Mittens or Gloves?

With Thanksgiving a week away, plans for the table were taking shape, grocery lists made and re-made. Recipes to try, or maybe not this year, fear of failure looms with each picture of food I see. Memories of childhood play at the edge of my mind and interrupt the things I should be concentrating on. When I look out the window I can see...

My brothers round, red faces come into view, cheeks blistered by the cold, and yet we couldn't make ourselves go in and get warm by the fire. When gloves would become soaked with wet snow, we'd make old soaks do the trick. They would grow longer the wetter and heavier they became, we didn't care. Finally, our short legs could barely move and we knew we had to give in and go home. That was the longest walk of the day.

One year, we went deep into the woods in search of the perfect spot to build an igloo. Snow seldom fell in our part of the country and we wanted to make the most of it. This time, it had snowed almost two whole feet. We'd stomped out a sled run so we could go faster, and made three snowmen, so an igloo was the next logical choice.

We didn't have a clue how to go about it, but we'd brought a couple of shovels and a plastic bowl. It was my idea to make a mold with it, sort of like the jello thing at holidays. My brother laughed at me, you know the way boys have a habit of doing when they're still young enough to think girls are stupid.

“I think this spot will do.” Mac, the oldest of the brothers stabbed his spade in the snow and rested his foot on it.

I looked around me and the trees seemed to have changed shape. They loomed above us like they were closing ranks around us. I could see eyes staring at me from all the shadowy tree trunks. I'm sure they were real. “Maybe we should go back closer to home. This is awful far away...” I said this in a small voice. I didn't want them to laugh at me again, but the snow had taken on a grayish color in the shadows of the forest and I was a little scared. My nose started to run and the cold was stinging my eyes.

“Nope. Start digging right here.” Mac grabbed his shovel and began to throw snow into a pile. His breath had created a smoky swirl around his head. He looked like a dragon.

My eyes got wider and wider as I stared at him. They filled with water and made the tree trunks seem to move and sway about. I tried to wipe them, it didn't help. Since I didn't want to seem like a baby I took my bowl and began to pile snow in it. When I dumped it out, it had made sort of a round brick.

The snot from my nose froze on my upper lip and felt like an ice cycle was stuck there. I dumped the bowl of snow out in a pile, it seemed to work pretty good. In no time at all I had built a wall by piling up my molds of snow. Grinning widely I called over to Mac. “Hey, look at this.” I waited with pride for him to congratulate me.

His lip puckered out and his eyebrows almost touched together in the middle. “So?” He turned his back to me and started to pack the snow he'd piled up with his hands, glancing back over his shoulder he glared at me. “The igloo is over here.”

Now that boy knew that mine was a lot better than his, but today he was the boss—only because he was bigger than me. I dragged myself up and went over to where he was kneeling. For a minute I just stood behind him. I was afraid that he'd leave me if I made him mad enough, so I gave in. I knelt down and began to take my plastic mold and build snow into another wall. All the while thinking, I'd had just about enough snow fun for one day.

Mac stood up, with his hands on his hips he said, “Ya'll help me get some sticks to build the roof with. Then we'll put snow on top of them.”

A few feet away some spindly trees stuck up through the snow. They didn't have many branches and those were stubby. Mac grabbed one and tried to break it off. It wouldn't budge, so he stepped up on top of it and jumped. The small, but fiercely strong sapling, flew right up and slapped him hard. Right in the face. Furious with the thing, especially since we all saw it happen, he grasped it tight and pulled until his face turned beet red. It seemed to those of us watching, that little tree came to life and yanked Mac right off his feet. He landed face down in the snow and came up spitting snow. With his ice covered glove he swiped at his eyes, knocking his wool hat off. It landed at the base of that monster twig of a tree.

I stood perfectly still, gritting my teeth while this scene unfolded. I didn't know what he would do next and I was afraid it would involve me, whatever it turned out to be. A moment later, Mac picked up his wet hat and started kicking at my wall. Knocking down every inch of it.

“Stop!” I cried. Before I knew what I doing, I flew on top of his back and started pounding on it. It couldn't have hurt through all the thick clothing. After all, his coat was two sizes too big. But I tried. I wanted to hurt him. My gloves fell off and we began to roll around through the snow. The knowledge that it was futile to continue finally settled on me and I rolled away and sat up. The snow had stuck to me like paper mache and wouldn't brush off.

Mac sat up and began to laugh. “Ha, serves you right.” He stuck out his tongue and giggled.

I'm not sure I'd ever felt so much anger building inside me. My temples felt like they would burst and my fingers hurt like crazy from clenching them together. My gloves were lost beneath the snow we'd wrestled around in and I didn't feel like digging to find them. With slow, measured steps I started for home. The sun just barely peeked through those frightful tree tops and was going down fast. The little boys ran to my side, more than ready to go with me.

“Aw, ya'll are just chickens.” Mac made noises like a chicken and picked up his shovel. “I ain't quitting.”

We didn't even hear the last part. My youngest brother was so tired he wanted me to carry him. That wasn't even going to happen. As we sloughed through the snow the fluffy mess went in my boots and I could hardly move my legs. The boys started to cry and hung onto my coattails, almost pulling me over. It felt like I was dragging logs behind me.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Mac had started to follow us. Huh, not so brave after all. 

Up ahead the moon's early light sent blue splinters across the shiny snow to guide us home. As we came out of the woods an amber glow welcomed from the windows at the house. We ran the rest of the way to the door and left those eery eyes behind us for another day.

Apples Tinsel and Time

Memories of sweet sugared delicacies, mingled with the scent of pine. Apples baking in the oven, while a mound of dough rises beneath a checkered cloth on the maple table.

The door opens with a swoosh and grandmother turns to see who it is. Bright blue eyes, filled with water from the bitter cold, look up at her. Red, shiny cheeks and lips that grin beneath a shiver, cover the young boy's face. Eight year old Blake stomps his boots off and throws his coat on top of them, instead of on the hook by the door. He runs to hug his favorite Grandmother.

The tall woman with soft crinkles smiles at him, one hand in the sink filled with apples. “My goodness, are you just about frozen? Go stand by the stove and warm your hands.” She notices the chapped red fingers. “Why didn't you put your gloves on this morning, Blake? It's too cold to romp about without them today.”

The child lowered his eyes and went to the wood stove. “I don't have any, Gran.” He sees the pained look on her face and his lids squint almost shut. He didn't mean to tell. His gloves had gotten lost last winter during a sled ride and his parents couldn't afford another pair.

Grandmother doesn't respond. Her thoughts were fixed on the brightly wrapped packages hidden in the front closet. A nice pair of red wool gloves are tucked inside one of them. She wasn't the type of person to hand out gifts at the drop of a hat. Hard times through the years had geared her to remain thrifty, even at Christmas time. She told the child that she'd be right back and headed into the front room.

The door to the closet creaked loudly when she opened it and she glanced behind her to be sure he wasn't close by. It took a bit of arranging to find the package she wanted. It was wrapped in red paper with pine cones and needles patterned on it. She'd picked it especially for Blake because he always loved the smell of pine. It meant Christmas for him.

When she went back to the kitchen, Blake had pulled the old stool up close to counter where she'd been working on peeling apples for pies. 

“Okay, Blakey, I'm giving you this present early. But let's keep this a secret. Just you and me. I wouldn't want the rest of the children to feel slighted.” She handed him the box.

Blake's mouth frowned and he ran his hand over the package in his lap. Tears were close to the brim and he said, “I can't...the others won't understand.”

Grandmother hugged him to her. “All you have to say is you found them in your dresser drawer. Nobody has to know otherwise.” She tapped a finger on the box. “Open this now, and remember on Christmas morning that you've already had a secret gift.” Her tone was sharp, but the smile on her lips told a different story.

“Thank you, Gran.” He rubbed the gloves against his face and closed his eyes. “I'll be able to help you in the woods tomorrow without even getting cold.” He began to picture the visit to the forest they always took this time of year, to gather greenery to decorate Grans house.

“Yes you will, honey. Here, taste this piece of apple and tell me if it's sweet enough.” She placed a slice in his mouth.

After a crunchy chew he said, “Mm, just right. I love cinnamon sugared apples. Can you teach me how to make them, Gran?”

Grandmother laughed and tugged his cold little ear. “Do you know how to peel apples?”

The child smiled, his eyes glistened with happiness. “I'll be right back.” Jumping off the stool he went out the door before Grandmother knew what he was doing. The gloves and coat forgotten in his excitement and hurry.

A few minutes later Blake returned. “Look, Gran. Ya know what this is?”

She laughed and took the contraption from his arms.. With hands on her hips she said, “I reckon I do know. It's an apple peeler. Where'd you find this old thing?” She recognized it immediately. “I haven't seen this since we moved from the old house. Years ago.”

“It was in the back of the shed in an old tub. I pulled it out last summer and cleaned it up, but I only had one apple to peel with it.” He shrugged his shoulders and wrinkled his lip. “Then I forgot about it until today.”

Gran touched a finger to a freckle on the tip of his nose. “Good job, little man. Let's set this old thing up over here on the counter and peel some apples.”

An hour later another pie was in the oven. Gran wiped her hands on her apron and took a bite of raw apple. She handed Blake the bowl with a grin. “Munch on these before you go. You were quite a help turning that handle. We'll have to do this again soon.”

He gladly dug in with gusto. “Gran, is it time to bake cookies yet? I can help with those too, you know.”

She threw her head back and howled with laughter. This young'un had figured out just how to get his hand in the cookie dough early. Without the competition of his cousins. “We'll see. Next week, when you're out of school for the holidays. Now you put those gloves on before you go back out. It's freezing out there. I can smell snow coming by nightfall.”

Blake sent her a smile and blew her a kiss with his red gloved hand, then pulled the door shut behind him.

Who Goes There?

The street was quiet, not much traffic this early in the morning, as Joanne and Bryan drove toward their new house. Joanne mused about the neighborhood as the houses passed. Some with shutters that needed painting, others needed the grass cut and the dead trees removed. It seemed a little needy overall.

She didn't care. They had bought their own home, though it needed a good bit of work, it was theirs to love. The back seat and trunk were loaded with paint, rollers and brushes. She couldn't wait to spread a coat of fresh color on those grimy kitchen walls.

Bryan wasn't as excited as she was. His thoughts about the neighborhood leaned closer on the side of dread. Old and dilapidated houses showed that the folks around here were either down on their luck or just didn't care. He'd wanted to go deeper in debt and buy a brand new house that nobody else had lived in. Cleaning up after other people didn't thrill him. He'd bought plenty of rubber gloves at the home improvement store last night.

“Hon, did you remember to pack all those gloves?” he asked his wife, as he began to worry more.

She laughed. “Of course. They're in the bag with the towels and soap. You'll be fine, Bryan, stop worrying so much.”

Bryan frowned and nodded. “I'm not so sure. At least not as sure as you are.”

“Bryan, this will be our home, no more renting. We'll have fun fixing it up and we don't have to ask permission either.” Doubt began to edge it's way in. “I know it won't all get done right away, but we have our whole lives to work on it.” She glanced at his profile. The chiseled jawline and straight nose made her grin. “I'm a lucky girl, love. I have you and a new home, I couldn't be any happier if I'd won the lottery.”

Bryan tried to frown, but smiled instead. “Okay, I'll try to be more...motivated. Can we at least afford a grill?” He knew this would be the perfect time to talk her into it. Paint, then grill. Nap...

“Bryan! We talked about this last night. With all the supplies we need to get the house ready to move in, we shouldn't be spending money on a grill. At least not yet.” She watched as he pouted his lips and blew out. “Maybe next week, if we get enough done on the house.”

“Okay, guess that means you expect me to work extra hard? Gotta earn that steak maker, huh?”

Joanne grinned, then patted his hand on the steering wheel. He really was a cutie.
 

He turned into the driveway and cut the engine off. “Well, welcome home, hon.” The peeling paint on the little cape cod looked even sadder with the sun shining on it. “Where do we start?” Two ladders leaned against the porch, they'd been delivered yesterday.

“Come on, carry me over the threshold first!” Joanne held out her arms toward him.

He fumbled in his pocket for the key. “First things first my sweet wife. I'm not sure I can hold you and unlock the door at the same time. You know that first year of marriage has widened both our girths.”
 

She smacked him lightly on the arm and looked around the small porch. A tattered rug she didn't remember being there, laid in front of the door. A pair of rubber boots sat under the window, along with a balled up flannel shirt.

“Bryan, did we leave this stuff here?”

He looked up from the door handle. “I don't know. Why?”

“Because...I don't think it belongs to us. I've never seen those boots or this rug before. And you have never worn a flannel shirt in your life, Mr. Ralph Lauren.”

Bryan stopped short and took a look at the items, eyes narrowed. One hand was still on the door knob. Suddenly, he almost fell in the house as the door came open.

Shocked and off balance, Bryan stared into the grizzled face of man at least a foot taller than him. The guy outweighed him by more than a few pounds too.

While Bryan stared blankly at the person, Joanne moved into action. “What are you doing here?” Her 110 pound frame stepped toward the guy, challenging him to answer her demand.

He moved closer to Bryan, backing her husband away from the door. “What are you doing here?” he countered.
 

The sound of his loud, deep voice, backed Joanne up until she bumped into her husband. A smell began to waft out the door. Stale beer and cigars mixed with other odors reeked from the man. Joanne looked up at Bryan. “Do something.”

Bryan looked from Joanne to the bearded beast standing in the doorway. “Excuse me, sir, what are you doing in our house?” It never hurt to have manners, especially when dealing with a giant opponent.
 

The man stepped out onto the porch, forcing Bryan and Joanne to the edge. “I live here, man. That's what I'm doing here. Now, get off my property.”

“This is our property! We own it. I don't know who you are, but you're the one who's trespassing.” Joanne's hands went to her hips and she stared at the man in the way that only a woman can. Daring him to dispute her.
 

A loud noise from inside the house took his attention from the couple. “You kids behave in there.” He turned back to Joanne. “Look lady, I've been living here and paying the mortgage and taxes for ten years. You're the one that's trespassing and I want you gone. Got it?”

“That's our ladder and buckets over there. We had them delivered from the store yesterday. This is crazy! We closed on this property three days ago and I'm not leaving.” Joanne sucked in a breath and crossed her arms over her middle.

“Take 'em with you then. But get off my porch, please.” He stretched out the word please and tightened his lips together.
 

Bryan watched as the man shook his head at Joanne. He turned to the street and looked at the mailbox. The numbers on it, painted black and almost faded from view were the exact opposite of their own house number.

“Jo. Honey, listen.”

“No I will not. This is our house and I'm not going to let some beast keep me out of it.”
 

At that moment a head full of blond curls poked out from behind the door. Wide blue eyes peeked around the man's leg. “Daddy, are they going to take our house?”

“No, baby. You're fine, go watch your show before it goes off.” His tone was low and caring. He rubbed the top of the child's head, then gently pushed her back in the door. He turned back to Joanne. “Look, lady—“

“Sir, I'm so sorry. We've made a big mistake.” Bryan held up his hands to calm the man. He pointed down the street. “That must be our house over there. It looks a lot like this one, same color, and we came from a different direction today. I'm really sorry for the mistake, sir.” He looked at the guy with limp hands in the air, as if asking forgiveness for stupidity.
 

Joanne looked at her husband like he'd totally taken leave of his senses. Then her eyes followed Bryan's pointed finger. “Oh my gosh...” Her hand flew over her mouth, she began to laugh. Bent over with the  giggles at their mind boggling goof up, she tried to talk. “I'm... so silly. Please... forgive us. The delivery guys must have gotten the address wrong and we just followed the ladders, instead of the correct address.” She wiped the tears from her eyes and held her hand toward the stranger. "Truce?"

A slow grin began to show through the dark beard and he grasped her hand. “Could've happened to anyone I guess. Ain't never happened to me before though.” His head went back and he laughed with them. “No harm done, folks. Sorry for the attitude.”

His smile reminded Joanne of an old television show, the guy that had a bear as a pet.

Later that day, Joanne heard a faint knock on the storm door of their new house. She glanced over from her position on the floor, paint on her face and all over her clothes, and recognized the man from earlier in the day. “Come on in, John.”

He stepped into the living room with the tow headed child behind him. “Thought you two could use a coffee break.” He sat a tray with coffee and cookies on the ladder rung and reached out a hand to help Joanne up.

“Thank you, John. This is great. My back is aching from crouching so long.” She stretched and reached for a cup. “Bryan, John brought coffee,” she called out to her husband. “John, I hope this is the start of many more cups to come.”

The big man grinned down at her. “It's all good, little lady. Now hand me that roller.”

Attennnn--tion!

  Janet threw her purse on the bench by the door, to avoid dropping the bags of take-out food on the floor. She managed to haul the slippery bags to the counter and toss them onto it, was no easy task today.

She had sprained her ankle the day before and the pain was increasing with each step she took. The crutch under her arm banged into the door and fell, almost tripping her. She hadn't mastered the technique yet, of holding bags, purse, jacket and crutch all at the same time, while walking and unlocking the door.

Her children, Ben and Mica, strolled in behind her still playing a game they had started on the ride home from practice, totally unaware that their help would be appreciated.


“Okay kids, put the Gameboy away for now and grab some paper plates,” she told them. Janet leaned against the counter and began to pull the hamburgers and fries out of the bags, while holding her foot in the air behind her. A throbbing pain was working it's way up to her calf. “Come on guys, help me out here.”

“Wait, mom,” Mica said. “We're almost done.”

Normally, Janet would have snatched the game up and out of their reach. Today, the obstacle of making her way around the counter and keeping her balance on one good foot, was too much for her.

She sighed and said, “Fine, play the game.” Reaching into the cupboard above her, she pulled down one paper plate, not three, and placed her own food on it. She slid it across the counter before hobbling her way around it, to sit on a bar stool.

Trying to hitch herself up on the stool with one foot and one hand proved to be too much. She gave up and hobbled into the family room, plopping into the recliner. As soon as she was comfortable, she realized her bladder was in need of release and her food was still on the counter. She stared down the hallway where the bathroom was located with dread. It might just as well be a mountain to climb. 

“The next house I buy will have a bathroom right in the middle of the family room. Forget that they won't be able to see the big screen T.V., they'll just have to hang it on the ceiling!” she said. As soon as she managed to inch her way out of the chair, her husband came in the door.

Relief spread over her like a down comforter, help had arrived. “I'm so glad you're home, hon,” she called out.

Her husband Ron came into the den with her plate of food, the hamburger almost completely eaten. “Hi, how'd practice go?” he asked, his mouth full--of her food.

Janet fixed her eyes on the plate. “I stayed in the car, so I don't have a clue how it went.” Her voice had a gritty quality to it now. Every movement on the gimpy ankle made the bathroom seem farther away. She was almost to the hall, when Barney the dog woke up and barked, running into her crutch and knocking it away from her.

 

Barney thought it was a new toy and immediately began to chase it and bark. He would run up to it, then scoot himself back with his constant and irritating bark raising a ruckus.

Now, how does a dog chase an inanimate object like a crutch, you ask. Barney is a curly-haired, black poodle, therefore he thinks anything larger than a banana is his own personal prey. He's quick to subdue the metal thing on the floor, by crunching his teeth firmly into the foam arm protector and shaking it until a part of comes away in his mouth. With his tail wagging in triumph, he trots down the hall with his prize firmly between his teeth.

“No, Barney! No. Stop that, right now,” Janet cries. “Ron, do you think you could lend a hand here?”

Ron jumps up from his prone position on the sofa and picks up the dog. He carries him back to his spot on the sofa, never taking his eyes off the game on the T.V. Totally unaware that his wife can't stand on one foot and pick up the crutch.

Janet is fed up at this point and refuses to ask for help. She bends at the waist, standing on her good leg and lands both hands on the floor next to the crutch, bad ankle hanging behind her in the air. Too late, she realizes this is just the position her bladder can't withstand. Crawling one hand along the floor to reach the crutch, she grabs it and tries to straighten up while she leans on it with both hands, pulling it gradually to her side. She manages to stand and get the torn, and now itchy and uncomfortable arm piece situated.

Ron never even noticed his wife's antics, while he finished off the fries, ketchup drooling all over his chin. Well, after all, Janet didn't get him a napkin did she?

Janet made her way into her bathroom to take care of business, breathless from the painful wait. With a sigh, she went to the bedroom and climbed onto the bed cross ways, unable to trudge back up the hall to the recliner. Grabbing Ron's pillows, she propped her ankle up on them, then laid her head back exhausted against her own. Her eyes closed in relief and she was about to dose off...

“Mom!” Mica screamed, inches from her face.

Janet's head jerked up so fast, she bumped into Mica's.

“Owww, you hit me!” the seven year old wailed.

“Mommy's sorry, honey. But why did you yell like that?” Janet soothed and rubbed the spot on Mica's forehead.

Mica bit her lip, trying to remember what she'd needed. “Oh, where are the cookies, Daddy needs to know.”

Janet laid back on the pillow and took a deep cleansing breath. Her loving, yet spoiled husband didn't quite get it yet, she couldn't be at his beck and call today. Maybe tomorrow she'd fetch and carry for him, but not today. Her tongue rolled around her cheek, “Tell daddy we're out of cookies. If he wants cookies so bad, he can run tot he store and buy them himself.” She relaxed again as she listened to her daughters footsteps padding down the hall. Peace at last.

Janet dozed off and on for a full fifteen minutes, until she heard a giant crashing noise coming from the other end of the house. She kept still and waited. Nothing. The roof didn't cave in. Now she really couldn't stand it. Who had broken what and was it one of her prized vases on display in the dining room? She hobbled onto the one good foot and grabbed the crutch, making her way down the hall as fast as she could.

The rubber tip on the crutch made no noise at all, the other foot was bare, so she was completely undetected as she stepped into the family room. Her family, all three of them, were bending down on the floor, picking up the pieces of a broken picture frame. The prized art work that she'd purchased while on vacation last year, lay torn and surrounded by glass on the floor. The sunset over the ocean was a crumpled and broken scene.

“Shhh...don't wake up mommy,” Ron was saying to the kids.

“Too late,” she said.

Mica stood up, her brown curly hair flopped around her face. “I didn't do it!” she pointed to Ron with one hand, the other one firmly planted on her little hip, which was jutted out like a model.

Janet didn't speak, she leaned on her crutch and stared at the mess.


“Honey, I'll take it and get new glass put in. I'm sorry we woke you,” Ron said. “Here, let me help you to the chair.” Ever so gently, he took her arm. “Honey, open your eyes, I don't want you to fall again.”

Janet's eyes flew open, her lips drawn into a tight line. “Recliner.” She allowed herself to be helped. Ron held her arm while she eased down into the chair. “Back.”

Ron jumped around and pulled the foot of the chair up into position.


Her family huddled together in front of her, waiting. Ron looked more scared than the kids, a little pale around the gills with one finger pushing on his chin.

He started to speak, but she held her hand out and stopped him. “Would you mind bringing me my phone, it's in the pocket of my purse, on the side.” She smiled sweetly and crossed her hands in her lap.

At that moment, Ron resembled a deer caught in the headlights.“I'll do better, I promise. I'll cook and clean, anything you tell me to do...please don't call your mother,” Ron begged, like a child caught with his hand in the aquarium.

A smile slowly spread across her face. “Phone.” Janet was able to relax and forget about everything except the dinner she would enjoy tonight.

Ron, Mica and Ben sulked, shoulders hunched forward, heads down as they made their way to the kitchen to dump the glass and put the broom away.

Within the hour, her mother the Colonel arrived, groceries in hand. “Attennnn-tion!”

Janet enjoyed her dinner immensely, on a tray in the family room with her foot resting on pillows. She enjoyed hearing the orders barked by her mother to the kids and Ron even more, as they cleaned up the kitchen. She could just imagine their faces...