Those Were The Days

Remember when you were a kid and couldn't wait to try the newest gadget advertised on TV? Toys that required batteries? Oh yes, they were the best; until the battery died and you didn't have any money to go buy new ones.

Back then, a Christmas present might last the week; then it was over and done with. The useless toy collected dust until it got shoved around in the closet until it was broken.

Nobody had to make you push a button back then, you did it without questioning whether it was the right one or not; on or off. That's all there was...when I was young...so long ago.

I remember when even the secretary at the school didn't have a computer, much less every student. The only thing mechanical on the desk was a huge “adding machine”. Boy, we couldn't wait to get our fingers on that thing when she went down the hall out of sight.

 It was like magic. We'd watch it add numbers onto a skinny piece of paper that kept rolling from some hidden place inside it. Just hearing it tap-tap rrruuurr, was enough to fill the imagination with wonder. A typewriter was hidden under a giant plastic cover. We didn't dare touch that.

My mother owned an old typewriter that we loved to play on, when there happened to be paper available, paper that could be wasted that is. Ahh..probably twice in my whole childhood. Those were the days.

Today, everyone has a computer and a home office, an Ipad or poddy piddle or whatever. I have a kitchen table and a yellow legal-pad. I write grocery lists, notes to my husband and plan my flower garden on it.

Actually, my will is on the last page of the one I'm using now. Appropriate don't you think? It lasts for a very long time too. Of course it won't add up the deposit for the bank, or carry the “1” when I forget, so that the teller gets to tell me I've put the wrong amount on the slip; again. Secretly, I think she does it on purpose to see the look of stupidity on my face. Then I have to dig in my purse for the checkbook and tear out another one. Must remember to order more as I realize now, it was the last one. Oops!

I stand in line in the bank; my daughter pulls the car up to a metal box and punches some buttons. Her deposit is secretly made, I think, but I've never been quite sure. It slings out cash too, all from the comfort of her car. It's just too hard from the passenger seat to learn how to do those things. Aside from my ignorance, I can't see that far. What am I talking about? I can't see the newspaper without reading glasses.

I haven't always been afraid of new contraptions.. oh good grief, of course I have!

My daughter gave me a cordless phone. She was tired of watching me wrap the cord around my neck while I cradled the phone on my shoulder and went about my kitchen duties. It was a beauty though, twenty five foot of cord. (I almost choked to death one day while taking cookies out of the oven)

So, the cordless phone came to my house. I must admit, once I learned how to find the blasted thing, by pressing the call button, I came to love it. I left one in the garden once and it rained that night. I couldn't figure out why nobody called for days.

Really, when you think about it, why do we have to stay up-to-date with every new gadget that comes out? I don't know why my car doesn't have a button on the top of the door anymore that I can push to lock it. No, of course not, now it's on the handle. Right where I lean my arm to get out of the car. The locksmith is a regular visitor nowadays. We are quite good friends.

He offered to install an electronic door opener on the garage. He said it would save me from inclement weather, now that I'm older. Humph! If he weren't my friend...I might think he was making fun of me. I do own an umbrella, it works fine and I keep it..under..somewhere! I'm sure I'll find it again...one day.

The cell phone is a very handy thing to have though. I must say, I have enjoyed it immensely, every single time I have locked my keys in the car. I never forget to grab my purse; just the keys out of the ignition!

New fangled phones and car locks are nothing compared to what I found in my town one day though.

One fine sunny day, I decided to run to the store for a few groceries. At my age, one of those small carts is all I ever need. Of course, I despise that chore. The prices!

These days, I keep a huge envelope in my purse, to hold all the coupons I've collected. The last time I went to the store, I just handed the whole thing to the clerk, I can't see well enough to find the right one. That day, she just grabbed a bunch and gave me the credit. Hmm, might try that again.

Anyway, shopping is not at the top of my list of tasks I enjoy, it is however a “must do” in my family. Let's face it, cooking is the one redeeming quality I have left, (the legs are long gone) so I'd like to at least be able to shop, without becoming afraid of the big bad store. How silly, you must be thinking; afraid of what?

More buttons to push, that's what! What ever happened to the country store with friendly faces and folks that talk to you?

Well, just let me tell you exactly where they went. To the dogs I tell you! To the dogs.

On this particular day as I finished with the dreaded chore of filling my cart, I pushed it to the check-out lines. Every single one had the light above it glowing, to let you know it was open. Oh good I thought, I don't even have to wait in line. I was tickled at that moment that I had chosen to stop in this particular store today. I had never been here before, but I was sure at this moment that I would return.

(Key words; this moment)

It was so quiet too, soft music floated among the shelves. Glancing around to make sure nobody was racing me toward my chosen check-out, I headed straight for it. I slowed down when I noticed that there aren't any people manning any of the cash registers. A long row of them stood empty. A truly odd thing to see in my opinion. As a matter of fact, I've never seen every single checkout empty before.

I stop my cart and look around. Other shoppers were using those self check out registers. I spy a woman gazing at the candy bars, seeming to be in no hurry at all. She seemed to be studying them, picking one up and reading the package, then taking another one to read over.

“Excuse me, are all the clerks on break?” I smile as if I'm making a joke.

She barely turns toward me, “There aren't any.”

Now, I'm sure I misunderstood her, “I'm sorry, did you say there aren't any clerks? None at all?” I ask in disbelief.

With a disgusted sigh she grabs her cart, walks away and throws this over her shoulder, “Nope. Self check-out is all there is here.”

I'm completely taken out of my element now, and there are so few left. Raw fear grabbed me in the chest. A choking gasp rose in my throat. I couldn't possibly do that. I just recently figured out how to answer a beep on my cell phone. I wondered for years why it made that noise sometimes, I thought it was simply on the verge of breaking.

I watched a man in his forties diligently laying his produce on the conveyor belt, then punched the buttons on a screen. He was 'punching' faster than I could tell what he was doing. Maybe though, if I watched him carefully and then took my time.. I could manage the few items in my cart.

I could see as I crept closer, that it showed pictures of each item on the screen. A child could manage this. Very small pictures...uh..wait, let me see some more.

Gathering my courage, I turn my cart toward a free check-out. Before I get too close a loud bell starts to ring. Baamp- baamp; Stop- Remove the item from the belt.

I obey; I stopped in my tracks afraid to move another inch. The voice is saying to re-scan the item on the belt.

What does “scan” mean?

This irritating voice has the attention of the entire store. Everyone is staring at the poor man. Of course none of them care for long and go back to their shopping.

I care.

My mind is reeling; what if that happens to me? How will I be able to tell if “it” knows what I put on that.. belt that is running at breakneck speed. Leaning over my cart to get a better view, I see the belt moving faster and faster. Pointing one finger to touch it...my whole hand goes flying down the black monster. I manage to snatch my hand back before it pulled me onto it.

The man, so much younger than myself, was struggling to pull his items off the belt. He runs to the end and catches a head of lettuce before it lands on the shelf below. He's out of breath and almost as flustered as I am now. I'm breathing hard just watching him. He's fighting to shut that stupid mechanical voice up! I certainly don't blame him and I wish he would hurry.

You know, if a child was lost in the store, the loudspeaker calling their name wouldn't be nearly that loud. I think my ears wrinkled even more, just from the noise of it.

No, I decide. This is not for me. I have trouble loading that new-fangled dishwasher correctly. I'm sure that if I attempt to keep up with that black belt, I would wind up face down on that shiny polished floor in a tangle of legs and groceries. Now wouldn't that be cute! At my age; I might not get back up, or a hip could be involved, then sirens, then surgery...nope, ain't gonna try it.

Stealthily (I wear old lady rubber soled shoes), I roll my cart over to the baby item aisle and pretend to search the shelves for..nothing. No one is in sight, so I casually but quickly, make my way to the door. Leaving the cart behind. Pausing momentarily to make sure I'm not being followed by a security guard before I burst out the door.

Ahh..the parking lot. Fresh air and car horns, I feel better now.

I do feel bad for leaving that cart full of groceries. Someone else will have to put it all back on the shelves. Or..maybe not. Perhaps a robot does it after the store closes...

But really, if I had known, I would have just gone to the old store close to home. Where tired cashiers ring up every item, take my money and send me out the door without even a 'thank you' for your business. Those were the days..still are mine.

I'm starving now. Being around all that food has given me an appetite. Driving a mile or so down the road there is a fast food place. I decide to go to the drive-through and grab a burger. Fries too, I deserve it today. The extra grease will renew all the energy I lost in that blasted store. Fear does that you know, burns calories too.

I'm at the box where you place your order, waiting. Even I know how to do this one.

Suddenly, a garbled voice asks, “May I take your order? We have a spe.”

Undaunted by the broken message, I order a kids meal. No sense spending a fortune on one of those over-carbed combo meals that fill me so full, I can't drive home. And I wear stretch pants!

I pull around the sign displaying all the different meals; rolling my back tire up over the curbing with a huge plop. They just don't give you enough room! It is not my driving that is at fault.

Smiling up to the window, a girl with a headphone reaches her hand out, never looking my way at all. I could swear she was picking something out of her extremely long, red fingernails as I pulled up to the window.

“How much is it, I couldn't make out what you said before.” I ask her ever so nicely. She continues to take another order, while packing a bag with fries that her fingers are touching.

Her fingers! No plastic gloves. She even picks up a few that fell off onto the cash register and stuffed them in the bag.

Oh, I hope that isn't my food. Still without making eye contact, she tells me I owe $17. 98. I have a five dollar bill in my hand, holding it in the air out the window. She eyes it, then rolls her eyes to the ceiling.

“Just give me your card.” she orders, taking her eyes back to the food, away from me to stare in front of herself, a totally bored look on her teenage face. Patience, could not possibly be her name.

“I'm sorry, but why is a kids meal so expensive?” I ask. I'm not altogether pleased at this point. After all, I am human. Old; but still human.

The grumpy girl with the sullen frown, shakes her head at me. At me! Of course I'm the one to blame for the mistake, after all I had the audacity to order the darned meal.

“Uh, I gave you the wrong amount. It's $3.19,” she says with an exasperated sigh. (no “sorry my mistake, nothing!, did you notice that?)

Then she looked at me like; can you please hurry up old woman; I am so bored with this job and I really don't care if you get food or not.

No longer willing to be the nice old lady holding up the line, I slam the five on the metal shelf. I don't smile either. Humph! Defiantly, I challenge her to make something of it with my look of anger. My frown actually doesn't show my anger so much, the wrinkles get in the way. She doesn't even look at me. Darn!! All that effort wasted.

(I'm worn out from all the drama I put into getting her attention.)

And as for my change back from the five, she hands me quarters, dimes and nickels. Payback. Great! Thanks a lot you little..you know.

I throw it into my purse and step on the gas; hard. Pedal to the metal, grandma! Then, I put the car in gear and pull out of there as fast as I can.

I mean really, what does it take nowadays to simply buy a hamburger? I showed her though, didn't I? Just like an angry teen in a well tuned machine! Yep, that's me. Well, almost. My intentions were great, however, my car only makes a mild putter sound. Kind of like a poot.

Only now that I am back on the road towards home I realize; I did not get my food. Oh yeah boy, I showed her alright. I pulled out of that place like a teenager in a hot rod, forgetting my food. Old fool.

Hungry old fool to boot!

I think I finally found a moral to this story though, after some thought standing over the sink munching on stale crackers. Told you I was hungry.

I saved a bunch of money on groceries today, without using a single coupon!

Rock on Grandma!

A Gift

Ten year old Bobby crept to the back door, crouching low, so he couldn't be seen from the window as he passed by it. Carefully, he turned the knob and cracked the door open enough so that he could see inside the kitchen. His mother sat at the kitchen table, her head bent over a pad of paper, a pen between her fingers, tapping against her head. The worried frown on her beautiful face told him what she was doing.

Once a week, his mother made of list of how much money they had to pay the bills with. She usually did this on Friday when she got paid. Whatever was left over, she would buy groceries and other necessities they needed. There was barely enough left for food, so his mother made a game of naming new recipes, to get him to eat whatever they had. “Corn-legged Dogs” was his favorite, they had those on Saturday night with coleslaw.

Bobby slid down the clapboard wall of the house, and sat cross-legged on the porch floor. He stared at the flapping sole of his old tennis shoe, then stuck his finger inside to see if his sock was wet. It wasn't, but it was pretty dirty. He had been climbing the apple tree down by the barn, playing his usual game of paratrooper, pretending he could fly, when his shoe got caught between two branches. When he pulled hard enough to release the shoe from the grip of the tree, the sole of his shoe tore almost all the way off. Only an inch or so remained glued to the upper portion of the shoe now.

He pulled his feet under him, so he didn't have to look at the mess he had made. If only he hadn't climbed that gnarly old tree today, his shoe would still have the bottom on it and he could walk without a limp or tripping over it. He closed his eyes and made a fist with both hands, thinking of away he could fix it, without worrying his mother. He wished that he had some glue, that would work.

The door opened and his mother came out on the porch, “Why are you sitting out here honey? I was coming down to the barn to call you to supper. Is everything okay, Bobs?”

He grinned sheepishly and looked up her, nodding his head, “Just..resting. That's all.”

“Okay honey, get washed up, we're having 'Noodles 'Al Franco' tonight.” she touched the top of his blond curls and went in the house, smiling.

Bobby slowly stood up, and leaned over to look at his shoes after she went in. Maybe if he walked very slow, it wouldn't make any noise and his mother wouldn't notice. He took a practice step, almost tripping over the flap that turned underneath his foot. Hiking his pants up, he tried again. This time it worked, he managed to walk and keep the flap from turning under, with a sliding motion.

He opened the door and saw his mother at the sink, with her back to him. Quickly, he took off both shoes and slid them under a chair, one they didn't use. Skipping down the hall to the bathroom, he felt quite proud of himself. At least it would give him more time to think about it, before he had to tell his mother the news. He would rather go without supper, than have to tell her how he had ruined his shoe. But his tummy was growling so loud, he thought he better eat first, and tell her after they had eaten.

Seated at the table, he played with his fork, tapping it against the plate.

“Are you playing a new tune, honey? I don't think I've heard that one before,” his mother said with a wink.

Bobby looked up at her with a questioning stare, placing his fork on the table very quietly. Normally, she would tell him to quit making the noise, because he could break the plate. She was grinning down at him and seemed happier than he had seen her in a long time. A twinkle in her eyes told him she had a secret.

“Here you go,” she told him as she sat the bowl of noodles with penny sized franks and herbed ketchup on the table. She added garlic and basil to give it a little zest.

Bobby reached for a bread stick, buttered bread rolled up tightly. Dipping it into the sauce and stuffing it into his mouth so that his cheeks puffed out, the fresh bread stuck to his teeth. His mother laughed at the sight of her son enjoying his meal.

With only one more bite left on his plate, Bobby began to worry. It was getting closer to the time he would have to fess up and tell his mother about the shoe. He pushed the last piece of noodle around his plate, making smiley faces in the sauce with it.

“Bobs, you want to tell me what's on your mind now?” his mother asked. She leaned toward him, with her chin resting on her hand.

His bright blue eyes shot toward her, then quickly back to the drawing on his plate. A tear wavered on his lid and he sat up straight to wipe it against his sleeve. “I..uh..my shoe broke.” he finally answered. There, he said it. His little heart pounded against his chest and he wanted to cry. But he was too big to cry now, he just didn't want to see the disappointment on his mother's face. Something else to buy, and it was all his fault.

His mother's hand reached over and took his, “Bobs, the shoes were old. It was time for them to break. We'll get you a new pair tomorrow.”

He couldn't believe his ears. What did she say? He stared at her with his mouth open. Suddenly his fork fell on the plate with a loud clang and he jumped back in his chair.

“It's not your fault honey, don't worry about it. Besides, I have some good news for you.” she told him.

Bobby didn't know what to do, be happy that she wasn't disappointed, or the fact that she had good news. He looked up at her expectantly, “What news?”

“Well, I got a new job today. It's in the same building as my old job, but a different company. It pays a lot better, so we won't have to worry quite so much anymore. I'm glad those ugly old shoes broke, honey. I can't wait to go buy you a new pair. Come on, let's leave the dishes and go buy you some shoes right now.” she told him.

The biggest smile he had ever seen was covering her face. Slowly his lips spread wide and he smiled back at her. She grabbed him and hugged him to her.

Later that night, Bobby sat on his bed with his new shoes beside him. He didn't remember ever having a pair quite so nice, not even for Christmas. He ran his hand down inside of one to feel the thick insole. He flipped back on the bed and held the shoe over him. Now he could run as fast as the other boys in his class. He got up and placed the shoes back in the box, putting them beside the bed so he would see them first thing in the morning.

Bobby shut off the light and pulled the covers up around his chin, thinking about the way his mother giggled and squeezed his hand in delight, when he tried the shoes on in the store. Her eyes were so bright and full of happiness, he could still see them now in the dark of his room.

He loved his new shoes a lot, but he thought his mother was even happier than he was. It seemed that she was the one that had really gotten a gift, the gift of giving.

The Best and Worst Day Of My Life

 

The big Ford tractor sat silent in the middle of the field where it had stopped. Fellow farmers and neighbors stood around it, all at their wits end for an answer to the problem. It refused to start. No amount of tinkering would bring it back to life.

Icy winds blew across the slight elevation of the field as the men pulled their collars up closer around their ears against the chill. They were perplexed by the problem.

Hungry cows lined up along the fence calling out, anxiously waiting for a bale of hay. They were sure it would soon be placed in front of them, taking note that people were near the tractor. They knew all too well that the loud barroom of it's motor when smoke rolled out of the stack, meant food would soon be put out for them. And they were hungry, it was freezing.

Patience was not a virtue owned by cattle in the cold of winter when grass was scarce. Food being the only fuel they were accommodated to keep warm. We can flip the thermostat up; cows depend on their furnace within, fueled by food.

Finally, it was agreed that the tractor company had to be called. The men gathered behind a huge round bale of hay, to roll it out by hand through the gate where the cows stood waiting. My husband made the dreaded call. The last resort of a farmer, the bill would be quite expensive.

The next morning the mechanic called, getting me out of bed to tell me he was on the way. He was early. I gave him directions while I stumbled into my clothes, boots and gloves, to meet him at the field and usher him in. Several gates had to be opened and the cows dealt with, curious creatures that they are, while he maneuvered his truck through them into the field. He drove and I walked, holding the cows back with a wave of my hand.

He began his work on the tractor while I stood by and watched. The brisk morning air sent shivers through me. I'm not much help on the mechanical end of things, especially when it's cold. The mechanic would call me over to ask questions occasionally and I would do my best to answer. I needed to go to the house to get a tool he didn't bring with him. Okay, I drive the two miles home to fetch it, feeling a little irritated that I had to supply a tool. Not to mention I had to deal with the cows again. After all, he was getting paid an should have supplied his own tools.

I put my hand on the door at home; their was a card stuck in the crack from the sheriff. A gasp escaped from my mouth. A note written on the back to 'call asap' sent fear through me. I felt weak and sick to my stomach. My rubbery knees wanted to bend. Was it my kids? My husband who was at work? Who was hurt; or worse.

It couldn't be good news. With shaking hands I dialed the number on the card. Anxious, yet dreading whatever news the call could tell me.

The officer that left the card, informed me that my brother had died in the night. He extended his sympathies and gave me the number that had been given to him. My hands shook so hard, I had to rewrite it several times in order to read it.

My brother. Gone. How could this have have happened? Too soon, I'm not prepared. A deep sorrow filled my heart. Not only by his death, but for the lost years between us.

Somehow, I thanked the officer and hung up. Tears blinded me as I searched for the tool I came to get. I had no choice but to continue the path I had begun the day with. My brain searched for a calming point. I couldn't find one. Every thought in my head banged against the next one, interrupting anything lucid that came to mind.

I had not seen or heard from my brothers, sadly, in many years. They didn't know I had moved, which is why the sheriff's office was called. Fortunately, I am in good standing at the local sheriffs office, so they knew where to find me.

Cell phone in hand I crawled back in the truck. Shaking so much, I slipped and skinned my shin. The pain in my leg is nothing. The pain in my heart is overpowering as I drive through blurry eyes.

I drove into the field with no regard to the gates, leaving them open behind me. I didn't care. As I hand him the tool, he notices the tears flowing down my face and turns away, respectfully.

“Are you okay?” he asked tentatively. He must have had a name, I'm not sure. I can't think. Nothing makes sense.

Barely able to nod, I get back in the truck and dial the number the officer had given me. Wait! I can't do this. I can't just call after so many years. Not yet.

I have no choice; I let it ring. How I would be received kept going through my head. Dread and fear, robbing me of my usual calm. It didn't occur to me at that moment that he had made the effort to find me. My brother wanted to make the connection, he didn't have to. Pictures flew through my mind like the shutter of a camera in speed mode. Children, teenagers, weddings...

My brothers, so long ago.

The ringing stops; my youngest brother answers.

“Hello.”

A flood of love poured over me at the sound of his voice, along with a tsunami of tears. All the stupid wasted years melted away. I love him so much, nothing else mattered at that moment.

The two of us; all that's left of our family. Reunited through the loss of our brother. His sweet words warmed my soul as we cried together. For the loss of our brother and the unspoken knowledge that we could be together again without recrimination. Family.

The best and worst day of my life.

After several hours the blue machine roared again. Black smoke shot from the stack, alerting the cows that a buffet would soon be on the way. They bellowed and mooed, telling me they were thankful to hear the sweet roar once again.

Angel Tears

Toby gently reached beneath the layers of tissue paper in the box. Hidden beneath the folds, laid the Christmas Angel. A cherubic face, surrounded by golden curls. Her dress laid in folds, made of sheer white chiffon.

Carefully, he picked her up in his chubby eight year old hands, smiling. His mother had cherished the angel, and carefully placed it on the tree each year. A tradition that Toby wanted to respect and follow. He remembered the look on his mother's face, as she stood back and looked up at the angel. Then she would kneel beside him, pulling him close to her. She told him every year, the story of how her grandmother had made the angel when she was a little girl, just for her. Now she belonged to both of them.

Toby held the angel gently, bringing it out of the box. When he had taken it almost beyond the clinging tissue paper, he saw bits of the dress lying in the box. Turning it over, he discovered the entire back of her dress, along with the feathered wings, were gone. Eaten completely away; by mice. The beautiful angel was tattered now, no longer whole.

The child was devastated. Tears fell down his cheeks, while his chest heaved with sorrow. His mother's cherished angel was destroyed. Toby couldn't believe, that her beloved angel wouldn't sit on the top of the tree this year, or ever again.

When his father realized that Toby was sitting on the floor holding the angel, his body heaving with the sounds of loss, he sat beside him. Taking the angel from the little hands clutching it, he now knew why his son was crying. Toby's mother had only been gone a year. For the angel to be gone too, was more than his child could bear. He put his arms around him, sitting him in his lap. Toby cried while his father rocked him, back and fourth, until he fell asleep. His father placed him on the sofa, to dream away the sadness in his heart.

The angel laid in front of the tree. Mangled and torn, no longer the elegant white beacon, to smile above the the twinkling lights below.

Toby's father picked it up and sighed. He had no idea how to make this better for Toby. He knew all too well how important this was to his son, but he was lost as to a way to fix it. He took the box and the angel and put it in the laundry room. He couldn't bring himself to throw it away. He wasn't man enough for that, tears in his own eyes; shutting off the light.

Later that day, he told Toby they would go buy a new one. Toby shook his head. His lips were drawn into a tight line. No other angel would do. In his mind, she could never be replaced.

Toby went to bed that night with a heavy heart. All the joy of decorating the tree, gone from the little boy and the father too.
Toby played in his room for the next few days, staying far away from the tree that stood in darkness. Hundreds of tiny white lights, waited to shine. Toby and his father couldn't bring themselves to turn them on.

A few days later, it began to snow. Harder and harder it came down. Blanketing the neighborhood in velvety white powder. Standing at the window watching it, Toby seemed to perk up a bit. Soon he was ready to go out and play in it. He dressed in all of his warmest clothes. Yellow rubber boots tromped through the snow, leaving his prints to follow him. He delighted in watching his own footprints. His smile and laughter tickling the air, as snowflakes touched his tongue and landed on his eyelashes.

His father watched from the window as his son began to laugh. Seeing the sparkle in Toby's eyes, gave him new spirit too. He soon dressed and joined his son in the snow. They built a snowman, giving him holly berries for eyes and a nose. A stick from the tree, created a crooked smile. Toby's father took off his red scarf, placing it around the snowman's chubby neck.

Toby tried to put his own wet mittens on him, but they slipped off every time. Darkness and cold began to fall upon them. His father picked him up and turned toward the house.
He almost dropped Toby, when he saw the lights from the tree in the window, glistening over the snow. Toby slowly slid down his father's legs, to stand beside his him in awe. The tree lights twinkled brightly through the big front window, creating a bright glow on the snow.

After a few minutes, they went into the house; with trepidation. There in front of them, stood the most beautiful tree. Twinkling lights and shiny balls, with his mother's angel sitting at the top. Her wings were regal again, her dress complete, elegantly flowing down the branches. Her hands were folded, as if in prayer.

Toby walked over to the tree, staring up at the angel. A smile encompassed his face, tears moistened his eyes. He turned to his father with a questioning look. His father shook his head, kneeling beside his son. Together they admired the angel, as she once again adorned their tree.

Toby sighed, she was watching over them again. Just the way she had for every Christmas of his whole life. He knew in his heart who had made her whole again. For Toby, there was only one person that could have put the angel on their tree.

Many years later, Toby ran into their old housekeeper while Christmas shopping. She hugged the tall young man, now in college, so handsome and grown. She asked about his father, and Toby told her that he was well. He waved goodbye, walking to his car.

She turned and stopped, as she walked towards her own car, asking Toby if the angel was still on the tree. Toby suddenly knew that she had cared enough, to leave him all those years ago, with his own special thoughts as a child. Never giving a clue that she had saved the angel from the trash.

Toby went to her, hugging her tightly. Angel tears filled his eyes, "Thank you." She patted his hand, getting into her car with her packages. A special tear in her own eyes now, as she remembered the little boys tears, so long ago.