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.