The Corn and the Ol Cobb

　

The day had been filled with one mishap after another, frustrating to say the least, for those that had to participate. Holidays always seem to bring a bit of disappointment to me on the farm. It seems to be the only time of the entire year that the hay is ready to be cut or baled or transferred from the field, bringing the family together yet again, however not in a picnic setting. Yes, when there is hay to be cut everyone must participate. Oh no, there is no choice in the matter. It is the way...

On one of these days the ol farmers wife had been ill. To the point that morning, he had been concerned enough to ask if she needed to go to the doctor. Of course not she replied, she would feel better as soon as this flu had run it's course. Now we all know how the flu can affect one's need to stay close to home. The day had gone by with little relief and the wife was not feeling well at all. The heat that had climbed up into the 90's hadn't helped the situation either. Well, around 4 o'clock, the ol farmer came bursting into the house and told her to bring the truck to the field and hook up to a trailer. He just as quickly went back out the door without another word, or an answer. Giving it a good slam too, to emphasize that he had spoken and that was that! It was hay day!

Well, the wife got herself up off the sofa and dressed. Making her way to the field and hooking up that blessed trailer, the sweat had soaked her clothes and her eyes were burning from it. Climbing back into the truck and pulling up beside the bale to be loaded, she began to think of the blessings of marriage and farming. Picturing the words overlapping one another, in other words, one was synonymous with the other and today was not the day to test the joys of marriage. Just as she pictured another font in her mindless word scramble, the old farmer came to the truck and peered into the window at her. He wanted to remind her not to run the air conditioner because it might over heat the truck.

Ok, thanks for the heads up honey...or was it jealousy? He didn't have a dry spot on him anywhere and was sun burned to boot. Yes, that was it. Pure jealousy. I, the wife, had the truck with the air in it and he was on an open tractor. Oh well, so sad I thought as I turned up the air and pointed the vent to my face. Oh my, it felt so good I positioned all the vents to the various positions that pointed to every inch of myself! Ha! I thought. My own little holiday celebration. I smiled, as I wished that I were closer to the house in case of...need. But feeling better now that I could feel that cool air against my skin, just me and not him. So sad, as I watch him wipe the sweat from his eyes so he could see again, through the fog of dirt and hay seeds flying around him, sticking to the sweat as if with glue.

I lean out the window and holler to him, you look good that way honey! He doesn't laugh or smile, humph. He must be in a bad mood..oh yeah..he has been on that tractor all day long. I truly am starting to feel better now as I turn the music up..loud in my air conditioned truck. Uh oh, I missed the signal to move forward to receive another bale on my trailer. I cut the music down a bit now, so that I really can pay attention. You know, I wouldn't want to make him mad... Hmm..maybe I can rock the truck a bit back and fourth so that he can't drop the bale, you know, being a woman I just can't do things like a man. Being blond helps too. lol Now this is starting to be fun, pretending that I can't drive the truck into the right position. Holidays...

Just as I suspected would happen, he gets off the tractor and comes over to the truck. His head is down and his stride is long and fast. Oh, and look at those little fists clenched into a ball. I hide my smile and lean out the window asking ever so sweetly if everything is alright. He proceeds to tell me in a voice so loud that the words can't be decoded, that I need to keep the truck stopped while he is putting the bale on. He then goes into a dissertation of keeping the bales tight so they don't fall off while going down the road. I raise my head and smile. Uh oh..no he's not..yes, he is pointing... at me with a big ol finger in my face. Poor thing, hasn't he learned anything after all these years? My smile turns into a thin line as I reply, ok Daddy.

That stopped his tirade of how to drive a truck. Yes, he had learned his lesson now. He knew he was in for it, as my son a few yards away sitting on the other tractor just shook his head and laughed. He knew this was going to be a long night now. He gets off his tractor and comes over to the ol farmer. They talk for a few minutes and the ol farmer gets on the other tractor as my son takes over loading my trailer. Tricked!! My own son has gotten the best of me, just as I was planning my revenge so sweetly. I feel the heat rising now, as I know now I must behave. After all, my son had nothing to do with my being there, it wasn't his fault. I am thoroughly disgusted that I don't get the opportunity to rock that truck and make things difficult, when my sweet son is smart enough to ask if I feel ok.
Yep, my heart has melted and I am now contented to behave and do my job..the right way. The day got longer as we continue into the night to tote those bales and put them safely in the barn.

Everyone is tired and hot as we head to the house to finally grab some kind of dinner. I pull out leftovers and make everyone a plate, thinking how grateful that I had enough to make a meal for them quickly. Thinking too, that the ol farmer would feel better now with a good meal in his belly and the cool air on his face. No...I was wrong. He must not feel too much better as he says he will have to feed the sweet corn to the cows that we had planned to have on this holiday since I didn't get it fixed for dinner. Of course his meaning was, that he had counted on that corn for dinner and he was disappointed, so his smarmy remark at 10 o'clock at night didn't quite sit with me, not quite at all.

Of course, he has no memory at all that I have the flu, actually, the day has gotten so completely out of whack, I really don't know if I still have a head. The remark about the corn however has struck a chord. Fine, you want corn so bad, you sir, will get corn. I pull out the bag of corn and start to shuck it. In the middle of the kitchen floor. I place each fine kerneled piece into a pan on the stove, the water is starting to boil now, much like my blood. He is trying to apologize with all his might at this point, telling me he didn't mean it, he is so sorry. I continue to shuck corn, not saying a word. He hangs his head and proceeds to pick up the shucks I have carelessly (purposly) let fly on the floor. My son doesn't know if it's appropriate to laugh or not, after all, this ol farmer is his stepfather.
He can stand it no more and rolls into uncontrollable laughter. It's catching and we are all finally standing in the middle of corn shucks laughing our heads off.

We did finally enjoy that corn on the cob that night, dripping in butter and laughter, after much ado about it on my part of course, you know, being a woman. Now that we were all fed and full, everyone was in a better mood, even me. My flu seemed to have...boiled away.　
　
　
　
　

Caretakers Of The Land

Farming:
Definition:
I found this definition while searching for the definition of farming today. I wanted to see what the perception of farming is by the bankers, traders, computer techies and even teachers and the web search engines. Not exactly what I expected to find.　

There's one thing that almost all successful real estate agents have done to develop their business in a specific area or market demographic. They "farm" the area for business. The term farm implies growing something. That's what you do when you farm a local subdivision. You plant the seeds of future business, nurture them with marketing and then hopefully reap the rewards in commissions.

The majority of people today all live in suburbia, surrounded by homes just alike. They each strive to see who can produce the nicest yards, the most lush green grass, with just the right amount of trees and shrubs to enhance the beauty of their home. Yes, they are pleased during the summer months with the results of watering their lawns as they sit on the outdoor furniture and admire their labors. Their quarter acre has cost them quite a sum of money for the results however. The many trips to the big box store for seed and fertilizer was worth it though, they have a beautiful lawn and it shows to all of their neighbors.They are pleased with their labors. These are the people that the realtor's " Farm".

The realtor is almost like the coyote sitting in the edge of the woods, waiting for his opportunity to steal a calf. He's patient and waits for the herd to leave the calf on the edge of the pasture...
stealing in at the moment the calf is asleep. The mother never knowing what happened..but searching frantically to find her baby, back and fourth she travels across the fields...in vain.

Beyond suburbia's world of busy lives so filled with things to do, a farmer stands leaning on a fence post with a blade of dry grass between his lips. He stares at the fields in front of him, with the grass burning up from lack of water, the rains won't come this year. He looks up to the sky in hopes of seeing a cloud with some water in it to quench the thirsty blades before him, he can't find a single one, the sky is clear and blue. He is taken back to a time when the field was barely covered by grass. He and his father had cleared the land of stumps and briars with a mule and sore hands and backs. It took them many months to make the land useful, with sweat and hard work, pulling out tree stumps to make way for the crop. The man was only a boy when he helped his father guide the mules across the land, to till it and then seed it and bring it to fruition, with a harvest to bring in come fall. Times have changed since then, progress has brought the tools to work many more acres than could be done with a mule and one man.

Progress brought them a tractor one day, along with a payment they weren't sure they could make and still put food on the table for the winter. But the garden had provided well for the winter months to come, and the hams and bacon were hanging in the smoke house, providing food for the winter. Cool fall days brought the local folks together to make sausage in large quantities. This was the way it was done, so that everyone could have the homemade sausage fried up with eggs and biscuits. Homemade biscuits, because the stores didn't have them lining the shelves to be bought everyday. This was the way, of the past.
Homemade clothes and homemade bread. The women didn't work outside of the home. There wouldn't have been time even if there had been a job to go to. They were few, back then.

The boy grew into a man and took over the care of the land, his father now too crippled from the years of labor to continue, as he sits in the truck and watches his son, unwilling to turn away completely from the land. The son, now grown with his own family, continues to care for the land in hopes that it will return to him the means to feed his own family another year.
Every year he goes to the bank and borrows enough money to take care of the land and grow a crop, doing the best he could to care for it, the land. Paying back the loan after the harvest, and what ever was left he could care for his family and maybe provide a few extras this year. The family couldn't afford all the things that others did, but they knew and understood, the land had to be cared for in order for them to eat. Each child knew that food was a precious commodity and they enjoyed the many meals from the garden. Each one of them had held those tomatoes in their hands and knelt on the ground to pick the potatoes up after they were dug, taking part in the garden that would provide them with food for many months.

The crop the farmer had raised was sold to put food food on the table for people all over the country. These people go to the store today and purchase all their food needs, without a single thought to how it is produced or that it will ever be gone. Farming, a word that is beneath their dignity. For most of the city dwellers that run to the store and buy most anything their hearts desire, think of "farmers" as low class people with dirt under their nails. Not someone they would invite into their homes for a meal. How ironic, that the people that feed the nation are thought of as lower class by the millions that enjoy filling their bellies every single day and demand good products in plentiful amounts. What if...the products become not so good..or not so healthy..

Standing in line at the local fair a mother smiles and asks the lady next to her what she does for a living. The well dressed lady replies that they are farmers and smiles. The mother moves away a few steps, not wanting to be too near...she was repelled by the word "farmer". The woman loved all the jellies and jams in the booth that had won ribbons, she was impressed with those, but not the farmer as she moved away. Her perception of what a farmer consisted of was a black and white picture from the twenties of a poor farmer, holding a shovel covered in dirt. She had no idea how those jellies had come to be in those jars, but more importantly, she didn't wonder at all. To her, the jars just got filled magically for her to purchase. How the food is produced, and how long it takes, has no impact on her. She works in an office with a very important job to do, food would always just be there for her, just because. She has no thougths or knowledge of caring for the land or the path that the food chain is on. For her, the land is where her house sits and she isn't capable of thinking past this. The woman with the important job and a mortgage, not understanding at all.

The farmers children understood how the land provided for them, giving back to them for the labor their father poured into it, seven days a week and long hours, leaving him tired when they wanted him to come to a game or go to a school play.
He did go to those games and was proud of his children as they strived to do their best, win or lose. Not always able to go to those games though, he had to be in the fields to beat the rains or the heat. He had instilled in them how to do their best by example, caring for the land. The man is old now too, past seventy, and yet he still takes care of the land as he has for almost all of those seventy years. His hands are riddled with arthritis now, showing the years and the hard work they have done, but he's not done yet. He takes care of the land now too, bent and humbled by the riches the land has given to him. Oh not by money, to be sure. But riches none the less.
The land had been in this family for generations, these caretakers didn't need someone that had never even lived on a farm, telling them how to take care of it now, the new way. Caring for it had been bred into them. But tell them they would, as politics came to the farm in a shiny new car and told them the better way to do things now, times were changing he was told. Worry creased the wrinkle in his brow as he thought about this.
The young man who stood in shiny shoes he didn't want to get dirty as he held out the map for the farmer to see, had never held the tools in his hands to till the land. This young man had never spent weeks and months, waiting and praying for the rain to come with sweat running down his back, from dawn til dusk. The young man got back in his car as the farmer got in his truck and headed back the same way he had come, from the city, with very clean hands and shoes.. and not a drop of sweat on his shirt.

What will happen to all those people in the city when the last farmer has laid down his plough? Of course the small farmer doesn't feed the masses by himself, but all together they will and do. The way it's been done for generations, handed down by families to care for the land and produce the food that feeds our country. Should we look to other countries for our food now? Have we progressed so far that we can't see beyond the end of our road? America has always been a great country, with great caretakers of the land and that hasn't changed. The politics have changed, gaining the power to govern how we take care of the land. Can you imagine what the landscape of our country will look like if bureaucracy takes over every inch of the land left in this country? Suburbia will take over for a while and fill the fields of grass with houses of wood and stone, before anyone notices that the landscape has disappeared.

No more fences along the miles of lush green pastures with horses and cattle grazing the fields for people to marvel at as they drive past on their way to a vacation spot. No more farmhouses with mothers making jelly and jam. No more children learning to care for the land and the way of life that has sustained our country for so very long.
Then what, what will be left in America? Will the grocery stores dot every corner with shelves filled to the brim..or will it resemble other countries..and have empty store shelves without a loaf of bread? Children looking to their parents with hollow empty eyes, hungry. Parents hanging their heads without an answer. They didn't know, they didn't know.

Farmers have long been the first environmentalists of this country. They didn't go to college to learn how to feed the land, the knowledge was passed down from one generation to the next. Rotating the crops from year to year so the land would remain fertile. The caretakers of the land learned from hard work, how to give back to the land so that it would continue to produce and return to them food for people and livestock. As time went on and progress reached the farmers, they took out the loans for the equipment to make bigger crops, hoping for a better future. Today, one piece of equipment can cost as much as a house. It won't last as long though, it will have to be replaced before too many years pass, much higher than a lawnmower too.

Long before the enlightened, progressive, well dressed college grads were born, the lowly farmer has taken care of the land. The land in return, has taken care of the people, the city people and the country people, all of them.
　
　
　
 

Brothers That Crab Together....

Two little boys lay on the pier under the hot sun. The heat is unbearable as they splash water onto the boards to cool them off. The youngest boy has sun bleached curls and the other has almost black hair, brothers. Being four years apart in age, they fight as most brothers do, over silly things that don't matter. The fights never last for long and soon they are again laughing over something silly, the words forgotten and no bruises to show for their momentary anger.

Both little boys are darkly tanned from spending endless hours on the beach, searching for treasures or pieces of driftwood to give to their grandmother as gifts. The week they have spent at the cottage has gone by far faster than they had imagined. The week before they left to head to the cottage they made plans for every moment they would be there, from dawn to dark and beyond. They would blow up the raft and put the small boat in the water every single day. They were so excited they couldn't sleep and spent hours in the dark each night whispering about their plans, so their mom wouldn't hear and tell them to hush.

The day finally arrived to leave and the boys started packing the car before everything was even packed in the containers, they couldn't wait! Frustrated by having to unpack and make sure she had all the stuff they would need for a week, mom wasn't nearly as excited as the boys were. She sure took her sweet time re-doing all the groceries too! But they finally packed the last bag of groceries and left to pick up Grandma. It was excruciating waiting for the adults to load the last items and get settled back in the car again. By this time, the boys were exhausted from waiting to get started, so they both fell asleep in the car for almost the entire ride.

As their mom made the turn onto the road to their cottage, they awoke, as if knowing from the sound of the pavement, they were finally there and the long wait was over. Pulling into the yard the boys couldn't contain themselves any longer. They fell out of the car and scrambled up on their feet, heading straight to the beach at a full run. Of course, mom was calling them back to help take everything into the house first. They looked at each other with a knowing grin and started to grab bags and boxes. The car was unpacked in record time and off they went, leaving their shoes along the way throughout the yard.

Their mother watched as they headed up the beach, smiling and laughing together. This was the way she had always pictured her boys. Enjoying each other and happy to be together on the beach. Of course, she knew that this would wear thin as the days went by, but still..it gave her heart the warmest feeling to watch them run free. There was little to worry about here at the cottage, located on an island that was safe for kids to roam. They had been taught at an early age to honor other peoples property and they respected this, knowing where they could cut through and where they shouldn't. But if no one was home....

The boys soon came back to the house starving. They had forgotten in their excitement that it was well past lunchtime. As soon as they had filled their tummy's with tuna sandwiches, they headed out to get their first order of business on the way, putting the boat in the water. They had never done this on their own before and soon discovered that their uncle must have been doing most of the work. They soon devised a way to hook a rope over both of them, like oxen, and pulled the boat down to the beach. Mom had been watching from the porch, making sure they wouldn't get hurt and deciding to go help with the last stretch over the sand, the toughest part. The boat was finally in the water and they tied it to the jetty while they went to the porch to get all the gear that had to be put in it. The oars, life jackets, extra ropes and their own cooler filled with drinks and bait. They were ready. Boy, it sure took a long time to get here. Oh no! They had forgotten the crab nets, an absolute must have. Another trip up to the house.

Ten minutes later they are happily paddling among the waves, toward their favorite spot to crab. Not too far out in front of the cottage were a set of sand bars. The boys could anchor the boat and get out of the boat to search for crabs, grabbing them stealthily with their nets. Pure joy would cover their faces with each prize they captured. Rowing in was more work than they had remembered and they were tiring after the long day of waiting.

Finally they reached the shore and pulled the boat up onto the sand. Grabbing their prized basket of crabs they found new energy as they hurried to the house to show their catch to their grandmother. Proud and sun burnt, they were delighted when the crabs were put into the pot to cook. The two brothers had provided their grandmother with her favorite thing, crabs. She loved to pick the tender meat from the crabs when they were done, but the boys were a little offended when she asked them to help. After all, they had done the hard part, by capturing them and bringing them to her. They did help for awhile until they were making more mess than help. They were soon allowed to head back out again.

The days were sunny and long, as the boys traveled the beach each day. Their skin turned the color of bronze and their smiles were constant. Not a moment of bickering had taken place and they shared in the delight of the other with each new find. They had collected shells and sea urchins, driftwood and sponges that stank. The treasures were kept on the porch in bushel baskets. Finding that they had filled the baskets and now didn't have anything to put the crabs in, they had to throw some of it back to the beach, letting the waves take it back out to sea again. As they watched it go they weren't even sad, they knew exactly where to find more when they found something to put it in. That was the deal their mom had made with them. As long as it was all kept together in something, out on the porch, they could collect as much as they wanted.

One of the boys, the older of the two, decided as he watched the objects they had found, head out to sea, that some other boys would find them on the other side of the water. They filled much of their time with wonderings of what the other boys would be like, laughing and comparing themselves to the imaginary ones they were sure had found their treasures by now.

Each day was new and exciting for them as they headed out each morning before breakfast. Each night they were asleep as soon their heads hit the pillows. The week had been restful and fun for their mom and grandmother too. Simple meals, mostly crabs, made life easy for them as well. The wonderful week had come to an end though, and it was time to go home. The boys begged to go crabbing one more time. The boat had been pulled to the house and put away, so they would have to go up the beach a ways to a favorite pier. They were told they could go, but to be back in an hour. They yelled thanks as they flew out the door and grabbed the nets, two chicken necks tucked into their pockets for bait.

The grandmother was anxious now to get home, since the time had already been planned to leave and she was getting a little upset that the boys weren't back on time. Their mom, knowing how boys lose track of time, suggested they just pack up the car and drive to the pier and pick them up. Grandma was a bit grizzly at this point, having to spend the time and effort to go pick them up. Mom tried to appease her with the suggestion they stop for lunch on the way home. Somewhat mollified by this suggestion, she dearly loved the shrimp salad at a place that was right on their way, she helped put the final bags in the trunk and got in the car, still not happy.

Their mom knew exactly where they would be. She and her brother had spent many hours there as children and she knew how easy it was to lose track of time. Pulling up close to the pier, but out of sight, they saw the boys. One was lying on his stomach on the pier pulling up, ever so gently, the string with the crab holding onto the chicken. Just it got almost to the pier, the other one swiped the net under it with precision. Jumping up from his position on the pier, the other boy looked into the net with excitement. You would have thought he had pulled gold from the placid water the inlet held by the look on his face. The grandmother had begun to smile as she watched the scene in front of her unfold. Watching the simple joys of being a boy, her heart had melted. The mother said to her, Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn, as she smiled at her boys in the cut off jeans with no shirts and no shoes. Grandma understood finally, as they sat for sometime watching. The boys were so intent on the job at hand they didn't see them. Sitting in the car patiently waiting now, the grandmother was glad that the boys were so happy and free, seeing them in another world now, all their own. The time they had spent watching the boys had been worth much more than getting on the road to home for grandma. She had found a new appreciation for the crab net that day, and her grand boys.

The memories of the week would fade with time, but this day would stay forever in the memories of the mother. Her boys...sharing moments and a string.

No new toy, or even a new bike could have made those boys happier than they were at that time. The simple joy of crabbing with a net and a string, were more than enough for the two brothers at the cottage.

　
　
　
　
　
　
　

　

　

　

　

If I Could Fly...

　

Peeking through the crack in the door, I watch as two young children play. The table is set for four with teacups and napkins. The napkins are leftover from Halloween, and the teacups are pink and white. One child has a hat with flowers and ribbon around it, the other has a tie wrapped around their neck, twisted in a knot of sorts. The tiny little neck won't let the tie stay in place and he pulls on it constantly to get it out of the way.

The bread for the peanut butter sandwiches is squished and flattened and torn, with the peanut butter sliding off the sides. It's cut in two slices of unequal portions and gently placed on a paper plate, one half for each of them. Several forks and spoons, made of plastic are scattered around the table too, with teddy bears in the extra seats. The girl in the hat pours the pretend tea into the tiny cups and takes a dainty a sip. With a huge smile and her eyes wide, she nods to her brother that it's wonderful.

Of course, the child with the big floppy hat is the oldest of the two and makes all the decisions. With hands on her hips and a wobbly walk in her mothers shoes, she gives instructions to her younger brother. He gets up from the table and pulls out her chair for her to sit down, with a big sigh and a rolling of the eyes and a sigh. He stands beside her and picks up her sandwich off the plate. Right before it touches his lips, she has her hand on it and throws it back on the plate telling him he has to wait, pointing her finger to his chair. He rolls his eyes again as she stands up and points to his chair, her lips pouting with authority, as only a five year old girl can do. He obeys and sits in his chair, but...

He has stared at that sandwich now until he just has to have a bite. No longer interested in the game, he grabs the sandwich and runs from the room and her mighty stare, his tie flying off and landing on the floor. He doesn't care, he's free from the dreaded "tea party". I step back, so he doesn't trip over my feet and watch him run to his own room, chewing gleefully on the crumbly sandwich. She stomps her feet and falls off the shoes. She's not hurt, but now she has no one to boss around. She fumes for a minute, with those little fists on her hips, ahh..practice makes perfect. It's perfectly alright to take this stance in her own room, with no one to tell her to stop throwing a fit. Taking the shoes and placing them on the table where her brother had sat, now she could boss around the child that only she could see, her invisible guest. They played for some time, until she was tired of wearing the hat that kept falling over her eyes. She takes it off and tosses it on the bed among the giant pile of stuffed animals.

Climbing up on the bed and making room among the stuffed animals for her new friend to sit beside her, they read a book quite intensely and she points at the pictures as she turns the pages. She's barely five and reads this book from memory, missing some words, but telling the story beautifully. Finishing the book, so comfy and relaxed, she lies on the bed, her eyelids starting to close, and her little head falls off the pillow. She turns over and hugs her pillow, fast asleep. So quickly and softly sleep has covered her, the party is done for today.

Creeping down the hall to the other room, I can see her brother lying on the floor in the midst of cars and trucks with a red one in his hand, fast asleep. I pick him up, he doesn't  stir, and lay him on the bed. Standing over him, loving the chubby lips and perfect nose, his long eyelashes on his perfect cheek, I want to hug him forever and protect him from falling or crying or feeling left out. My brain tells me that will never happen, but it's nice to think it could for a moment. My mommy moment..of only I could...

They don't stay little for more than a day it seems to me. Just yesterday, they were cuddled in blankets in my arms, patient and calm, as they slept peacefully next to my heart.
Tomorrow and the day after are impatiently awaited on by them, they have so much to do! But I am quite happy with today, to watch them sleep and wonder what they will dream. From here I can see they are safe. Once out of my sight, that soon will come, I can't always catch them before they fall. If they could stay this age forever, I might save them from the boo boos and heartbreak, I might! They grow with every breath of air that stirs and even though I'll try, I can't stop the wind. They will go to school and out of my sight, and stretch their wings and grow so fast and tall...

The bruised knees and the lost baseball games, no front teeth and pants that don't fit. Playing in the mud puddle and looking up to find me watching from the window, smiling up at me with joy, because it's ok to play. I wish it could stay this way, for a little while..
Little girls and boys trying so hard to grow up..they won't remember everything they learn along the way...or tea parties in the afternoon, but I will.. as I catch their tears in my hands and hold onto them for a moment longer.

If I could fly.....I could catch them whenever they fall or get their feelings hurt...if I could fly...
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　
　

What Was I Thinking

How in the world do I get myself in these situations?!! Yes I pride myself on being able to help with some of the stuff on the farm, but I thought I had learned to hide and pretend that I am a helpless female. Unable to even understand what is needed of me...when I don't want to help, or rather, don't want to do certain...jobs. It has taken me all this time to realize that my husband pretends, yes he pretends to not understand that I am a woman. Weak and helpless and dumb! I look around as if I can't even see what he is talking about, I am blonde you know! But it doesn't work today. Oh no, it didn't work at all today.

Now, I know that most people have never "loaded" little calves onto a cattle trailer. I should hope not! That should be reserved for the farmers of the world..hmm..or really dumb people! Why do they have to be moved anyway? Why can't they just play right here in the front of the house until they grow up to be a manageable little beasts? No, of course not. We have to send them down the road today, to the better pastures..yes, yes, I know! I just don't like it!

I am not wearing boots either! Sometimes that works and I don't actually have to go into the corral, not today. Darn! I have on my lime green rubber clogs that don't work too well if I have to run from side to side to head that little bugger off, and they fall off. He must know that too! He runs and stops and turns so fast my hip is out of joint in the first few minutes, because for some reason, I think I can keep up with his quick turns and fast get aways. Not! Now, I must explain that my husband is six foot three, yep, long legs. Do you think he is running after that calf? No! He is standing among the mommas looking at me as if I should have had that calf in the trailer by now, so he could get on with the job at hand.

My chest has now made my shirt a moving target as I try to regain my breath, up and
down it moved with each breath I struggled to regain. I look around me to find something to get my husbands mind off of my sad attempts to move the calf in the right direction, you know, a diversion, to gain some time. I spy a gate and suggest we set it up so the calf doesn't have so much room to run around me. Aha! He agrees with me. Reprieve for a moment and I hide the fact that I can't breath, behind bending over to pick up the end of the gate.Ugh! What a good idea this was! It weighs 300 pounds and he is yelling at me to move my end around. Will this day ever end? Ha, I have an idea. I ask him what he wants for dinner. Hummph! He says. I thought surely the idea of food would distract him, not today. No, today he wants my full attention devoted to the little devils in front of me.

He strides over to the far end of the corral and leans on his stick. This is a fiber glass stick used to gently move the cows around with, or protect me! I don't own one, just the big old man has one. It could keep that calf from getting away from me again too if I had one..to lean on. Fine, I'll show you, I think. I have my breath back and I devise a plan to end this madness sooner than later. I am going to tackle that calf...maybe. Uh..no, not such a good idea after all, as I look around at the condition of the corral. Wet and slippery, but not from rain..ewww..a little messy to be rolling around after a calf on.

Fine! I'll just keep chasing him til he heads into the newly appointed trap, the gate that will hold him in place. Just as I figure out how to move my fumbling feet in front of him, my husband decides to help. He yells and steps toward the calf sending him running headlong down the funnel the gate has created. Yea! He is right where we want him, I think, as I realize I am down in the.uh..mud. Suddenly, my husband yells as loud as he can. Hold that gate, he's going out the other end!!! We hadn't counted on that when we fixed our idea in place with baling twine.

I rush to the board fence without thinking and stick my arm through and grab hold of the other gate. The little demon is pushing as hard as he can, knowing it is the gateway to freedom from this madness he has found himself in. Oh yes, it is a he, a nice little bull about 400 pounds. As I hold onto the metal gate with all the strength I have in one arm, the gate suddenly rises in the air, with my arm caught in between the wood fence boards. I grab it harder and pull, completely forgetting that I don't want my husband to know I can do this. By some miracle, the bull backs off and calms down, knowing he truly can't get through after all. I have held him in, all by myself....dumb.My husband walks, yes walks, or rather meanders over to the gate and tells me to let go, as if he has the situation well in hand now, you know, being a man. I can't let go I scream at him. Finally, slowly I peel my fingers from around the metal that had taken hold of me as if it had super glue attached to it. My fingers are white from holding on so tight and no longer want to work at all. My husband starts to laugh and I look at him with daggers wondering what is so doggone funny at this particular moment. He laughs a little harder and says, "I didn't know you could rodeo all by yourself!"

I tried so hard not to laugh, I really didn't want to give him the satisfaction, but I couldn't help myself. We both giggled and laughed as we figured out, looking closer, that little demon had pushed the gate completely off it's hinges. The only thing holding it in was, me! Now, I'm really worried. I should have let that calf go through the gate the first time, allowing my husband to think he should have done it all by himself in the first place, because I am a useless woman. Oh no, not me. I had to let him be proud of me.

What was I thinking? How dumb could I be? I had completely forgotten to be blonde!　

　



　

　

　

　

　

　

　

　

Three Sheets In The Woods

The woods that backed up to the yard had always seemed dark and scary to Jacob and he never chose to play close to them. At nine years old, almost ten, he still had some fears to overcome. Jacob was a happy kid most of the time and found lots of things to do without complaining to his parents that he was bored. Video games were a favorite of his older brother who was twelve, but Jacob preferred to use his imagination playing with his cars and trucks outside. He would be the driver and took all kinds of trips on the many roads that he created in the dirt in the back yard. Jacob would become so involved in his building and driving that he would lose track of time, playing for hours.

His brother and his friends would go off into the woods, playing near the creek that ran through them. Dragging fallen trees over to the edge and pull them across to make bridges for them to become Robin Hood and his troop of thieves. Climbing on the bridges they made and sword fighting with their homemade weapons, the boys would come home completely drenched most of the time, having knocked one another off into the shallow water, laughing with glee at their accomplishments. The older boys never invited Jacob to go with them, feeling they were far older and that Jacob wouldn't know how to join in the heroic actions they would undertake. He was a baby in their eyes and they teased him more than they should have most of the time, leaving Jacob feeling that there must be something wrong with him.

Jacob would spend a good bit of time staring in the mirror each day, looking for some change in his appearance. The older boys called him "stupid face", most of the time, rarely by his name. This made Jacob question what it was about his face that looked stupid. He would pull his eyes down and squish in his nose to change the face looking back at him in the mirror, but nothing worked. He wanted to ask his mother, but he was afraid if she didn't already know that he had a stupid face, she would discover it. Jacob began to hide in the background at school and other functions thinking that if people couldn't see him, they wouldn't know how he looked. He spent more time alone at home too, thinking the sad thoughts of a young boy, that he just wasn't good enough.

His family had no idea that Jacob felt so bad about himself, they thought he was just a quiet child that preferred to play by himself. His mother would smile as Jacob went to his room to play when the other boys would be in front of the television laughing and rough housing. His father spent long hours at work and didn't take much notice of things at home. Even on Sundays, his only day off, he was busy with chores around the house, taking little notice of the quiet young boy playing in the dirt. Occasionally in the fall, he would give the boys the job of raking the leaves and placing them in bags to be picked up by the City trucks, fussing at them when they took too long at the job, because they had no idea how to work together. Each had to rake and fill their own bags. Jacob didn't mind the job at all, because he could clean up the area that he loved to play in. His brother was more anxious to go off with his friends, so he would scatter the leaves that Jacob had raked up just for meanness, as brothers will do.

Older brothers seem to have built in radar when it comes to scaring the pudding out of the little brothers. Jacob's brother had an abundance of this trait. One fall day as the shadows of the day began to fall early in the afternoon, the older boys decided to play on joke on Jacob as he played in the dirt. They took white sheets from the closet upstairs and snuck off to the woods. As dusk quickly approached, they put on the sheets and proceeded to become the ghosts of the woods, waving theirs arms slowly about, so very proud of themselves.

Jacob had continued to play in the dirt roads and didn't notice them head in the direction of the woods. He was usually so engrossed in his roads he didn't pay too much attention to anything going on around him. Suddenly he heard a noise behind him and sat up on his knees to look around. At first he couldn't see anything, but just as he was about to bend down, something caught his eye. He stopped still, with a car in his hand, not moving a muscle. Squinting his eyes he looked at the woods edge. Behind a tree he could see a slight movement of something..it was white..or gray. It began to move..slowly it became bigger and was coming closer through the woods. Then he saw another and another! It swayed back and fourth in slow motion as it moved ever closer to the edge of the woods. Then Jacob heard a loud moan, as if someone was in great pain. He was frozen on his knees and couldn't move.

Suddenly, the white ghostly shapes disappeared. The boys had dropped to the ground to cover their hysterical laughter and sneak back from sight, making a clean getaway. Jacob looked a little longer to make sure they were gone before he jumped to his feet and ran into the house, slamming the door quickly shut behind him. With the loud slamming of the door his mother came to see what had happened. Jacob was as white as the sheets he had witnessed in the woods. She came over to him and felt his forehead, checking for a fever. Jacob told her he was fine and went straight to his room. As he opened the door he peered inside first, checking to be sure there were no ghosts lying in wait for him.

Jacob laid on his bed and realized that he was breathing hard, as if he had been running. He stayed on the bed and looked around his room, making sure nothing had come in when he closed his eyes for a moment. Soon his mother called him to dinner. He walked into the kitchen to find his father and brother looking at something intently. Jacob sat in his chair and listened to his father. He had found a key out in the yard beside the walk. They were turning it over and over, trying to figure out what it might fit and how it had come to find it's way there. Jacob had an idea how it must have gotten there, but didn't say a word. His father sat down in his chair and laid the key on the table. Jacob stared at it.

When dinner was just about done, Jacob asked his father if he could have the key. His father told him, sure, he could have the key. Jacob took the key to his room and put in his special box. The box held all sorts of things that Jacob thought were important. A tiny car, string, money and now the key. He locked the box with the tiny key and put it safely in his underwear drawer. Jacob knew that his brother would never go rummaging through his underwear to find something, so that's where he kept important things too. Jacob thought if the key were locked up, no ghosts would be able to come in the house at night, when they were asleep.

He laid back on the bed and felt better. If the ghosts had dropped that key while trying to get in the house he had stopped them. He and his family would be safe tonight. Jacob didn't sleep well that night and woke up feeling groggy and slow. His mother again touched his head and cheeks to check for fever. Finding no sign of one, she sent him out the door to the bus.

Jacob's brother and his friends had left the sheets close to the woods so they could put them back on the next day and continue to scare his little brother. They were so caught up in making sure their sheets would flow out when they raised their arms, they didn't notice that Jacob was not in his usual place in the yard. They had even brought a fake gun that made a loud noise, to up the anty of Jacobs fear. The boys laughed hysterically and practiced their best ghost motions while they waited for it to get almost dark.

Jacob had stayed in his room that day feeling tired from his restless night, and rested on his bed. Feeling better, he got up and sat at the window, peering into the yard at his play area. While he was looking, he noticed his brother and his friends going into the woods at the far corner of the yard. They were carrying...something white! Jacob ran down the hall and looked in the linen closet. Sure enough, there were linens falling down from the shelves and it was completely messed up. His brother had gotten those sheets from here!
Jacob was madder than he had ever been with his brother at that moment. He had been tricked! Jacob thought and thought, he had to come up with a way to fix his brother. Finally, he knew what he had to do. He went to his closet and found his flashlight, turning it on to be sure that the batteries were still good. He went down the stairs and out the front door, heading to the street. He ran up the street past two houses and cut across the yard there. He ran to the edge of the woods and stopped. He was afraid. A tear ran down his cheek from fear and a little disgust at himself too. Jacob took a deep breath and told himself he had to do this if he ever wanted any peace from his brother.

He stepped into the shadows of the woods and looked around, it was almost dark and he had to adjust his eyes. To his surprise, he could see all around him and he couldn't be seen from the yard. This wasn't so bad after all, he discovered. He carefully crept toward the woods behind his own house, where his brother was crouched beside a tree. He could see them now in their white shrouds, kneeling on the ground and whispering to one another. He crept closer and got down on his hands and knees, being careful not to disturb the leaves underneath, making no noise at all. He stayed very still when he had gotten close enough to hear what they were saying. They were giggling and saying that Jacob would really be scared tonight, when he heard the gunshot. Everything was going according to their plan and they were having fun.

Jacob almost laughed outloud when he heard this. He knew that his brother had the fake gun, he had gotten it for a birthday several years ago. What they didn't know was, Jacob had brought along a little noise maker too. The boys stood up and began to move about, in their best ghostly moves. One of them stopped, looking for Jacob. Jacob knew that this was the moment to make his move. He began to run toward them and lifted his air horn up to the air and let it blow, long and loud and making sounds like an animal in the sticks and leaves as he thrashed through the underbrush.

The boys screamed like girls and took off running toward the house, tripping and falling on the sheets as they ran. Jacob had scared them to death! He laid down on the leaves and laughed til his stomach hurt. When he turned over and looked toward the house, all he could see was one last sheet, stuck in the screen door and his brother, the last one in the backdoor. Jacob got up and made his way across the yard, stealthily crouching down and headed back toward the front door. Just as he was about to get to the door he saw his father coming up the walk. He quickly stepped behind a large shrub and held his breath. He wasn't sure if his father would appreciate the fact that he borrowed his prized air horn without permission.

When he was sure that his father had made his way to the kitchen, he quietly went in the door and tip toed up the stairs to his room, putting the air horn back in the closet his father kept it in. Jacob walked over to his mirror and took a long look. Turning his head from side to side, he began to smile...the old sad look had been replaced with a gleem in his eyes and huge smile. Jacob was satisfied with his looks..and his bravery. Those old woods weren't so scary after all. He went down the steps with a new jump in his step and sat down at the table with a grin, as he listened happily to his parents jump all over his brother for ruining three good sheets. His brother wasn't laughing at all now, as he scowled at Jacob, knowing that his little brother had gotten him good.

It was finally a great day for Jacob, and he was hungry!
　
　
　
　

Whispers...

　

Every day we all face demons of one kind or another. The manner in which we face them and live our lives is I think, a determining factor on the outcome. Of course the outcome isn't always the most important factor, traveling forward is the path to wisdom. Having the ability to go forward in times of stress and trouble in a way that embraces life for the moment, rather than watching it pass by is our gift. We can watch life, as if through a looking glass contained in a tiny little circle, or we can open our arms and minds to the broader scene in front of us. Sometimes, if we stand very still and listen, a voice will whisper in our ear. Ever so sweetly, calming us with melodic sounds, the voice telling us to listen and hear it's message. A message that may not be clear for awhile, but if we continue to listen and want to hear, will make clear the message trying to reach us, sending us along the path we are meant to take while holding our hand.

Opening up our hearts and minds and embracing the life we have been loaned for a little while, can lead us to miraculous things. Perhaps not big things, but important things. I believe we are led to every place we visit. I say visit, because we are only given a short period of time to complete the task we have been given, the task of loving and living life. We are all just visiting in the time that we have been loaned. There are those wiling to hear every nuance of the day, allowing it to show them the way. There are also those that run so fast to get to the next place, the whisper is washed away in the wind, floating toward something else, and perhaps landing on another ear. An ear that is listening, for the quiet sounds of guidance and help, to find the path of least resistance or the road to better things to come.

We all need a little help from time to time, knowing when and how to reach for it is the hard part. For some of us the timing of life seems to be somewhat bent, not quite reaching out in a straight line, making us question. Striving to straighten the line that bends us just out of reach of our goals can be defeating for some, for others it gives them the strength to reach just a little bit more... grasping all that they can hold onto. Strength and faith are the bonds that hold us up and keep us going when we want to rest and bend for a bit. Doubt and pity are the chains that keep us tied down without the strength to fight. Chaining ourselves to self pity shortens the life we have borrowed, and we have to give it back and let go, before we have taken the chance to live it to the fullest.

Taking a chance isn't leaping off a bridge to see if you can fly...only to find in mid air... that it wasn't possible. Possibilities are within our grasp all the time, right in front of us, when we listen to the whispers. Life can hit us in the gut and make us feel as though we can't take another step..but we can, by reaching.. and listening. Moving into the struggle and owning it gives us the endurance to listen again.. and again. Step by step we can find the way, it may not find us all at once so we have to be open to the sounds... Finding wisdom along the way to keep with us as we travel the path and to share with others, is the quiet gift we receive. Reaching out to others with a hand when needed is a gift as well. Giving back to us without asking for anything is the whisper we hear.

Listening is the key to finding the way to the strength we have within and allowing it to help guide us forward, gently lending a us moment..of strength. 

Our hearts aren't made of steel or rock and they break as if shattering glass had been placed in our chests sometimes in this life we must meet everyday. Picking up all the pieces and gathering them to us to be put back together isn't easy or quick. Somehow, we've been given the magical glue to hold it together again.. within ourselves. Time isn't always on our side, so we need to be sure that we waste as little as possible. Wishing that we had tried to do something, but waiting too long is a wasted thought. Do it! Go for it. Now, not tomorrow..it might be too late.

"I wish it would rain and give my flowers water." Go get a hose! I wish I were taller and could reach the top shelf." Go get a ladder!"I wish I could fly..." Get over it!　
　
　
　
　
　
　
"

Just In Time

　

Leaving the hospital was extremely painful for Marta, as she looked back at the huge building that had been her home for the past months. The cold rooms had felt warm and comforting to her during her stay. She carefully got into the taxi that the hospital had called for her, knowing it would take her far away from the familiar nurses that had taken care of her and that she had come to count on for companionship. The taxi pulled away and headed in the direction of her home. Anxious now about returning to the house with the small bundle sleeping in her arms, Marta began to clench her fists so hard her nails almost cut into her palms. She looked down at her hands and thought to herself that she would have to cut the nails, so she wouldn't take a chance of scratching the baby.

The taxi pulled up to the house sooner than Marta was ready for. The driver got out and took her things out of the trunk, sitting them on the driveway. Marta carefully got out and looked toward the door. There was no sign of life inside and not a single light shone through the curtains at the windows. She held onto her baby and slowly walked to the door. Managing to find the key in her purse, she put it in the door and turned it. It opened just as it always had. As she stepped inside, the stale odor of the house hit her in the face, from being closed up and left alone for so long. Leaving the door open to allow the fresh air to come in, she laid the sleeping baby on the sofa. Standing up and turning around, she realized that this sad welcome for her child was all there was.

Slowly, she walked outside to bring in all the things on the driveway. All the necessities to take care of the baby were in the bags and she would have to get them ready, the baby would soon wake and need nourishment from Marta.

A single car went down the street as she went up the walk, making it seem as if the street was lonely too. She was close to tears now as she walked through the door again into the darkness of the house. It was bright and sunny outside, with a slight breeze, but inside the dark closed up house was depressing at best. Marta felt weak and sat in the chair next to the sofa, looking at the child that would need her care to survive, with hopelessness. She knew that she should open the windows and let the fresh air fill the house, but Marta had no strength left as she dosed off.

Marta was startled from her sleep with the sounds of the baby screaming. She jumped to her feet and fell forward from the pain in her abdomen, from her surgery. Her stitches were not yet healed giving her a wrenching pain. She ignored the pain and picked the baby up to soothe her. Settling back into the chair she rocked the baby and then allowed her to nurse. The baby settled into a comforting feeling of being nourished while Marta stared down at her. She had not yet given her a name, much to the dismay of the nurses at the hospital. Marta smiled, knowing that a name would come to her soon. She wanted the name to suit her child, since she would have it forever. Marta was sure that this child would have a special name, one that would carve her future for her. She believed that a name could influence how your life would unfold.

She laughed as she thought about her own name and how it had never influenced her life at all. Some people would question her heritage or mispronounce it, calling her Martha. Confused, seemed to be the defining claim to her name alright. Smiling at her thoughts seemed to lift her spirits and Marta held on tighter to the little one with no name. Her name would come, Marta thought as she fell asleep with the baby in her arms.

Waking to the darkness falling outside, Marta laid the baby back down and went to the kitchen. Peering into the coffee container, she found there was still some coffee in it. Thankful for this, she made a small pot in order to save some for the morning. Knowing there would be nothing left in the fridg that would be safe to eat, she looked in the cabinets and found a can of soup. As she heated the soup in the microwave, Marta noticed a pile of mail on the table. How could that be? Who would have put it there? Suddenly she knew that someone had been in the house. Looking around now to see if anything else was out of place, she went down the hall and cut on all the lights. Nothing seemed to be out of order at all. But Marta was still frightened to know that someone had come into her house and left again without a sign of who they might be. Not quite dark yet, Marta ventured out the back door to look out there and see if anything had changed during her time away. It was actually too dark out there to see very much, so she came in and locked the door behind her. Looking back at the handle, she wondered if someone had a key and pushed a chair under the handle. At least it would make a noise, even if it didn't keep someone from coming in.

Marta was beginning to become frightened now. She didn't know any of her neighbors and had no friends either. Why would someone do this for her. When she realized that someone had taken the time to do something for her, the fear subsided and she felt better about the mail lying on the table. She didn't want to look at though. It would be bills and notices of late payments and she couldn't deal with those right now. Reaching over and touching the stack of mail, Marta began to cry. The reality of her situation was beginning to sink in now. She was alone with a new baby, no money and no job. The baby let out a howl and she went to change her with the diapers the hospital had sent home with her. When that was done she took the baby into the bedroom and laid her on her bed, she didn't have a crib. Cutting on the small lamp on the dresser, she stood and watched her baby breathing softly, wrapped in the blanket a nurse had given her. Marta was engulfed with the worry now, of how she would take care of her baby after the supplies ran out.

Feeling that she had to get hold of herself and get a grip on her life, she went in the bathroom to take a shower. Letting the warm water flow over her and shampooing her hair in her own shampoo seemed to lift some of the feelings of despair. Wrapping herself in a warm robe she took her soup into the living room. Placing a pillow on her lap to steady the bowl, she picked up the remote. Punching the buttons had no results, the set would not come on, the bill had not been paid. She threw the remote on the sofa and ate her soup. Still hungry when it was finished, she went back into the kitchen to look for some crackers. Just as she reached up into the cabinet, she heard the turning of the doorknob. Turning around slowly and staring at it, she saw it turn more and then the door itself was being pushed open. She grabbed the crackers to her chest, crushing them in the process. The sound of the crushing crackers pushed her into action and she went to the door. Reaching out quickly she jerked it open, shoving the chair aside!

Staring into her eyes was an older woman, with salt and pepper hair. She had no idea who the woman was and waited for her to speak.. or something. Marta really had no idea what to do, now that she had opened the door, she just stood there staring. "Hello." the woman said brightly. Marta couldn't decide whether to speak or yell, but finally managed to say, "Hello, who are you?"

The gray haired woman smiled and chuckled, "Your next door neighbor. I'm Mae Beazley. Glad to see you're home, heard you went to the hospital. So thought I would keep your mail from getting stolen. It filled up the box and started falling out in the street." She pushed the chair aside and stepped into the kitchen with the mail in her hand as if this was her normal behavior. Placing it on the table with the rest she looked at Marta, "Are you better now?" Marta nodded, still having nothing to say. "I take it your name is Marta? Is that right? I saw it on the mail." The woman asked. "Oh, I guess you are wondering how I got in?" Marta nodded. "The back door was wide open one day after a storm blew it open, so I came over to shut it. The key was hanging there on that peg, I took it so I could look after things for you. I didn't mean to frighten you dear." She explained, smiling at Marta with a smile that told her she really didn't mean any harm.

"Thank you so much for your help... I have been.. ill." Marta told her. The baby let out another wail at that moment and Marta smiled and glanced down the hallway. "Oh my, you had a little one while you were gone." Mae smiled. "May I see the baby?"
Marta smiled and nodded, leading the way down the hall. "Oh.. look at that sweet little thing." Mae said as she leaned over and picked her up, swaying her back and fourth calming her cries. It worked and the baby was soon fast asleep again. Marta was beginning to see that Mae's gruff manor was a ruse as she laid the baby back on the bed and turned to Marta. "You sure are holding on to that package of crackers! Are you hungry?" she asked with a laugh. Marta shook her head and said no. "Hmmm, is that your dinner? I guess there wouldn't be much here left to eat after all this time. Just you wait, I'll be back in a minute!" Mae told her as she quickly went back out the door. Marta stood watching her almost run out the door she had so recently entered, scaring Marta to death. A smile began to curl her lip as she thought about the short gray haired woman full of energy that seemed to know everything without being told.

Realizing that she had been standing for quite some time now, Marta sat in the chair that she had placed in front of the door and laughed to herself. After a few minutes Mae came back with a tray. "Now, this ought to keep your strength up. I made it today." she told Marta as she reached up to a cabinet to get a plate. Marta smiled watching her. Mae had looked in every nook and cranny while Marta was in the hospital. She didn't mind at all she found, as Mae busied around Marta's kitchen to make sure she had everything she needed. "I'll bring you some milk for your coffee if that's the way you like it." Mae said, ready to run home again. "Oh no, black is fine. Please Mae, sit down with me." Marta told her. "You really shouldn't have done this, it's too much." Marta said as a tear started to form in the corner of her eye. Marta hadn't had anyone care about her this way in along time.

Mae patted her hand, "Why not? I can if I want to you know." Marta looked up to see Mae smiling at her. "Go ahead honey, eat. Now, do you have family Marta?" Mae asked her, not in an intrusive way, but caring and kind. Marta shook her head as she tasted the wonderful casserole. "Mae, this is wonderful..." Mae looked please, "Good, I don't have my son to cook for anymore, but I just can't seem to make anything decent if it's just for me, so I keep cooking like I have a family to feed." Mae told her laughing and throwing her hands in the air.

"Tell me dear, do you not have..anyone to help you?" Mae asked kindly. Marta stopped eating and shook her head, "No, there's no one left." Knowing that Mae wanted to know about the father of the baby she said, "He died." Mae smiled at her, "I'm truly sorry, dear. All of your family gone too?" Marta nodded. Mae stood up and poured Marta more coffee, "Do you have a job?" Marta laughed, "Mae, I don't have much right now, just that little girl in there. I don't have a clue whether I have a job or not. I had to stay in the hospital for so long..no one ever came or called from my work, so I assume I do not have a job." Mae jumped up, "Don't ever assume dear, do!" She went to the phone and listened for a dial tone. "Nope, that doesn't work, guess it got cut off." She said matter-of-factly. "Well, I guess it's too late now anyway. In the morning I will bring over my cell phone and you can call and find out the status of your job."
Marta was beginning to like this little ball of fire that had taken over her kitchen and from the looks of it, her health too. She smiled, "Do you think I could still have one?" Mae looked at her, "Well, how do you know if you don't ask? There is just as good a chance you do, as you don't!" Marta laughed and nodded. "Do you live alone Mae? No husband?" Mae smiled, "Alone. He's been gone a long time. My son lives across the country and has his own family. I saw you here you know. I'm nosey..but I'm a good neighbor!" Mae laughed. "You were gone most of the time, long hours. Where did you work?" Marta looked sad, "Downtown at an Ad agency. I thought I was on top of the world with my dream job and new husband when we bought this house. He only slept here once, then he was sent overseas. He didn't come back."
Mae looked sad for a moment as she listened to Marta and then she smiled, "He isn't all gone though, is he?" Marta raised her head and looked into Mae's sparkling blue eyes. She began to smile and nodded to Mae. "Oh Mae! I think you just gave my daughter a name, Jo. Her father's name was Joe." Marta reached out to hold onto Mae. "What about about a middle name?" Mae asked.
"I think it will have to be Beth, after my mother. She never got to see her granddaughter either. You know, I think I feel better now that she has a name." Marta smiled at Mae, "Of course this food helped too. Thank you so much. You have been so kind. I guess I needed..someone to care. I was feeling pretty low and sorry for myself coming into this lonely empty house."

"You reminded me of someone I once knew, a long time ago. At first I didn't see the resemblance, but now the memories are just as fresh as the day I kissed him goodbye." Mae told her as she folded her hands on her lap and smiled. Marta looked at her in amazement, realizing that Mae's husband had gone to war too, and not come home. Somehow, the two women, one young and one not so young, formed a bond that day that would last for many years. Together they raised Jo Beth, as she grew far mor quickly than they had planned.   

The years flew by and Jo had grown into a young woman as she went with her mother to the nursing home, to visit Mae one last time. Mae no longer spoke and her breathing was heavy and labored and her eyes were closed. Marta kissed her on the cheek and thanked her one more time for the love and the treasured friendship they had shared. Mae, filling the needs of a young mother and Marta filling the needs of being a mother, for the older woman. They had become each other's shoulder to lean on and smile to count on. Marta would miss her dear friend everyday and wished that Jo could have had her with her on her wedding day that was soon to take place. Marta's life had been filled with blessings since the day that Mae had come into it, she would strive to follow the footsteps that Mae had left behind, a giving heart and helping hand to those in need. Especially to the soldiers wives that she had come to know, with Mae's help.