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...

Buddy's Best Snow Day

Buddy sat by the window watching huge flakes of powdery beauty, drop from the sky. Each flake fell delicately onto the landscape, turning it white, like frosting on a cake. His chin rested on his hands as he stared at the magnificent wonderland. He could no longer see the steps or the porch, magic had covered them almost a foot deep.

An image began to build, a giant snowman with the new red scarf Buddy had gotten for Christmas, wrapped around it's neck. He could use the torn mittens, the ones that had snagged on the fence post, for his hands.

Buddy jumped off the sofa and ran to the mud room. He began to throw all the stuff that was in the basket, onto the floor. He rummaged through it and found an old jacket, a crumpled up hat, a pair of snow pants and lots of mismatched socks. A pillow case from the laundry room served as the perfect holder for his finds.

Leaning the full pillow case beside the door, he began to dress to go out. This in itself was a lot of work and Buddy began to sweat beneath the many layers of clothing.


“Hi, honey. Maybe you better wait until the snow stops, before you go out to play. It's really coming down hard.” His mom had heard the clatter from the kitchen and come to see what he was up to, knowing that his little brain was working overtime. She quickly realized that he had big plans, noticing the pillow case by the door.

Big blue eyes looked up at her. “Aw, Mom. I have to go now. It might disappear if don't hurry. Wait til you see what I'm going to build. He'll...I mean, 'it', will be awesome.” The last snow they'd had, had come and gone so quickly, by the time he got off the bus that day, it had completely melted away. He was taking no chances today. He had a plan.

“Well...don't stay out too long, I wouldn't want to lose my favorite little man, out in that blizzard.” She picked up his glove and held it for him to put on. “Now promise that you'll come in when your cheeks get cold. Okay?”

Buddy nodded and picked up the heavy load by the door, grunting under the weight of it. Finding that he couldn't open the door while holding onto the heavy bag, he looked up at his mom with pleading eyes.

Mom opened it and closed it behind him, pulling the curtain back to watch him. She had to laugh at his ingenuity.


He shoved the bag down the steps in front of him with his foot. Carefully, he tried to hold onto the rail, while his boots went down deep into the snow, until he felt the hard surface of the next step. Finally at the bottom, he pulled the bag behind him until he reached the perfect spot in the yard. Right in the middle. He wanted everybody that drove by to see his creation, once it was finished. Sharing was a big part of Buddy's personalty.

In a little while, he had two giant snow balls rolled out, side by side. One was a little bigger than the other— both were bigger than him and he was panting from the hard work.


His mom and dad watched from the window, as he struggled to roll the second huge ball on top of the other, falling down on his butt, time and again. They had to laugh at his antics. Finally, when Buddy laid back in the snow and gave up, they took pity on him.

Bundling up quickly, they went out in the yard, trudging through the deep snow to the place their son lay. At least it wasn't snowing as hard and the flakes that fell on their eyelashes quickly wiped away. Buddy was still lying in the snow, tears flowing down his red, cold cheeks.

When he saw his parents standing next to him, he sat up. His dad reached down and took his hands, pulling him up and brushing the clunks of snow off his backside.

After a hiccup or two, he said, “I just can't do it.” Wet gloves went to his eyes, as he tried to cover his tears. He knew he was too grown up for tears now, but they just wouldn't stop.

Daddy hugged him tightly. “Maybe we can do it together.” He bent his head down, even with his son's. “What do you say, want to try again?”

Buddy nodded, then hugged his dad.

“I'll be back in a minute.” Daddy went down to the shed, making huge tracks in the yard. When he came back, he handed Buddy two boards.


Buddy looked at the boards and frowned. His dad just didn't understand how to build a snowman. At least not the kind he had in mind. Big old boards would look funny stuck into it.

Daddy took one board and tucked it into the largest ball, one end on the ground, then he did the same with the other one. “Okay, now we have a bridge to push this other one up on. Y'all come and stand on the side of me and push.”

After much shoving and pushing, mostly from daddy, the second ball of wonder stood atop the biggest one.


“Yea, we did it!” Buddy was ecstatic. Gone were the tears of desperation, replaced with bright eyed joy. His creation was beginning to take shape. Immediately, he began to roll another ball, his chapped and red lips spread into a wide smile of joy.

“Let's save that one for a little while, son.” Daddy was worried that Buddy was getting too cold. “Let's go get some hot chocolate and warm our hands, then we'll come back out later.

“I really want to finish it, Dad. Please.” Despite the fact his hands were almost frozen, he didn't want to give up.

“Come on son, just for a warm up. We'll come back in little while.”

Buddy dropped the ball of snow, his smile gone.


Sometime later, cuddled up next to Cocoa, his lab, Buddy was happily drinking hot cocoa and munching on chocolate chip cookies. “I'm really warm now, Daddy. Can we go back out and finish the snowman?”

“Soon.” Daddy's favorite show was on T.V. And he wanted to finish watching it, not realizing that darkness was falling outside.

Buddy got up and went to the rack by the wood stove. His clothes were toasty warm and dry, so he began to lay them in the chair, ready to put them on. “I'm just going to get dressed, so I'll be ready.”


His dad glanced over at him, then out the window. Dark. He knew that Buddy would be extremely disappointed if he didn't at least get to put the top on the snowman. He got up and began to dress too.

They walked out into the night with flashlights and a plastic bag. Daddy showed Buddy how to place his flashlight on the bag and point to the half made snowman. Together they managed to form a ball large enough for the head and placed it on the body. Buddy immediately ran to his bag of clothes sitting on the porch and dragged it over to their undressed frozen statue.


“Here, Daddy, you put the hat on him. I'll put his gloves...oh no.”

“What?”

Buddy's face fell. His lip pouted and his eyes were cast with sadness. “We forgot to make arms. Now what do we do?”

Daddy covered his desire to laugh with his hand, and instead said, “Come with me.” Daddy saw that his son was a heavyhearted little boy, standing in the glow of the flashlight.

Buddy followed his dad over to side of the house. Sticking up through the snow, were branches from the tree they'd cut down earlier in the week. Daddy hadn't had time to cut it up and get it ready for the wood stove yet. He reached into the snow that covered the pile and pulled out two thick branches. They were old and had dried out, so he was able to break them in two.

“Yea, Daddy! You made arms. And fingers too!”

While Buddy stuck the branches into the snowman's upper body and fiddled with the gloves, trying to make them stay on, Daddy disappeared. Leaving Buddy alone in the dark, with only the glow from the flashlight to keep him company. He looked around. It was deathly quiet. He stepped on a piece of the broken off branch. The sound of it snapping scared him so bad, he fell down face first in the snow when he tried to run. Scrambling to his feet quickly, he spied his dad coming out of the door, a sigh of relief puffed from his chest.

“Daddy! You left me!”

“Only for a minute, son. I'm right here now, and look what I've got.”

Buddy squinted his eyes and leaned closer. “Oh neat. Can I put them on?”

“Sure.” Daddy held out his hand and Buddy picked up the Oreo cookies.

Daddy stood beside him. “Try digging out a little hole for them to fit into. Like this.” He scraped a circle of snow away and waited for Buddy to place the cookie into it. “Perfect.”

“That's so cool, Dad. Good thinking.” He finished all the cookies and stood back to look. “Here, Daddy, put his scarf around his neck.”

Daddy reached down and picked Buddy up in his arms. “You do it, son.”


Buddy was thrilled. He'd been thinking about that red scarf around his snowman's neck all day long. Now he was the one that got to put it on, because his dad was helping him.

“Oh yeah, a few more things to add.” Daddy reached in his pocket and pulled out a carrot for a pipe, two figs for eyes, and a small tin plate for a mouth.

Buddy put everything on except the mouth. “How does this work?”

Daddy took the tin plate and shoved it deep into the spot for the mouth, it formed a perfect smile, shiny and bright.


Buddy hugged his dad's neck. “I wish the cars going by could see him.”

Daddy didn't answer.


They walked to the house and Buddy was sent to take a warm bath. When he came downstairs all snugly warm in pajamas, he climbed on the sofa and looked out the window. The snowman stood tall and regal in a blue glow of light.

Buddy's mouth hung open in delight, his eyes wide with wonder. “Daddy! Look!” He ran to the door and opened it wide, letting a rush of frigid air into the room. There on the ground beside the snowman, he saw the flood light that was used at Christmas to light the house decorations. Daddy had placed it so that it shined directly up the snowman.

“Thank you, Daddy. It looks so wonderful.” He gently closed the door. “Do you think people will like it when they drive by?”

Daddy hugged him. “If you listen carefully, you'll hear the toot of a horn every now and then. I think they like it a lot.”

Buddy went back to his spot of the sofa and waited. Soon he saw the lights of a car coming down the street. It slowed down and tooted the horn. His little hands clapped together in delight as he looked over at his father.

“We did good, Daddy.” His little face lit up with love. “Together.”

 

Cowgirls & Home

Life in the 'farm lane'.
This story was inspired by events that really happened, hope you enjoy it! Thanks for stopping by today.
Carole



A cold sharp wind cut across the top of the hill in the pasture and went right through my long johns. Brrr...sure could use that fire and a cup of coffee 'bout now. Winter had come late this year, but it roared in today, with a face burning kind of chill. I wrapped my muffler tighter around my face and covered my nose with it. Trudging further up the hill, my 'ol legs began to cramp. Just as I almost stopped to turn around and head back home, I spied them. Six little girls. I call them girls, but they are actually cows, or will be soon enough.

Right now, they're 'tweens'. Between the age of becoming mamas, and still scittery teenagers, not grown enough to know better 'bout nothing. They stick together just the way my daughter and her friends did in High School, as if they whisper to each other. "There's a boy in the field! What should we do?"

Lord that was a long time ago. So long in fact, my hair has gone thinner, and a lot grayer. But I still remember those young girls having a good time sliding down the hay bales in the barn. Laughing and giggling, messing 'em up, and me yelling at 'em to quit ruining my hay. I'd find 'em there every time they came over, and I'd fuss. They live far away now...

Anyway, the other day, while I was gone on a rare trip to town, these little girls got spooked by a low down hunter. Yep, there he was, him and his dogs, chasing one leetle 'ol rabbit through my field, where he had no business being. Them dogs yelping, scared 'em so bad, they tore threw the fence and skedaddled through the woods and over the hill to the next farm. Not to be seen again—until today. I'd almost given up looking again too. It's been a long haul, hunting for 'em for days, across land I don't know, with thickets and briars in abundance. Mud sliding over my gum boots and low hanging branches slapping me in the face. Got more'n a few cuts for my trouble too.

But, there they are, hungry and tired, with no idea of how to get home, or how they ended up lost in the first place. Home is where the hay and feed is placed in front of them everyday, rain or snow or cold, they get fed. I'm not complaining mind you, well, not much anyway. Guess I wish they'd 'preciated the feast everyday a bit more and come on home on their own. I'm a getting tired now, ain't as young as I used to be.

Suddenly, while I stood there, the wind whipping my too long hair and muffler around, the biggest cow jerked her head up high in the air and sniffed, eyes wild and round. She weren't used to me wearing a red muffler. The others got the message and did the same thing. They all took off for those blasted woods again, at a full run, kicking their heels high in the air at me.

I took out my handkerchief and wiped my eyes. Wish I'd worn some glasses for protection against the wind. Well, nothing more I can do now, they're gonna hide in those woods for the night anyway. Least I got an idea where they bed down at night now. I looked across the field...so far to home, but I got no choice. Least I know about where they're hiding out. Tucking my head down low against the wind, I struck out for home. Must be at least three miles or better.

My eyes and nose wouldn't stop running water. When I stopped to wipe 'em, I heard a noise. Up ahead a me, there was a four wheeler coming straight at me. It stopped right beside me.

"Hey there old timer. You out for a walk on a day like this?"

A young man about twenty pulled his helmet off and grinned at me. "No son, I been looking for my cows."

"Looking for 'em? How do you lose a cow?"

I bent forward and looked closer at him with my eyes kinda squinty. "I know you, don't I? You're Scott Moseley, ain't 'chu?"

"Yes, sir. Can I give you a ride home, you're a long ways from there, ya know."

I had to laugh, picturing myself sitting on that contraption. "I don't know if I could stay on that thing, son. I ain't never rode one before. And my legs are so worn out, they done started cramping on me."

The boy laughed. "Don't worry, you can stay on just fine. Come on, climb aboard."

He pointed to the place where I needed to rest my feet, and I climbed up on that loud contraption. I'd seen plenty of 'em over the years, just never had the occasion, nor the inclination to ride one.

When it took off, I thought I was gonna fall off the back and reached out to grab something. All I found was air for a minute, then I got hold of Scott's jacket. I just about pulled him off the seat, fore I got myself balanced again. He laughed and gunned the engine again, leaning into the wind. I did the same, following his lead and hid my face behind his body.

He took me right up to the back door of my house.

I managed to climb off without tangling my feet together. "I thank you, son. It shore was good of you to help me out." I reached my hand out to shake his. "Why don't you come in for a spell and have a hot cup of coffee with me? Warm you up a bit, fore you head on home."

The engine went quiet and Scott got off the machine and shook my hand. "Thanks, I will."

I tell you, I was more'n surprised that he'd agreed, young folks don't usually want to spend time with us 'ol folks, but I opened the door and slid my boots off by the door. He did the same and followed me to the kitchen. My wife had a steaming pot ready for us. Course she was a bit surprised to find the boy with me for a second or so. She recovers quick when company arrives though.

"Hello, Scott. Well husband, looks like somebody found you today, what about the cows? Any sign of them?"

My wife never missed a beat and reached for another cup to fill for Scott, while I grinned at her.

"I found 'em, once. When they saw me they took off into those blasted woods again." I shook my head.

She started laughing. "Well I reckon they did run the other way. Have you seen yourself all wrapped up in that gear? It's no wonder to me you're tired, that stuff must weigh a ton." She looked over at Scott and winked.

Scott put his hand over his mouth to disguise a grin.

Let 'em make fun, it's cold outside. Old bones need lots of layers to keep from breaking in this weather.

Scott finished his coffee and got up to leave. "I'll come by in the morning and help you get those cows back home, if that's okay with you."

I don't know if the shock showed on my 'ol face, but it was there, I could feel it. I couldn't hardly speak. "I'd shore thank you, son. I shore would." I reached out my hand again. When he took it, I covered it with my other one. "I shore would, son." My head was shaking no, but I was saying yes.

“Thanks for the coffee, folks.” Scott waved and did a wheelie for us on his way down the driveway, dust climbing all the way up through the branches of the cedar trees, as he drove out of sight.

I stood at the door with my arm around my wife's shoulders and waved. "Young folks. You just never know what they're up to these days."

"Oh shucks, 'ol man. Young folks are just the same as they've always been. Good hearted and willing to lend a hand when they're needed. When 'ol folks let 'em, that is." Her tight lips said it all.

She'd never quite forgiven me for yelling at the girls playing in the hay, she didn't think it hurt it none for 'em to have fun.

The next day, Scott was true to his word and showed up at the door round six thirty.

“Smells mighty fine in here, ma’am.”
My wife smiled and said, “Take a seat, son. I'll have you some bacon and eggs fried up shortly.” She passed him a plate piled high with fresh baked biscuits. “Dig into these while you wait.”

Scott didn't need to be told twice. He smeared one with butter and just about ate it whole. I had to smile. Youth, they didn't think twice about filling an early morning hunger growl with butter and biscuits. These days I'm having to watch all those good foods with cholesterol hidden in the flavor. I miss it too. One biscuit with either jelly or butter, but not both. Yep, those were the days, when I was younger.

I shoved my empty plate away and leaned over my coffee cup, watching from the corner of my eye as Scott scoffed down three eggs over easy, a pile of bacon and three more biscuits. Yep, those are the days. A rap on the door took my attention from Scott.

When I opened it, my good friend and son-in-law was standing there. “What 'cha doing knocking, was the door locked?”

Chase grinned at me and said, “Yeah, guess I'm early. I was hoping you might have an extra cup of coffee before we go hunting.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Hunting?”

“For cows,”he replied.

“Oh, I got 'cha. Course we got coffee, take your coat off. Come on in the kitchen.” I could hear the sizzle of more bacon as we reached the door to the kitchen. My wife would soon have him breakfast made too. One thing is for sure on a farm, if you land in the kitchen, you don't leave hungry in the morning. I'm pretty sure there'll be a pot of soup ready by lunch time too. Hope there's some chocolate cake to wash it down. “Ya'll go on and eat, I'm gonna feed the stock. When I get back, we'll make a plan.”

I got back to the house pretty quick, the boys were leaning against the truck looking at a map.

“I printed this map off the computer last night. It shows this whole section of land, including all the paths that have been cut by the hunters. Scott will take the four wheeler in on this side, and you and I'll walk in from here.” Chase pointed to the places on the map. Everybody needs to wear orange.” He reached into the truck and brought out two orange hats.

I reached for one and stuck it over top of my plaid wool hat, that has flaps to cover my ears. “Thanks. I didn't even think about this. There might be some hunters in there, I guess.”

Scott took off the camo hat he was wearing, brushed a hand through his hair and tucked the orange cap down on his head, cupping the brim tight to form it the way he likes them. Chase and I both got a good laugh, watching him primp for a ride in the woods. Only the birds and maybe a stray coon was gonna see him today, but he wanted to look good for 'em just the same.

Chase and I climbed in the truck and followed Scott down the drive, eyes peeled to the edge of the woods, just in case. I knew in my heart, it was in vain, to hope them girls had found their way closer home during the night.

The wind had died down a bit as we began to carve our way through the woods. I'd never been in here before, even in my younger days, when I hunted with the boys in the neighborhood. Thick carpets of wet leaves, made walking hard. Shadows created by the honeysuckle still holding their leaves, made me think of bears. A branch breaking in my hand as I reached for it to pull myself through a thick patch, sounded like a gunshot. Sweat starting running down the back of my head and into my shirt. It'd been 'bout an hour since I went one way and Chase went the other. I stood real still and listened. Silence. Not a bird or leaf moved in the dense thicket I'd made my way through. Tall pines offered a sliver of sunlight through the top, and saplings became shadowy creatures, mangled and tortured looking.

I leaned against a sapling pine to catch my breath. Great puffs of vapor rose into the air from my mouth as my warm breath hit the frosty atmosphere. My hat was almost off my head from sweat, but the cold penetrated my hands and toes. Not enough socks or gloves made to keep it at bay. Had to keep moving in the circle Chase had laid out. Although, I couldn't tell now if I was going in the right direction or not.

Lord help me, I'm lost! Now ain't this a fine kettle of fish. I raised myself up to my full height, tired of leaning forward to see the ground and keep from falling.

Find the sun 'ol man. Find the sun for direction. I peered up toward the sky, through the veil of green pine needles above me.

There it is! I'm still heading east. Relief settled through me and the cold didn't seem near as fierce. It's a sad thought to think I've gotten so old, I can't find my way out of the woods. I'm still okay, but a cup of coffee would sooth my soul right now, toes too I'm thinking. Bright light shone through an opening beyond the thick brush I was in. It crawled around me like gnarly fingers reaching out for me. My steps were hurried now, I wanted to see that big open field of winter wheat in front of me— up close and personal.

Made it! Green—everywhere I can see. Except— for six cow-girls that dotted the scene with black, a hundred yards in front of me. My girls were right there, halfway between the woods line and the path where we left the truck. Happy as larks they were, grazing on that luscious wheat. I squatted down and rested one knee on the ground, so they wouldn't spook again. That'd be all I need. I didn't want to, but I took off the orange hat, the wool hat, the too big for me P coat, and the red muffler my wife had insisted I wrap around my neck. Neatly stacked in a pile, to pick up later, lay the warm outer layers of my attire on the ground, my protection from the bitter frigidity. Now, for some reason, I took my hands and straightened my shirt and pulled my pants up neater.

I must'a figured they'd know me better this way and I'd take the cold, in order to get 'em home.

Clearing my throat first, I called out. “Come on girls. Come on.” This was the voice I used everyday to call 'em up to eat. Most days, they came a running.

Six heads came up fast and turned toward me. The biggest one, kind of turned and walked to me a few steps, trying to decide if she remembered me or not. Another one joined her and they stepped a few feet closer, then stopped. The others couldn't quite decide whether to see if that sound was worth bothering to stop eating or not.

“Come on girls.” I began to walk real slow toward the path. Cows are naturally curious creatures, so they followed. The closer I got to the truck I could see Scott and Chase standing beside it. I made a motion with one hand for them to hide. Them orange hats would send those girls skedaddling fast if they got sight of 'em. The boys tucked down beside the truck, hidden from sight, and I kept walking toward it. When I reached the truck, I grabbed a yellow bucket from the back and showed it to the girls and shook it. The grain rattling around was a sound they knew well. They came running then!

I poured a little of the grain out of the bucket onto the path and let 'em nibble at it. They wanted more, so I started walking for home, humming a little tune, one they were used to. Now, I ain't no singer, but I'm a heck of a hummer while I do chores. They followed that yellow bucket as close as they dared get to it, one almost stuck her nose in it. I had to make it last, so I kept going, a little faster now.

Now, cows are color blind, so they tell me. I don't believe it, no sir-- I don't. This 'ol yellow bucket was the same one I used everyday. Those girls knew that bucket belonged to them and they weren't giving up until they'd feasted on the remainder of it's contents. I'd give it a shake every now and then to let 'em know there was still some in it. Cows are mighty greedy when it comes to grain, they can't tear themselves away from it. They'll even lick the ground for every last morsel.

Scott and Chase spread out behind us, just in case the girls got bored and decided to return to their grazing in a foreign land. They could kind of keep 'em heading my way just by walking along. They did a fine job of it too. Not too close, but close enough to head 'em off when they kinda wandered sideways a bit. I just kept going, not looking back. Pretty soon, I gave 'em another little taste of grain when we got over halfway home. Just enough to tease, but left enough in the bucket to shake around as I walked.

Those girls followed me right through the gate into the pasture they'd called home for nine months. Every one of 'em pulled up to the feed trough and looked at me with big brown eyes, hoping for more grain. They got more alright, plus some of my best alfalfa hay. Not that I abide by rewarding bad behavior, mind you. I was just grateful to have 'em back again safe and sound.

Scott and Chase leaned on the gate, orange hats in their hands, smiling. They were just as glad as I was to see those six girls lined up in front the trough.

Lunch was ready when we went in the house, along with a roaring fire. We huddled up in front of it, with our hands held to it as close as we dared, rubbing them together.

“Well boys, hope nobody got frostbite out there today. My toes kinda feel blistered, or numb, I can't tell which yet.”

“Me neither,” Scott said. “But I'll be allright, soon as get some of that stew in my belly. Man, I'm hungry and it smells so good!”

We laughed and gathered around the table. I reached out for hands and gave the Lord thanks. For the food, the return of the girls, and for the kindness and helping hand of friends and family.

Holiday Secret

 

“Gram, why are you cooking all this food again? I thought we already had Thanksgiving the other day.”

“We did. One of them. Now we're going to have another, with more family and friends this time.”

The child’s eyes widened and he cocked his head to the side. “Oh boy! Can I help?”

 

Gram looked at the eager little nine year old boy. His willing heart was ready to jump in and help her prepare the food for later in the day. He smiled up at her with anticipation and her heart melted. “You can. I count on your help.”

“Will I be at the party too?”

“Of course you'll be there.” This time, she thought. So many special days had passed without his family with them. They lived so far away it was hard to get together very often. This was a special year, she had him with her for the whole holiday and was thankful for the time with him.

Gram filled a pot with water and heaved it over to the stove, then released a huge breath. Donny moved back so he wouldn't be in her way. He worried about his Gram getting hurt. He'd grown tall enough to put the pasta in the pan and give it a good stir. He banged the wooden spoon against the side, just like Gram always did. He didn't know why she did that, but he imitated her actions anyway. It had to be right.

 

“Now what can I do?”

Go play until it's time to do the coleslaw. Then you can put the cabbage in the food processor for me. You're better at that than I am.”

“Okay. I love you, Gram.” His arms went around her waist and held on tight for a moment. Then he was gone, off to play with Lego's.

His favorite pastime was building new trucks and flying machines out of the many colored blocks that somehow stayed stuck together. His stubby little fingers could push the tiny pieces together as fast as lightening. When another machine was completed, he'd bring it to Gram for inspection. She always made a big deal about them, allowing him to feel proud of his hard work.

When it was time to bake the cake, Donny took over the mixer. Now that he was taller, he could manage to hold it upright so the batter didn't splatter the walls-- the way it did the year before.

Pure delight sprang from his bright blue eyes when the cake came out of the oven. When the two pans were resting on the cooling racks, he took one finger and touched each of them—the way that Gram taught him to. His little heart was bursting with pride at how pretty they looked and smelled-- because he'd been a part of it. The whole house smelled of cinnamon and sugar. He couldn't wait to ice them, that was his favorite part.

Later, people started to show up. Brisk fall air followed them in the door, as coats were thrown on the extra chair and smiles lit up the room. Everyone talked at once, peals of laughter sang throughout the house. Donny stood by a chair and looked at everyone, smiling with his hands folded in front of him, his tongue wetting his lips.

“Donny! My goodness you've grown since I last saw you. Do you remember me? We played on the beach flying kites a couple of years ago.” His great-uncle Rob reached out and hugged him to his side.

“Uh huh. You gave me sparklers too.”

“That's right, we did have some fireworks, didn't we? I'm glad you reminded me of that.”
 

Donny nodded and smiled, twisting his feet around several times. He couldn't believe that this great tall man remembered him. His cheeks were so flushed he looked like he'd been out in the cold. He sat on the step and watched as everyone gathered in the tiny kitchen, talking and laughing.

Uncle Rob and Uncle Matt took the oysters he'd brought with him outside to fry. Donny followed with the hope of helping.

“Look out, Buddy. This oil is hot and I don't want it to spatter on you,” Uncle Matt said.

Donny stood to the side and watched. The two men didn't pay any attention to him, they were busy with the prized oysters. He didn't even know what an oyster was, much less why it seemed such a prize to them. He went in search of Gram.

“Is it time to do the machine, Gram?” His hands laid on the counter.

“Sure is. Let's wash those hands once more.”

“Oops! Almost forgot.”

After he'd chopped all the cabbage, he let Gram do the rest and went back to his place on the floor. He kept the Lego's in one spot, so nobody would step on them. His fingers made quick work of another truck, with a rider on top.

“I can't believe you can make such interesting things with those little pieces,” said his uncle's wife Lisa, sitting next to him. “They are just wonderful.”

Donny smiled a mile wide, showing a few spaces where new teeth weren't fully in yet. A little embarrassed-- but full of pride as he began to show her his other works of art. Lost were feelings of shyness. His animated explanation of how they worked delighted Lisa.

Gram watched from the corner of her eye while she put the rolls in the oven. Pride filled her heart as she listened to him explain the inner workings of Lego's and saw the excitement in his little face. A stranger was interested in the magic the tiny toys held for him, willing to listen to him too.

“Oysters are done. Time to eat.” The uncles came in the door and placed the platter of delectable morsels on the table. “Better than turkey any day,” said Uncle Rob. “Come on, Donny boy. Let's eat before they get cold.”

Donny stood close to his uncle, waiting for him to choose a chair. When he did, Donny took the one beside him and tucked his head down. He was hoping no one would notice and he'd get to stay there. Sometimes the adults made the kids go to another table. When everyone was seated, he was still there beside his uncle. Gram grinned at him and winked. Usually he liked to sit beside her, but today was special. He might not get another chance to see his Uncle for a long time. After grace was said, the food started passing around the tables. He wondered where all the extra chairs came from. Two extra tables had been set up for today and there was even more food than on Thanksgiving Day. Uncle Rob asked if he wanted an oyster on his plate. His heart sank. Should he tell the truth or take one of those ugly things? Maybe he could shove it under his potatoes...

“Here you go, a nice crispy one.” Uncle Rob joyfully plucked one off the platter and slid it onto Donny's plate.

A slight flip-flop in his stomach made Donny twist in his chair as he gulped air and spit. He smiled a thank you at his uncle and swallowed the lump in his throat along with the building saliva. He looked up to find his grandmother grinning at him. Her special smile that let him know she understood.

He slid the oyster under the potatoes with a finger and scooped up a bite of yams with his fork. Then he was set. The marshmallows he'd so carefully placed on top of the sweet potatoes had melted into gooey sweetness—and he was hungry.

After a while, Uncle Rob asked, “How did you like it, little man?”

Donny nodded while his fork hovered over the small pile of potatoes that were still safely covering that oyster. If he didn't actually speak, maybe it wasn't lying. Blinking from nervousness, he hoped he could take his plate to the kitchen while everyone else was still at the table.

“May I be excused?”

Gram nodded, knowing that he needed to get rid of the evidence lurking beneath the potatoes.

As he picked up his plate, his uncle said, “You sure you got enough? There's one more oyster...”

“I'm full.” Donny almost dropped the plate in his hurry to pick it up and be out of sight. His eyes grew big and he looked straight at Gram for help. His plate felt heavier and he was sure that oyster was growing bigger as he waited.

“Go ahead, honey.”

A sigh of relief escaped his lips and he sent his Gram a sweet thank you with his eyes. Straight to the trash can he went with his plate, dumping that monster morsel in quickly, before setting the plate in the sink. Quietly, he went to Gram's side and snuggled under her arm, never interrupting the conversation around the table. He stayed there for a few minutes, then found his Lego's again.

Later that night when the dishes were done and everyone was gone, the house was quiet, the television the only sound left of the day. Donny climbed on the sofa beside Gram. She hugged him tight and said, “How was your day?”

“It was great! I really liked all the family here together and being part of it. It was loud.”

After a few minutes he sat up, his brow knitted into a frown. “Do you have two parties at Christmas too?”

"I sure do, every year.”

“Can I be at your next party too, Gram? The one for Christmas.”

“I wouldn't have it any other way, sweetie.”

“What if my Dad's busy and can't bring me? Will you come and get me?”

Gram hugged him tight. “I'll make sure you're included. Grandpa and I'll come get you the day before. How does that sound?”

“Good.” He yawned and snuggled deeper into the pillow, a smile played around his lips. Donny was happy and sleepy, he knew that he'd be here for the next party if--Gram said so.