomer chart the stars to see if they’re ready to go to bed, and finally he will send messengers to the nearby kingdoms to see if they’re ready for the sun to come up, and so on and so on and so on.”

The King didn’t hear any of the jokes about his careful ways, but his only son, Prince Rupert, soon did.

2- The Royal Prince

Now it seemed that Prince Rupert’s only job was to grow up. He never had to pick up his royal socks, nor put his royal toys away, nor do anything he didn’t really want to do. A young servant boy followed Rupert around all day, every day, and it was his job to find the toys the Prince left around the castle and put them back in the Royal Playroom. The boy also picked up the royal socks, boots and anything else the Prince dropped wherever and whenever he felt like dropping things.

Prince Rupert expected that he would always find the clothing he needed in his Royal closet. He knew if he wanted a certain toy he’d find it in the Royal Playroom. He also knew that someone would prepare food for him, run his bath, comb his hair, lay out his clothing for the day, polish his boots, bring his pony from the stables for him to ride, and generally keep him happy and not let him worry his little royal head about anything at all.

One warm summer day while a soft wind was rolling over the land, the Prince rode his little spotted pony to the busy market place. He stopped to look at some bright red cloth he thought would make a wonderful flag for his Royal tree house. The cloth merchant let Rupert feel its fine quality. As Rupert ran his hands over the beautiful silky fabric, he overheard two men talking.

“What do you suppose ‘Delbert the Deliberate’ did now?” asked the man who sold copper kettles.

“You tell me,” said the man who sold chickens.

“Well, he wanted to have his breakfast. So he sent for the Royal cook and asked him how he prepared the Royal sausages. Next, he asked to talk to the cooks in all the nearby kingdoms. He wanted every single recipe for sausages that could be found. By the time they were brought before him, it was too late for breakfast and they began gathering recipes from all the cooks for lunch menus. By the time those were gathered, it was time for supper. They went through the same thing, gathering recipes for evening meals. The King never got to eat all day long just because he was so careful, so cautious, and so de-li-ber-ate!” The copper seller clapped his hands together and laughed and laughed.

Soon everyone around the market place was laughing at the story. The man selling chickens laughed so hard, he dropped two of them. The frightened birds began to run back and forth between the legs of all the laughing people. When the Prince’s pony saw the running chickens, he reared up on his hind legs, dropping the Prince right on his little royal bottom in the dirt, the beautiful silk fabric billowing all around him. The pony galloped back toward the castle, leaving the Prince right in the middle of all the laughing people.

The Prince didn’t know what to do. Should he scold the people for laughing at his father? Should he run after his pony? Poor Prince Rupert needed someone to tell him what to do, but there were no Royal Advisors in the market place.

So Prince Rupert stood up, brushed the dirt off his royal pants, and started walking back to the castle. It was the first time he had walked that far, and his little royal feet began to hurt! The more his feet hurt, the more upset he became. “How dare the people laugh at my father,” he thought, “They need to be taught a lesson!”

3- The Prince is Upset!

By the time Prince Rupert reached the castle he was tired, sweaty, and madder than a wet hornet! He pounded on the castle door. “Let me in!” he shouted to the Royal doorkeeper.

“Who is it?” asked the old man in charge of guarding the door.

“It’s Prince Rupert, you stupid man. Open this door at once!”

The doorkeeper quickly opened the door and stepped back as Prince Rupert rushed past him.

“Where’s my father?” Rupert screamed, “Where’s my father, the King? Where are the Royal Advisors? Bring them to me, NOW!”

The castle was soon in an uproar. The servants weren’t used to anyone shouting. They ran this way and that way, some trying to find the King and some searching for the Royal Advisors.

Prince Rupert stood in the middle of the Great Hall, hands on his hips, lower lip pushed out, tapping his little royal foot on the marble floor. The Prince was not used to waiting for anything!

Soon the Royal Advisors came scrambling into the Hall. “Prince Rupert,” they said as they bowed to the Prince. “How may we serve you?”

“The people are making fun of my father!” Prince Rupert cried. The Royal Advisors gasped and stared at the little Prince.

King Delbert soon entered the Great Hall with his Royal Astronomer. “What’s all this commotion about?” he asked.

“Father,” said Prince Rupert with tears in his eyes, “The people in the market place are laughing at you. They call you ‘Delbert the Deliberate,’ and tell mean stories about you and the way you rule the kingdom!”

The King looked at his son. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He turned to his Advisors, “Is this true? Have you heard these stories?”

All the Royal Advisors and the Royal Astronomer looked down at the floor. Their silence told the King more than words. The King’s shoulders drooped as he slowly turned to face his son.

“My dear son,” he said, “I’m sorry you heard bad things about me. Please settle down now. I need to talk to my advisors.” The King turned to leave the room, signaling his advisors to follow him. They all went into the King’s private council room.

Prince Rupert watched the door close behind his father. Then he looked around at the empty hall. He felt much better now. “Father will take care of this problem,” he thought, “Soon everything will be back to normal.” He went to the kitchen and asked the Royal Cook for something to eat.

“Fix me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” he ordered the Royal cook. “And make it quick”.

“Yes, Prince Rupert,” answered the cook as he started to slice some bread.

4- The Prince Goes To Market Again

As soon as Rupert’s stomach was full, he wondered if his father was finished talking with his Royal Advisors, so he headed back to the Great Hall. It was empty, except for the Royal Throne. Rupert climbed the steps to the Throne and sat down to wait for his father.

As he waited, Rupert saw his father’s golden crown on a table next to the Throne. He looked around to make sure no one was looking and picked it up. He ran his fingers over the gleaming gold and around each red ruby set in the precious metal. Then he did something he had always wanted to do. He put the crown on his head! The Royal crown was a little big for the Prince’s head, so it slipped down to his ears. He turned his head back and forth trying to see his reflection in the mirrors that lined the Great Hall. “I look like a king!” he said to himself. He stood up as straight and tall as he could. “I even feel like a king!” He strutted back and forth in front of the Throne.

Now, imagination is a wonderful thing. Prince Rupert imagined that the Great Hall was full of people just waiting to hear what he had to say. He began to talk to the imaginary crowd.

“Men,” Rupert said in a firm voice. “Bring me a map of my kingdom! I have decided to move the market place somewhere far from the castle. People will have to walk farther to go there. Maybe then they will think twice before laughing at the King!”

Prince Rupert was enjoying himself. He imagined people running here and there to do his bidding. He gave more orders to his imaginary subjects.

“You there, bring my pony. I feel like going for a ride around my kingdom.” Actually, the Prince did feel like going for a ride. He looked for the servant boy who followed him all day. He saw some feet poking out from under a velvet curtain. The boy was asleep!

“Boy! Wake up! Bring my pony, at once!” The Prince was feeling very powerful and very Royal.

The servant boy looked up at Prince Rupert. His eyes were wide open and so was his mouth. “Y-y-es, Y-your H-h-highness,” he stuttered. He saw the crown on Prince Rupert’s head. He knew it was the crown of the KING. “How long was I asleep?” he wondered. Then he rushed out to the stable to get the Prince’s pony. “Or maybe it’s the King’s pony, now.” the boy thought.

Prince Rupert rode to the market place. People were still busy buying and selling things. A man selling cooking pots looked up to see the Prince wearing the King’s crown. He bowed to the Prince, and then ran to the next stall. He told the candle maker about what he had seen. “Are you sure?” asked the man. “Is Rupert the King now?”

“It sure looks that way. He’s wearing the Royal Crown!” answered the pot seller. “Maybe things will be different now.” He went to the other stalls to spread the word that Prince Rupert was now King Rupert.

As Prince Rupert made his way through the market place, people bowed to him and said, “Long live King Rupert!” Oh, he was having a grand time! He smiled and waved at the people with his little royal hand. “Being a king is easy!” he thought. He saw a group of Royal soldiers at the edge of the market place. “Men,” he shouted. “I order you to have everyone and everything in this market place moved to the other side of the valley.”

The soldiers looked at Rupert, sitting there on his little pony. When he noticed the crown on Rupert’s head, the sergeant said, “Yes, Your Highness, it will be done at once.”

There was a flurry of activity as the people in the market place packed up their goods and started to take down their stalls. They wondered why ‘King’ Rupert was making this change, but they didn’t dare ask. After all, he was their king now, and you don’t ask kings why they do what they do!

Prince Rupert watched the people scurrying around getting ready to move. He smiled when he thought of the way they had laughed at his father. “They won’t laugh at him any more!” he thought. “They’ll be too busy to make up stories about him!”

5- Another Change

Prince Rupert left the market place, with all the people scrambling around, packing their goods, and the soldiers who were keeping everyone moving. It made him feel important and very royal.

He started to ride back toward the castle, wondering what else he could do to make the kingdom better. He loved to ride along this road. The trees were so beautiful and the birds were singing sweetly. Flowers poked their heads through the grass, and rabbits chased each other through the bushes. He liked this road because he could make his pony run as fast as the wind. However, today there were farmers on the road with carts filled with vegetables. “I think I will make this the ‘Royal Roadway’. Then I can ride on it any time I want without anyone getting in my way!” Rupert thought.

He turned his pony around and rode back to find the Sergeant of the Royal Guards. The Sergeant was still directing the move of the market place, but he walked up to Rupert.

“Yes, Sire,” the soldier said politely. “How may I serve you?”

“I want you to post a guard on this road. From today forward, this will be known as the ‘Royal Roadway’. Only members of the Royal family will be allowed to use it,” said Rupert with his royal voice.

“Your wish is my command, Your Highness,” answered the Sergeant. He called two of his men over and ordered them to keep commoners off the road. Prince Rupert smiled and thanked the man.

“I think I’ll go back to the castle and tell father what I’ve done to help him.” Rupert was so proud of himself, he pushed his little royal lips into an “O” and started to whistle. His pony took it as a sign to hurry, and trotted quickly down the road towards the castle.

6 – Where is King Delbert?

As Prince Rupert neared the castle, he thought he saw someone in the Tower window. “It must be someone sweeping that dusty place,” he thought. When he arrived at the castle’s front door, he gave his pony’s reins to the little servant boy who was waiting for him. He entered the castle and went straight to the Great Hall.

The Hall was just as empty as before. “Where is everyone?” he thought. “My father should be done talking to his Royal Advisors by now.”

He went to the door of the council room. He knew he wasn’t allowed to enter or even to knock on the door, so he put his ear against the door to listen for his father’s voice. He couldn’t hear a thing! As he pushed his ear tighter against the door, it opened just a crack. Rupert peeked through the opening, hoping to see his father. The room was empty!

He pushed the door open wider. The council table was covered with papers but all the chairs were empty. He looked under the table, behind the curtains, and even in the fireplace, but he couldn’t find a trace of his father or the Royal Advisors.

Rupert began to get a funny feeling in his royal middle. He went into the Great Hall and called out, “Bring me my father! Bring me the Royal Advisors!” Then he paced back and forth in front of the Royal Throne.

The Prince climbed up and sat in the Royal Throne. Just then, a Palace guard came into the room.

“Your Highness,” the guard said, “your father isn’t here. We’ve looked everywhere for him, but he is nowhere to be found.” The guard bowed his head and waited.

Prince Rupert couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What do you mean you can’t find him? Look again! Look in every room of the castle!” He pounded his little royal fist on the arm of the throne.

“Yes, Your Highness. Your wish is my command.” The guard bowed to Rupert and marched out of the Great Hall, his boots thumping loudly on the marble floor.

Rupert drummed his little royal fingers on the arm of the throne. He thought and thought. “Where could my father be? He wouldn’t go off without telling me! He must be busy somewhere in the castle. The guards will find him.”

He heard the thud of boots in the hall. “Ah-ha!” he thought, “They have found my father!”

The Captain of the Guard entered the room followed by a group of guards. “Your Highness,” he said as he bowed to Prince Rupert. “We have some news for you.”

“What is it? Have you found my father?” Rupert’s little royal hands were shaking.

“No, your Majesty. It seems as if he has just vanished. You will have to be the king now.” The guard bowed to Rupert and then stood at attention, waiting for Rupert’s orders.

7 – His Royal Highness, King Rupert

Prince Rupert stared at the Captain of the Guard. What was he to do now? He had been pretending to be King, but actually BEING king was totally different!

Rupert didn’t want the guard to know how frightened he felt, so he stood up straight and tall, puffed out his little royal chest and said in a firm voice, “Captain of the Guard, gather the servants, the guards, and anyone else who is around here. I will speak to them. Oh, and tell the cook I’m hungry.”

“Yes, Your Highness,” answered the Captain. He bowed to Rupert once more then left the room to carry out Rupert’s orders.

Rupert paced back and forth in front of the Royal Throne. “Now what do I do?” he thought. “M father would ask for advice from the Royal Advisors, then take forever to make a decision. Well, things will be different now! I will make sure that things get done quickly from now on! The people won’t be making fun of me, that’s for sure!”

Rupert spent all afternoon in the Royal Council Room, issuing orders to the guards, the cooks, the maids, the gardeners, the carpenters, the stablemen, and the Royal Advisors. As soon as he told one group of people what he wanted them to do, he called in the next group and had a list of things for them to do. Rupert barked out orders as if he had been doing it for a long time, instead of just one day.

“I want all the gardens to be harvested and the food stored in the Royal kitchen.” The gardeners looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders, but said to Rupert, “Your wish is our command, Your Highness.”

Next, Rupert told the stablemen, “Men, all the horses should have baths. I don’t like the way they smell.” The stablemen smiled, and replied, “Your wish is our command, Your Highness.”

When it was time to speak to the cooks, Rupert thought for just a minute then said, “From now on, there will always be peanut butter sandwiches ready for me. I don’t want to wait for them anymore!” The cooks couldn’t help laughing, but when they saw Prince Rupert scowl at them, they said, “Your wish is our command, Your Highness.”

Rupert had more orders for the carpenters. “Men,” he said, “I want a new tree house. The old one is falling apart. Build me a new one closer to the castle.”

“But Your Highness,” said the head carpenter, “there are no trees close to the castle!”

“You heard my orders!” Rupert barked at the man, “I want it done, AT ONCE!”

“Yes, Your Highness. Your wish is my command.” The poor man left the room shaking his head, trying to think of a way to make a tree house without a tree!

Rupert was tired and his voice was getting hoarse from giving so many orders in his new ‘kingly’ voice. He sent the guards away, and sat down at the council table. Soon his head was on the table, and the little ‘king’ was sound asleep.

8 – Rupert the Regrettable

Rupert slept for some time. He had literally worn himself out giving everyone orders. The sun was almost gone from the sky when he finally woke up. He yawned, stretched, and scratched his royal head. The crown was still on his head and had slipped to one side. Straightening it, he called for his young servant.

“Boy,” he said, “Bring me something to eat.”

“Yes, Your Highness, your wish is my command.” The boy headed for the kitchen. When he returned, he had a large platter heaped with peanut butter sandwiches.

“Now this is what I call service!” Rupert grinned from ear to ear.

He was enjoying himself very much. As he ate the sandwiches, he started thinking about more changes that he could make in the kingdom.

Over the next few days, Rupert made change after change in the way things were done around the castle and in the kingdom. He had little time to play with his toys, or ride his pony just for fun. Each night, he fell into his bed and slept very, very soundly.

As time wore on, Rupert began to run out of things to change. He sat on the throne in the Great Hall one day, tapping his little royal feet on the marble floor. Suddenly, there were loud noises in the courtyard. Rupert went to the window to see what was happening.

Below the window he could see the guards trying to keep a crowd of people from entering the castle. The people were yelling,

“We want to see King Rupert!”

“Where is that regrettable make-believe king?”

“We need King Delbert back!”

Rupert couldn’t believe his ears. He’d been trying to make the kingdom better!

The people saw Rupert and pointed up at the window. They all began to yell at him.

“We can’t drive our carts on the road to the castle. We have to walk over the meadow carrying our goods. I lost two chickens that way.” The chicken seller was red in the face as he shook his fist at Rupert.

The man who sold copper kettles called up to Rupert, “We can’t get to the market! It’s too far away now! How am I going to sell my kettles?”

“He’s right,” said the man who had the stall with the beautiful fabric. “I need to sell my goods in order to earn money to feed my family.”

Rupert saw the Royal cook shaking a large wooden spoon in the air. “I have rotting vegetables stinking up my kitchen! You can’t harvest all of them at once!!!”

Next, the man who ran the stables took off his hat and sadly told Rupert, “We took all the horses to the river for a bath as you ordered. The horses are very clean, but they don’t want to do any work now.”

“You must change things back the way they were when King Delbert was in charge!” Shouted the leader of the group.

The people all began to chant, “We want Delbert the Deliberate! Delbert! Delbert!”

Prince Rupert’s little royal heart was crushed. He didn’t know what to do. He wanted someone to come and fix things. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned and looked up into the smiling face of his father. “Oh, father, “ he cried. “I’ve made such a mess of things!”

King Delbert bent down and picked up his son. He carried him over to the throne, sat down, and held him in his lap. Rupert laid his head on his father’s shoulder just like when he was very small. It felt so good to have his father’s strong arms around him. He felt safe and secure once more. He took the crown off his little royal head and placed it on his father’s head. “There, father, you are the one who should be wearing this!”

“My son,” King Delbert smiled at Rupert, “ruling a kingdom is a very difficult job. It takes planning, time, and the best advice from wise men. When you told me of the complaints of the people, I was hurt at first. But then I thought that maybe the people needed a little lesson, and I thought you did too!”

Rupert grinned at his father. “But father, where were you? Everyone looked all over and couldn’t find you!”

“I was hiding in the tower room. The guards and the Royal Advisors knew I was there. I told them they had to keep it a secret. They’re all good people, and knew I was trying to teach everyone a lesson.”

Prince Rupert snuggled closer to his father, “Will things get back to normal again?” he asked.

“Yes,” said King Delbert. “It may take a while, but soon things will be running smoothly again and the people will be happy.”

Now every good story should have a moral.

Whether you are the one in charge of a kingdom, or a family, or even a pet, make sure you think about what you are doing very, very de-li-ber-ate-ly!

Adoption

He was so beautiful – blue eyes, soft blonde fuzz covering his head, porcelain skin, and sweet rosebud lips – a small angel gazing at me from the arms of the social worker.  He was seven weeks old and he was ours.

The woman placed him in my waiting arms and this child became my world.  All I remember after that is the warm feeling of his body next to mine, the pressure of his small hand gripping my finger, the tiny whispering sounds of his steady breathing as he fell asleep in my arms.  He trusts me!  That’s a good sign!  I was so worried, so nervous, so completely overwhelmed, and so intensely thankful to the unknown young woman who had made this decision.

We had waited so long for this day, to be parents, to become a whole family.  There had been so many disappointments, watching the calendar, going through
humiliating and sometimes painful tests, charting my temperature every morning, then more tests.  You are ovulating just give it time.  How much time?  The years began to add up.  Two miscarriages, then a pregnancy that lasted longer and then still longer.  Was this one going to be successful?  Hope became tangible.  We were living on the Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.  I was teaching at the Department of Defense School on the Base.  Each morning, I carefully ate the two soda crackers my husband brought me in bed.  Then slowly, I would get up and head for the shower, hoping not to throw up.  The dr. told me that morning sickness was normal.

Four months then five months passed.  We didn’t talk about it very much, but our hopes began to grow.  I wrote to my parents to let them know they were going to be grandparents.  Six months . . . how sweet the feeling was.  We began to talk about the baby, make lists of names, and buy diapers, small gowns, tiny undershirts, and even a stuffed lamb for the crib we had picked out at the Base Exchange.

That night in April 1968 – a bad nightmare – falling out of a boat into a lake –  my mother was in the lake – I was calling to my brother on the dock to save her, she couldn’t swim – trying to scream when I realized I couldn’t swim either – my husband waking me, holding me, telling me it was just a dream.  Then I realized that the sheets were wet.  Honey, I think my water broke!

He called the Base hospital and was told to bring me there right away.  The dr. seemed upset to be called out in the middle of the night.  His examination didn’t take long. The baby is coming, it’s too early.  He gave the nurse some instructions.  I was given an injection and moved to a room in the hospital.  For eighteen hours I experienced waves of intense contractions.  My husband held my hand.  He was so pale.  I finally told him to go home and get some rest.  Later I found out he waited outside my room, constantly checking with the nurse about my condition.  Is she going to be all right?

The baby finally came.  Do you want to see him?  No.  I couldn’t handle it.  I was given more drugs.  I’m not sure how long I was in the hospital.  My husband found the Base chaplain to come talk to me.  He prayed with me, assured me that there would be other children. 
    Our next duty station placed us in Rhode Island.  A month after we found a place to live, my husband’s ship left for the Mediterranean.  He was gone for eight months.  I spent that lonely time watching television, writing letters, crocheting, and quietly having a nervous breakdown.  The Base Hospital referred me to a wonderful psychiatrist who helped me to accept the loss of our baby.

A year later, we were stationed in our home state of Minnesota.  Dale was attached to the Naval Recruiting Office in Duluth.  It was such a ‘normal’ life!  I was able to find a good doctor who recommended some exploratory surgery to find an answer to

what went wrong with my pregnancy.  The answer was difficult to accept.  I had a ‘double’ uterus, each half much too small to support a full-term pregnancy.  So it was my fault after all.  I was defective. 

My husband suggested adoption.  He was right, as usual.  There had to be a baby for us somewhere.  I could almost feel him in my arms.  We began the process – paperwork – interviews – waiting – and more waiting.
    Now there finally was a child and he was ours.  He was healthy. He was so beautiful.  My high school girlfriend sent me this poem:

The Answer

(To an Adopted Child)

“Not flesh of my flesh, nor bone of my bone,

But still, miraculously my own.

Never forget for a single minute,

You didn’t grow under my heart, but in it.”

-Anonymous

Colin is now 33 years old and Stacy is 28.  They were each just seven weeks old when they came to us. We have always told them that they were adopted, that their birth mothers loved them enough to give them life and to give them a chance for a better life

than they could provide for them.  Both have grown into wonderful, intelligent, hardworking, loving, caring adults, and continue to bless our lives every day.

NOTE:  Abortions had become legal a year before Colin was born.

The Garden

“Oh, look, sunflowers!”  Vi reached for the colorful packet.  “I didn’t know there were so many varieties.  Let’s plant some.”

 

“Sunflowers?  We can’t eat those, can we?”  Gil had been trying on a pair of leather gloves, but pulled them off.  “Crap, they just don’t make any that fit me right.”

 

Gil fingers were too short for most men’s gloves. He was five foot, six inches tall, but his powerful build gave him the presence of someone to be reckoned with.  Vi would never forget the day he had been helping some friends work on their car.  Gil had been lying under the car, loosening the bolts that held the engine.  His friends had a chain around the motor, and planned to hoist it out of the body of the car.  The chain slipped.  Gil caught the engine and lifted it up for his friends to get the chain back on.  Although Gil didn’t think it was a big deal, Vi never forgot the looks of awe that remained on his friends’ faces that day.

 

“Why don’t you try some women’s gloves?  They might fit better.”

 

Gil looked at her.  “Yeth,” he lisped, “and if the guys teathe me, I can jutht hit them with my purthe, right?” 

 

“OK, tough guy.”  Vi giggled, and helped him find a pair that fit.  She was glad he had joked about it.  Sometimes he could be pretty sensitive about his size.  She had always been thankful that she had fallen in love with someone who didn’t mind having a wife who was less than five feet tall.

 

“Let’s look at those seeds now.”  He was holding the gloves so that the tag could not be seen.  Vi knew he had settled for the women’s size.

 

On the drive home from the garden store, Vi looked out at the landscape.  New growth could be seen everywhere.  Trees were pushing out tender new leaves, road ditches had a slight greenish hue, and birds returning from their winter homes were busy gathering materials for their expected families.

 

“I’m so glad we are planting a garden this year.”  Vi reached into the bag that held the seeds.  “I hope we remembered everything.”

 

“If every seed we plant germinates, we are going to have enough vegetables to feed an army!”  Gil reached over with his right hand and squeezed her shoulder tenderly.

 

“There’s nothing like having your own home-grown veggies!” 

 

“I know.  We’ve waited a long time to have a place where we could grow our own.  If the Navy hadn’t kept us on the move for 20 years, we would have been able to do this sooner.”  Gil turned the car into their driveway.  “The hard part is coming up, though.  Sure hope that tiller I got works.”

 

“You’ll make it work.  You can fix anything.” 

 

“You’ll get my bill tomorrow.”  Gil laughed.

 

Their neighbor had used his tractor and plow to break the ground for them the previous fall.  He had even recommended the area by the old abandoned barn as the best location.  “Yup,” he had told them, “that’s an old cow yard.  Has about 30 years worth of cow shit there.  You shouldn’t have to add anything to it for a long time.  Now, in the spring, just run a tiller through there, and it’ll be good for planting.”

 

Vi hoped the old man was right.  Having their own vegetables would really help out on the food bills.  Gil had gone hunting in the fall, so their freezer was full of venison, and the old man had given them plenty of fish.  “The wife and I can only eat so much fish,” he had commented. 

 

That night after they made love, Gil placed the pillows under her hips as she put her feet on the headboard of the bed.  “Are you sure this is what the doctor said to do?”

 

“He told me that the laparoscopy showed that my uterus was tipped, so I have to stay like this for at least 15 minutes.”

 

“So my swimmers can find their way, right?”

 

“That’s basically the principle, I guess.”  Vi felt uncomfortable and foolish in the position. 

 

Sensing her mood, Gil lay alongside her, rubbing her stomach.  “Hey, I can feel your hip bones!  Have you lost more weight?”

 

“Maybe a couple of pounds.  Hopefully, I’ll be gaining soon and you’ll have to hunt to find those bones!”

 

They spent many long, hard days tilling, raking, and planting.  Both were thankful for the rain that came just as they put the last of the seeds and tomato plants into the ground.

 

“OK, now comes the fun part.”  Gil grabbed her hand and they ran for the house.

 

“Stop!  I can’t run as fast as you can.”  Vi was laughing as she tried her best to keep up with him.

 

Gil made supper that night.  He was a very good cook.  His mother had cooked long hours each day in a restaurant, and as the oldest child it had been up to Gil to make sure there was food on the table for his younger sisters.

 

“Hey, how long are you going to soak in that tub?”  He knocked on the bathroom door.  “Supper’s getting cold, and you’re going to get all wrinkled!”

 

There was no answer and he knocked again.  “Vi, you OK in there?”  Still nothing.  He opened the door.

 

Vi was sitting on the floor, wrapped in the bath towel.  She looked up at him and pointed to the counter.  He turned to see what she was pointing at, and saw the newly opened box of tampons.

 

“Oh, hon.” He bent down to help her up.  “I’m so sorry.  We’ll try again next month.  Practice makes perfect, you know.”  He laughed, but Vi knew it was forced.

 

“I’m such a failure.  You should’ve married someone else.”  She was sobbing so hard he had trouble understanding the words.

 

“Vi, you can’t keep doing this to yourself every time.  It’ll happen, just give it time.”  He led her into the bedroom.  Sitting on the edge of the bed with her, he kissed her forehead and wiped her nose with the towel. “Now, get your nightgown and robe on, and come out for supper.  I love you.”

 

“I know.  I love you, too.  I’ll be out in a minute.” 

 

The next few weeks were a gardener’s dream.  Warm, sunny days with gentle evening rains encouraged growth all around.  Trees were fully leafed out; the yard was so green it almost hurt the eyes to look at it.  Birds were now flying with bugs in their mouths to feed their young.

 

“Vi, come look!”  Gil called from the yard.

 

“What is it?”  She was kneading bread and didn’t want to leave it.

 

“You have to see the garden.  I think we have a winner!”

 

Vi wiped her hands and walked out to join him.  The rows of tender green shoots stood out against the black soil like stripes on a flag.  Tears came to her eyes as she looked at the scene.  “Well, we’re going to have lots and lots of vegetables, aren’t we?”

 

Gil just smiled.

 

* *

 

That fall, the phone rang just as Vi was setting the timer on another canner full of green beans. 

 

“Hello,” she said.  “Who?  What did you say?  Please repeat that.”  She was having trouble breathing.  “Are you sure?  When?  Where?  OK.  We’ll be there!”

 

          She hung up the phone and stared at it.  This can’t be happening.  I’m dreaming.  We’ve waited so long.  No, they wouldn’t call and lie to her.  They’re a reputable agency.  Where was Gil?  Oh my God, I think I’m going to be sick.  She ran for the bathroom.

 

“Honey, here’s some more corn.  I have it all shucked.  Do you want me to cut it off the cob?”  Gil put the pail down.  “Honey, where are you?”

 

“In here.  In the bathroom.”

 

“What are you doing. . . oh my God, are you OK?  What happened?”

 

She was still retching into the sink.  “They . . . called.”  She said between spasms.

 

“Who?”  He didn’t know what to do to help her.

 

“The agency.”  She splashed some cold water on her face.  The spasms were subsiding.  “Gil, they have a baby for us.  He’s 6 weeks old, and we can pick him up tomorrow.”

 

He sat down on the edge of the tub.  “Oh, honey.  Dreams do come true.”

 

“Gil, I’m so nervous.  What if he doesn’t like me?”

 

“Hon, he will LOVE you!  You’re going to be the best mother ever!”  Gil stood up and put his arms around her.

 

 In the mirror, Vi could see the smile Gil’s face.  I’m sure going to try.  Yes, Lord, I will try my best with your help!

Chocolate

To the Nestle Chocolate Company

Dear Sir or Madam,

Recently, I purchased a quantity of your products from a local grocery store.  The students in my second grade reading group ingested the chocolate candy.  (We were celebrating finishing a reading level.)  When the students returned to their respective classrooms, the trouble began.  I was notified later by the school nurse that more than one student experienced symptoms usually associated with the ingestion of an alcoholic beverage!

Sharon Simpson

• Students laughed out loud during class discussions.
• Boys were seen talking with girls.
• Girls giggled on an average of once every two minutes.
• Boys and girls smiled at their teachers for no reason at all.
• Boys exhibited unusually chivalrous behavior towards girls.
• Teachers in neighboring classrooms complained of raucous laughter from the affected students.
• Students were helpful to each other and to their classmates.
• Classroom teachers reported an abnormally high incidence of students asking if they could “go visit Mrs. Simpson”.

Due to this unusual behavior, the elementary principal suggested that I no longer provide Nestle chocolate products to any student.  This is a unilateral decision on his part with which I cannot agree.

 

I would like some documentation from your company on the benefits of eating chocolate, particularly by young people.

Sincerely,

Sharon Simpson, Elementary Tutor

 

 

 

The Housewife

“Name, please.”

“What?”

“Your name, please. First and last.”

“Where am I?”

“Please answer the question.”

“How’d I get here?”

“Ma’am, I’m asking the questions.”

The old woman sat behind a large desk. She was wearing a gray uniform with

silver buttons and a strange insignia on the collar – a series of letters within a circle.

“What does ARGH stand for?”

“Alright,” she sighed. “I’ll explain. ARGH is The Association for the Re-education of

Great Housewives, and I am Major Malfunction. I’m in charge here.” She pointed

at me with a long, gold pen. “You’re here to be re-educated. You’ll find it easier

to just answer my questions. Now, name, please.”

I tried to think. What was the last thing I remembered? I was going to bed. That’s

it! This is some kind of dream! I’ll wake up any minute.

“I see you’re having trouble. It’s time you realized this is serious.” Major

Malfunction reached under her desk. I felt a small electric shock.

“Hey!” I’d better cooperate! “Clarinda Wiffensnaphel, the traditional

spelling.”

“Thank you. Age?”

“That’s personal.” Just who did this dame think she was? There was another

electric shock. “OK, cut that out! I’m 46!”

“Much better.” Next, tell me what your typical day is like.” She put the pen

down and leaned back in her chair.

“What?” This wasn’t a dream. I could feel the chair, and the electric shocks had

seemed real. The room was warm, almost too warm, and the walls were covered

with shelves of books. On a shelf close to me, I saw Live Comfortably With

Waxy Yellow Build-Up, next to it was Naps Can Make You Younger, and

Eliminate Ironing, Learn To Love Wrinkles. This was not an ordinary library.

“Please recap your typical day. It’s best for the subject to really look at her

activities. Only then can we begin re-education. ‘Admitting your problem is the first

step in healing.’”

“Well, I try to be a good housewife. My husband works hard, and expects his

home to be run well.”

“Typical, typical.” The major shook her head slowly and looked at me with sadness

in her eyes. “I hear this all the time. Go on.” She picked up her pen and started to

take notes.

I talked for an hour. I hadn’t finished when she interrupted.

“Just a minute, is there any time in your day for yourself?”

“What do you mean? I keep house.”

“OK, Mrs. Wiffensnaphel, I think we have the picture. We’ll start you on

our beginner’s program.” She pushed a button, “Hortense, please come in.”

Another woman in a uniform with the ARGH insignia entered. She led me to a room in

a nearby dormitory. She told me to get a good night’s sleep and someone would come get

me in the morning.

I had trouble sleeping. Questions raced through my head. What did “re-education”

mean? Who were these people? Would I ever be allowed leave?

My roommate said she’d been grabbed from the mall. “They pushed me into

a car, pulled something over my head, and I woke up here! There are lots of

us here. Some were taken from the drycleaners, the grocery store, or the

Laundromat. There’s an entire group of women from a Tupperware party on the

third floor!”

“Is there a way to get out?” I asked, hopefully.

“No, the doors are locked and guarded the windows covered with metal grates.

They really mean to keep us here!” The woman began sniffling into her pillow.

I felt like crying, too. I knew my husband would miss me and come looking

for me. Hopefully, a LOT of husbands would be looking! Little did I know how

wrong I was.

The days that followed were a revelation to me. We read books, went to classes,

had discussion groups, and did our homework each night.

Everything I believed or thought was important began to fade. During one practicum

in the school’s kitchen, I walked right by an egg someone dropped on the floor!

The instructor noticed and gave me bonus points! The seminar on “Ignoring Dirt

and All It Stands For” was so much fun! I can’t remember laughing so hard in

my whole life. One of the lessons was to make up jokes about ‘dust bunnies’.

We were beginning to enjoy ourselves.

Each evening, we were required to write in a journal. At first, I wrote about

missing my home, the shiny floors, the sparkling bathroom porcelain, the gleaming

chrome of my kitchen sink, the sweet smells of clean sheets, lemon furniture polish,

and homemade bread. Later, the entries took on a much different tone:

I think Martha Stewart is from another planet. She will cause the downfall of the American

housewife. Do I care if my china matches? Can’t I have paper napkins? Who cares if I make

Christmas ornaments from the leftover seeds from the jack-o-lantern I carved to look like George Washington?

 

The days flew by. Our instructors were pleased with our progress! We were given

a ‘free day’ and had a choice of things to do. I chose to watch “Mildred Pierce”

with Joan Crawford. Now there was a woman bent on working herself into an early grave!

Eventually, the time came to graduate. Boy, were we excited! “Does this mean we’ll

be going home?” I, for one, wasn’t sure I wanted to GO home. Others voiced the

same concern.

“It will be your choice what to do with the rest of your life. You can go back to

the way you were, or use your newfound knowledge to help others. The world is

full of women needing our message.” The Major was giving our commencement

address. Her uniform today was bright red, complete with the ARGH insignia in gold.

“Go forth. Visit with your neighbors, the women in supermarkets, in malls, at PTA meetings.

Wherever you see a woman who looks a little too neat, a little too polished, a little too

tired, give her the message. It’s not too late!” Music began playing softly in the background.

The Major continued, “Let your light shine from this day forward. The word “housewife”

will no longer have the same meaning. Not to you, not to your sisters, not to your daughters.

You are the promise of the future. You are the vanguard of a new movement. You are the key

to this entire project.” Her voice was mesmerizing. “We have re-educated thousands like you.

They’re out spreading the message, and you’ll join them. Each of you will play a part in

transforming the women of the world.”

When we received our diplomas, I wasn’t the only one with tears in my eyes. I unrolled

mine to see the ARGH insignia in gold at the top of the parchment. It read, “Be it known, that

from this day forward, Clarinda Wiffensnaphel is her own woman. She is no longer bound

to her house!” We hugged each other, promising to keep in touch. The freedom was

exhilarating. It was as if we were all high on something. Well, I guess we were. We were

high on dirt, messiness, unmade beds, dirty dishes, and mis-matched socks. We could watch

soap operas, take naps, eat chocolates, and stay in our bathrobes till noon if we wanted to.

We could go to the park, take a pottery class, play tennis, or read books. We could go back

to school, volunteer at a retirement home, or read to the blind. The sky was the limit.

We were FREE! It was WONDERFUL!

As we left the auditorium, we saw a long line of parked cars. Beside each vehicle was

a man holding a bouquet of flowers. Puzzled, I looked at my fellow graduates. Then, suddenly,

a red haired woman near me broke into a run, “Phillip! You found me!” she screamed. Then

another woman spotted someone she knew.

Was my husband here? Would he want me back now?

Someone tapped me on the arm. I turned to see my husband smiling at me.

“Sweetheart,” he handed me a beautiful bouquet of pink roses. “I’ve missed you so much.

The report I received said you graduated at the top of your class! I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m confused. You mean you knew I was here?” This was the man I’d been trying to please.

Had I been mistaken?

“Yes, dear. I didn’t want you to grow old and wonder where your life had gone. I wanted

you to enjoy life, to realize your potential as a person.” He put his arms around me. I’d never

felt so appreciated, so loved.

Daddy

     He waited until he was drafted.  They both knew that he had to go.  Every man who was physically able would be called.  But he had a wife and a young child.  How could he leave them?  Who would take care of them?  How would they manage?

     He worked at every job that he could find – delivering groceries, shoveling sidewalks, cleaning out coal bins, building fences, repairing barns – anything to bring home a few more dollars to put away for them.

     His wife was frightened.  She went through each day’s chores with her mind divided between fear of what might happen to him and pride that “her man” was going to “fight for freedom”.

     The little girl knew nothing of these struggles.  She was loved, held, cuddled, fed, and sheltered from any pain or worry.  She was less than a year old.  What could she know of these things?

     The night before he left, he spent time playing with the little girl.  He lay on the floor, holding her above him, bringing her to his chest, making her giggle with excitement.  He was so strong, and his hands made her feel safe.  She dropped her head towards the man; he put his hands to his face and the woman picked her up.  She was placed in her bed, and did not see the man again.

     The next morning an older woman took her from her bed, dressed her and fed her.  She told her that her mommy would be back soon.  When the other woman returned, she was crying.  She picked up the little girl and held her tightly, pressing her face into the girl’s neck.  Her tears fell on the girl’s dress. 

     Each day the woman showed the little girl a picture of the man.

     “This is daddy.  He had to go away, but he’ll be back as soon as he can.”

     The days went on and on.  Daily routines returned to normal except now there was no man who picked up the little girl and played with her.  She watched her mother work in the kitchen and at the sewing machine.  She sat on the floor, playing with a can of colored buttons.  Sorting them into piles according to color, she spent her time.

     Another woman came to live with them.  Ration books were joined together.  A “Victory Garden” was planted.  The man’s brother brought a small pig for the woman.  All food scraps now became meals for the pig.  Nothing was wasted.   The man’s father brought half a dozen chickens and bags of chicken feed.   In his broken English, he told the woman, “So the little girl can have eggs.”  He had never been able to pronounce her name.  He gave the little girl a tin cup full of feed and showed her how to spread it for the hens.  She was not allowed to get near the pig.  It was now taller than she was.

     Letters started to arrive.  The letters always made the woman cry, but then she would show the little girl the picture of the man.  “This is your daddy.  He’ll be home soon.  He misses us so much.”

          One day when the weather had turned cold, two men came with buckets and knives.  The little girl had to stay in the house.  She watched the men through a window as they built a fire and placed a metal washtub over it.  Buckets of water were pumped and poured into the tub.  Soon it was hard to tell the difference between the smoke from the fire and the steam from the boiling water.

     One of the men kept putting wood on the fire while the other sharpened the knives.  Suddenly, one of them turned and saw the little girl watching him from the long window in the dining room.

     “Get that child away from there,” he shouted.

     The woman ran to the house and roughly picked her up.  “What did I do wrong?” the little girl wondered.  She was taken upstairs and placed in her crib.  It wasn’t her regular naptime!   Soon she heard screaming from the backyard.  “Is my mother hurt?” she thought.  The screaming became louder.  The little girl was crying, calling for her mother.  The other woman came into the room to comfort her.  “Your mother is OK.  Don’t worry.  You can come downstairs now.”

     The screaming stopped as suddenly as if a radio had been shut off.  The girl was taken to the kitchen where both women began stirring large pots of something on the stove.  The kitchen smelled wonderful.

     That evening there was fresh meat for supper.  The woman cut it into small pieces for the little girl.  It was so good!

     The days wore on, one after another.  Letters from the man did not come as often, and when they did come, they had black marks through some of the words.  The woman still cried when she read them, “If only we know where…”  She did not show the little girl the man’s picture as often now.

     More than two years passed.  The woman was crying again, but it sounded different this time.  “He’s coming home, he’s really coming home!”

     A frenzy of housecleaning began.  Rugs were hung on the clothesline and the little girl was told to hit them with a big stick with wires on the end.  The dust made her cough, but she kept hitting the rugs.  She wanted to show the woman that she could “work” too!

     Then one day, the man’s brother drove up to the house.   The woman got into the car and left with him.  The little girl stayed with the other woman.  “Your mother will be home soon.  She has a surprise for you.”

     A few hours later, the car returned.  The woman and a man stepped out of the car.  He was much thinner than when he had left, and he walked with a slight limp.

     “Let me go in first,” said the woman.  “It’s been more than two years.  I don’t know if she’ll remember you.”

     “Someone is here to see you”, the woman said.  The little girl looked past her mother.  The man slowly entered the room.  He did not approach the girl, but stood just inside the door.  He took something off his head that looked like a brown envelope.  He squatted down carefully, looking at the girl, still not saying a word.  Tears ran down his cheeks as he looked at her.  “Hello, Sharon,”  he said quietly.

     The little girl looked him over carefully, then her eyes lit up, and a smile broke across her face like sunshine.

     “DADDY!”   she shouted, and ran into the safe, loving embrace of the man’s strong arms.

Time

I look back at my life, all 64 years, eleven months and twelve days of it, and wonder where the time has gone. Did I make good use of it? Do I have to account for my time here on Earth? Will I have to prove that I accomplished something worthwhile?

I picture myself arriving at the “Pearly Gates.” A stern-faced angel sits at a massive wooden table with a giant ledger. His feathered wings are huge and quiver slightly as he writes in The Book. He looks at me over the edge of the leather-bound volume, puts his quill pen down, and intones, “Sharon, what did you accomplish in the time that was given to you?”

There’s a long pause as I gather my thoughts. What should I tell him?

“Well,” I begin, “I spent seventeen years going to school. Then I got married, and we moved around a lot to different Naval Bases, adopted two kids, then moved back to Minnesota.”

The angel clears his throat. “And all that took how long?”

Wait a minute; he’s the one who’s supposed to know all about me. He’s got The Book right in front of him. Did someone forget to keep notes? Can I make something up? Will he figure it out? What if I lie and he puts a really big black mark after my name? What happens then?

“Well, when our second child was two years old, I went back to teaching. I did that for twenty-one years, and since then I’ve been attending college.” There, I’m all caught up and it’s the truth. Will he let me through the Gates now?

“So, you measure your time on Earth by either going to school or teaching school. Do I have that straight?” He picks up his pen and begins to write.

“Wait,” I don’t want him to summarize my life so coldly. I want him to write events that really mean something. “I always tried to make things better for my children and for the children I worked with at school. I tried to be a good person.”

The Gates begin to glow softly with an inner light. The colors vibrate ever so slowly between rosy pink and lavender blue. I find myself drawn to them but I can’t move.

“I was never cruel to animals. I followed the Ten Commandments and the Golden Rule.” I want to say that I helped old ladies across the street and found lost puppies, but that would have been too weird.

The angel looks up from his writing. “And you expect those things to open the Gates?” Once again he puts down his pen. His silvery, white wings seem to droop a bit.

“What do you want me to say? Those are the Rules your Boss said we had to follow in order to get through The Gates. Don’t you have a record of my life? Doesn’t someone always watch us to see when we are good or bad? And I don’t mean Santa Claus!”

Off in the distance I hear a low thrumming and rumbling. The sound seems to be getting a little louder and a little bit closer. “What’s that?” I ask the angel.

“Nothing that concerns you now,” he looks carefully at the open book. He turns to a previous page, running his index finger back and forth over the lines of writing on the page. “I see that you’ve tried very hard to always do the right thing. Weren’t you ever tempted to break one of the Commandments?” He looks up at me and raises one eyebrow.

Aaah, now we’re getting somewhere, I think. This is what my catechism teacher tried to drill into our heads. She’d say, “Just thinking about doing something evil is just as bad as actually doing it.” Man, talk about a guilt trip! You get mad at your mother and wish she’d disappear because she made you take care of your stinky brother instead of spending the afternoon reading a good book and ZAP! you have a black mark after your name in The Book!

“But she promised I could have time to finish my book!” I feel tears coming but I don’t want to cry in front of this angel who seems to hold my fate in his hands. “I did what she told me to, anyway! That’s not bad enough to keep me out, is it?” The Gates seem farther away and the rumbling was softer now.

“Sharon, please listen to me. You’ve led a good, decent life. You don’t have anything to be sorry for. Sometimes people get the wrong idea about this Book. It’s not here to be a record of your sins. It’s here to let you have an honest look at your life and how you used your time on Earth. Too many people go through life just ‘marking time’ as they say. We go through their pages with them to let them know that they grew and evolved over time. It’s really very simple when you think about it.”

“Why didn’t you say that in the first place? You had me really worried!” The Gates seem to be glowing a little clearer and I can actually feel the rumbling now. “What happens now?”

“Sharon,” the angel closes The Book and puts his pen on the massive table. “We don’t usually do this, but I have the authority to send you back. We need people like you. We feel you can make a difference in many lives. There are children who need help all over the world. How do you feel about that?”

I stare at him. My mouth is dry as cotton. My knees felt as if they will give way any minute. “You mean I have a choice? I can go back to my family? Have more time with them?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. We don’t feel you’re really done with your work on Earth. You can influence so many others to find their potential. You could volunteer at a school, or write compelling stories to brighten the lives of many people, the possibilities are endless. Do you want to go back?” His wings quiver and expand slightly, giving me the impression he might take flight at any moment.

“Of course I want to go back!” I can’t believe my good fortune. “How long can I stay?”

“That’s not for you to know. Oh, and by the way, you won’t remember being here. That’s one of the conditions. Are you ready?”

I stood very still. The glowing lights on the Gates begin to fade. The throbbing, rumbling sounds slowly die down. The angel rises from the table. I mean literally rises! His wings spread out from his body, slowly flapping up and down and lifting him higher and higher. I watch him as long as I can. I want to remember him and what he has told me.

Well, on my next birthday I will be 65. That’s old enough to apply for Social Security. Well, I hope I live long enough to spend plenty of the monthly checks. Let’s see, what was I doing a minute ago? Darn it, I’m getting so forgetful. Must be old age setting in. However, as my son says, “Don’t worry, Mom, you don’t have ‘Old-Timer’s Disease’ yet. Now get your homework done!” I know he’s right, and I’m so glad I decided to go back to college and study writing! Oh, and I have to call my friend, Pat, and take her up on her request to have me volunteer in her classroom. It will be wonderful to be around young people again.

Making Pasta Salad

         Bridget walks into the kitchen.  She always hears when I open the pantry door.  She looks at me, her soft brown eyes hopeful.  Her tail moves slowly back and forth.  Not really wagging, just letting me know she’s optimistic. 

          “I don’t have anything for you right now,” I say, reaching to take out cans of black olives, kidney beans, peas, and a box of pasta shells.

          She turns and pads towards the living room.  Her favorite chair, the soft green recliner, is empty.  Making herself comfortable, she closes her eyes.  I’m not worth watching.  Somehow I feel guilty.

          I open the refrigerator and take out ham, celery, carrots, radishes, Miracle Whip, sweet pickle relish, cheese, and onions. As the water begins to boil on the stove, I dump in the pasta shells.  Moving to the cutting board, I chop celery with the feeling that I’m being watched.  Okay, they’re all here.  Bridget, Sony and Tiny are all staring at me.  “How’d you know I was cutting up food?” I ask, turning to face the little beggars.

          They look at me with hopeful eyes.  Tiny has to tilt her head back to look up at me.  Her hair is falling into her eyes.  I feel guilty.  I need to give her a bath and haircut soon.  I always delay grooming her; she’s such a pill.  The other two have adjusted well over the years to the grooming process, but Tiny, the smallest one, is a handful and a half!

          I continue chopping.  A chunk of celery goes flying off the cutting board.  Aah, Tiny is fast!  She is crunching away.  The other two look at her then at me.  “Where’s ours?”  I reach down and give them each a small chunk.  Sony inhales her piece, but Bridget spits hers on the floor.  “I see, you’re not a vegetarian, are you Bridge?”  She stares at me, condemnation in her eyes as Tiny retrieves the celery.  Again, I feel guilty.  I slip her a small slice of ham.

          As the pasta cooks, I pour myself a cup of coffee and sit at the counter.  The morning sun comes through the sliding glass door that opens onto the deck.  All three dogs lie in the warmth of the sunbeams. Sony is the first to move as the heat of the sun becomes too intense for her.  Panting, she slowly shifts to a cooler spot on the carpet.  Bridget, the oldest, stays in the sun longer than her daughters.  I think the warmth helps her arthritis.    The pasta is done.  I drain it, and then cool it with water from the spray attachment.  As I add all the other ingredients, I realize that I have an audience again.  “OK, you moochers, one piece of cheese each.”  They like the cheese much better than the celery.  “Can we have another piece?”  They sit patiently, hoping I will give in.  “I told you one piece.  That’s it for now.”  I shake my finger at them. 

          I mix the dressing and pour it over the mixture in the bowl.  They’re still watching me.  A chipmunk sits on the other side of the glass door stuffing his jaws with sunflower seeds, but the dogs are oblivious.  They follow me to the refrigerator as I put the finished salad in to cool.

          “Okay, who wants to go outside?”  I know it’s a silly question as they all three jump up and down.  “Pick me, pick me!”  I open the door and they charge into the back yard, scattering birds, chipmunks, and squirrels in their mad dash to find just the right spot to do their ‘business’.  Then another quick run back up the steps to come in to get their doggie treat.  They each carry their treasure to a favorite spot to crunch in solitude.  Bridget is on the braided rug by the kitchen counter.  Sony runs to her pillow in my sewing room, and Tiny chooses the crocheted afghan on the living room couch.  I no longer feel guilty.

         

 

Dreams

I remember watching the “Miss America” pageant in the 1950’s.  Bert Parks, the ever-smiling emcee, asked a finalist, “ Okay, now Miss Bobby Jo Mary Lou Peggy Ann Smith, what is your dream for the future?”

      The young girl stood very straight, shiny blonde hair skimming her shoulders, perfectly shaped lips and sparkling white teeth forming a luminous smile, and in a well-modulated but breathless voice answers, “Well, Mr. Parks, my dream is that there will be no more wars and no one will ever be hungry again.”

          Well, duh!  Doesn’t everyone want that?  Let’s get real here. I wanted Mr. Parks to ask what her immediate plans were.   What was her achievable dream?  What did she plan to do with her life that would make a difference in the world toward that larger dream? 

Or would she be like so many of my high school classmates, marry the first guy who came along, have a bunch of kids, and spend her life cleaning house and gossiping with her neighbors?  I knew that I wanted a husband and children some time in the future, but first I wanted a career. 

During the summer before my senior year of college, I made arrangements to meet with a former classmate I hadn’t seen since high school.  It was a hot, muggy day, so we planned to meet at a local air-conditioned truck stop.  I arrived first, eager to see my friend again.  I had always admired her in school.  She had phenomenal talent.  Whenever there was a need for a poster, an illustration, or a sign of some sort, she was the one who would produce the most strikingly beautiful one.  She talked of going to art school and pursuing a career in art.

          We had lost touch since graduation, and it was only by calling her mother that I was able to arrange the meeting.  I waited in a booth at the truck stop, nursing a cherry coke while I watched cars come and go on the highway.  Where was she?  Had she forgotten the time?  Or maybe I had the day wrong. 

          Just when I was ready to give up and leave, she came.  She walked towards me very slowly and said, “Hi, Sharon.  Boy, it’s good to see you!”

          As she struggled into the booth, I responded with, “It’s good to see you, too! “  However, what I really wanted to say was, “What in the world happened to you?”  She looked as if she was about eleven months pregnant, her face red, splotchy, bloated, and shiny with perspiration.   “You look surprised,” she said with a big grin, “Mom didn’t tell you I was expecting again, did she?”

          Again?  I didn’t even know she had any children.  “Ah, . . no, she didn’t.  You already have a baby?”  I was trying to get this idea to sit still in my mind.

          “Actually, this will be our third.  Bob wanted a family right away, so here I am!”  She patted her huge middle, grinning from ear to ear, apparently happy as a pig in mud to be in such a gross condition.

          From that point on, her part of the conversation centered around babies, diapers, formula, potty training, sleepless nights, and how thrilled she was to be out of the house today.  I tried to feign interest in these subjects, but found myself wondering where my friend had gone.  What happened to her dreams of going to art school?  How had the intelligent, talented, artistic young woman I remembered turned into this person who could only talk about the color of her baby’s latest poop job?  I wanted to end this visit, go back home and start reading my latest purchase, The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.  I wanted to cry.

          Since that awkward encounter, our only contact has been an annual exchange of Christmas letters.  She is living in the same house in the same town, and her last letter included all the minutiae of her great grandchildren.  Yes, Great grandchildren!  Her daughters and granddaughters all married very, very young also.  Over the years the most exciting thing she ever did was take a trip to the Black Hills.  So much for girlhood dreams. . . 

          How had her dream died?  Had Bob kidnapped and forced her into marriage and motherhood?  Did she apply to art school and get turned down?  Does she ever wonder if her life might have turned out differently?  Does she have regrets?  I think she’s happy, at least I sincerely hope she is, but that summer day I know that I was just thrilled not to be in her shoes.  I wanted a career!

          In the 1960’s there weren’t as many career opportunities for young women as there are today.  Choices were somewhat limited to nursing, secretarial work, and teaching. Today a young girl can dream of being a microbiologist, an astronaut, or the CEO of a large corporation.  There are no limits; and the key to any of today’s fulfilling careers begins with a good education.

          You’ve heard the time-honored saying, “The longest journey begins with a single step.”  Taking that very first step is also the most difficult.  We can fantasize about this beginning step for weeks, months or even years.  However, the longer we wait to take that first step on our personal journey, the steeper and more threatening that step becomes as life puts more obstacles in our way.  Apparently, my friend had stopped dreaming, or at least stopped dreaming about an art career.

           My dream was to teach. My mother tells anyone who will listen that I was ‘born to be a teacher.’  However, my family couldn’t afford college costs.  I knew this, so I kept my dreams in the back of my mind as I prepared myself for an office job.  I took typing, bookkeeping, and shorthand in high school.  Boring is not an adequate word for these subjects!  I envied my college-bound classmates taking Advanced Biology, Higher Algebra, Trigonometry, and Chemistry.

          At the end of my senior year, I was offered a scholarship to a small Lutheran junior college!  It’s difficult to describe the emotions that ran through me – excitement, thankfulness, and also a little trepidation.  Would I be able to make it?  What would I do after the two years?  But I didn’t really care.  I felt like Scarlett O’Hara in Gone With the Wind:” I’ll think about that tomorrow.”  This was my beginning!  This was the first step towards my dream of being a teacher!

          After I graduated from Waldorf Junior College, my uncle said to my mother, “It looks as if Sharon’s serious about this college business.  Would it be okay if I loaned her the money to finish her schooling?”  My mother was overcome with thankful tears, and I couldn’t believe my good fortune!  My dream could continue!

          As fate would have it, I met my future husband shortly before I graduated from Augsburg College.  Yes, fate.  He was on leave from the Navy.  I don’t know about ‘love at first sight’, but I knew I wanted to be with this wonderful man forever.  Apparently he felt the same, because he asked me to marry him!  My answer was ‘yes’, but with the understanding that I would finish college first!  When his leave was over, he headed back to his ship in Newport, Rhode Island.  I returned to school wearing his Navy ring.  We hadn’t set a definite date for a wedding, so when I returned home after completing my degree, I was surprised when he called and said,  “I thought I should let you know that I’m just thirty minutes away.”  He had taken ten days leave, flown to Minneapolis, and then taken a bus.  At a rest stop in Mankato he called to say,  “I won’t go back without you.”

          So with my teaching certificate in one hand and our marriage license in the other, I was off to Rhode Island with my new husband.  My dream had changed a bit, but I knew I would still teach. 

          As my husband’s Naval career moved us every few years, I taught junior high science in Middletown, R.I., second and third grade at the Naval Base at Guantanamo Bay, Cuba, fourth and fifth grade in Duluth, reading skills in California, and finally I was the Indian Education Director for twenty-one years at the Walker School.  My dream may have been detoured and fragmented, but it was realized with the full and loving support of my understanding husband.

          I like to think that over the years I have helped guide many children to realize their potential, to strive to be their best at whatever they do, to make the world a little better, and to never, ever stop dreaming. 

The Way To A Man’s Heart…

         There’s an old saying, “The way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.”  Maybe you don’t hear it so much today, but I heard it a lot when I was growing up.  It implied that in order to make a man happy, you had to be a good cook!
Apparently, I took this to heart, because my husband and I are both overweight.  I’m not saying that I’m another Martha Stewart in the kitchen, but the meals I make have kept my husband happy and satisfied for over thirty-nine years.
          I don’t remember learning much about cooking from my mother.  I helped by peeling potatoes, cleaning vegetables, and washing dishes.  The meals Mom prepared were nutritious, tasty, and plentiful.  She made everything ‘from scratch’, including bread.  Vegetables came from our own garden, and we raised chickens.  Dad was a hunter and fisherman, so wild game and fresh fish were always plentiful.
           After I was married, I wanted to show my husband that I was a good cook.  One of the things I brought with me to our new home was a Betty Crocker cookbook.  It was the 1960 version, the one that doesn’t mention any mixes!  My high school Home Economics teacher ordered one for each of us in the class.  She said it would help us become good cooks.  I almost wore that book out, looking for new recipes to try. 
            My husband told me often what a good cook his mother had been.  With a far-away look in his eyes, he would describe her chicken and dumplings.  “She would cut up a whole chicken, put it in a big pot with potatoes, onions, carrots, celery, water, and let it simmer all day.   Just before supper, she would mix up the dumpling dough and drop it into the pot.  Man, I can still taste that!”  I swear a small trail of drool would leak from the corner of his mouth as he described this heavenly meal.
          The time came when I simply had to try chicken and dumplings.  Out came the Betty Crocker cookbook.  Yes!  There was an actual recipe for it!  I was in luck!  I cut up vegetables and chicken, added spices and simmered that mixture all afternoon.  Then just before supper, I mixed up the dumpling dough according to Betty’s instructions.  I dropped spoonfuls of the sticky stuff into the bubbling pot.  My family was at the table, my husband smiling from ear to ear.  “Sure smells good, honey!”
           After bringing the big bowl to the table, I crossed my fingers.  Would it meet his mother’s standards?  We bowed our heads as our son said Grace, I silently asked that my chicken and dumplings would meet my husband’s standards. Then everyone helped themselves to portions of the golden mixture.  The moment of truth had arrived.  I picked up my fork and cut into a dumpling.  It was stiff, sticky, and dense.  My heart fell.  I was a failure.  This was not how dumplings should be!  Betty said they should be light and fluffy!  I looked over at my husband, ready to apologize for my terrible meal.  His mouth was full and as he chewed, his eyes were closed.  He swallowed, sighed, and then looked at me with a huge smile on his face.  “Honey, this is wonderful, just like Ma used to make!”
           Since that first attempt, I have learned how to make good dumplings.  My husband now talks about the wonderful chicken and dumplings that I make!