Friday Fiction – Lessons From Grandma

Yay!  I get to host Friday Fiction today!  I’m excited! Patty has given great directions for adding Mr. Linky.  I hope I get it right… :-) 

My story this week is from one of the FaithWriters Christmas theme challenges from last fall.

Even though it’s nowhere near Christmas, I decided to post it this week since it has “Grandma” in the title…because I’m a first-time Grandma as of Tuesday!  :-D

Of course I can’t pass up a chance to post my new granddaughter’s picture (especially when I have a “captive audience”, LOL), so I’ll get to my story in a moment, but first, here is Ada Marie at a whole few hours old! She weighed in at 9lb. 2 oz. (delivered by c-section).

Okay…Grandma brags aside (for now! ;-))

Back to my story for this week…  Although most of the story is fiction, the “glugs” part of it is true…it happened when my mother in law (a war bride from England) went to her mother in law (from Sweden) to learn some of her recipes.  Swedish mom-in-law was happy to show her how to make the dishes, but had no written recipes, so some of the explanations for measurements were a little…creative!

 

Lessons From Grandma

“Three glugs.”

“Three what?”

“Yah, glugs.  Tip the bottle, and glug, glug, glug, don’t ya know?”

I smiled at the memory as I added oil to the other ingredients…just like I’d been taught so many years before. 

Over three dozen Christmases had passed since Grandma Petersson had taught me how to make her  gingerbread cookies.  I’d followed her recipe every year since.  Oh!  I did learn something very important in my first few solo attempts at making the fragrant creations, though.  When measuring by the glug method it’s very important to use an oil container similar in size and shape to the one Grandma always used.  …All glugs are not created equal.   

Grandma’s cookies had been a tradition as long as anyone could remember.  But they were only made at Christmastime, for some reason no one could ever quite explain to me.  I asked about that once…

“Grandma, why can’t we make some of your gingerbread cookies for the church’s Fourth of July picnic?  We could decorate them like flags and stuff.” 

I never did get an answer.  At least not one I could understand.  Oh, Grandma did reply, but lapsed into Swedish, as she often did when particularly impassioned about something.  But even though I couldn’t make out a word of her answer, her tone of voice and the accompanying arm waving left little doubt as to what Grandma thought of my proposal.  I never asked again.  Nor have I ever made the cookies for any time other than Christmas…even after all these years.

“Need any help, Mom?” Becky wandered into the kitchen and snitched a pinch of dough.

“No thanks.  You just go on and play with Bree in the family room.  I can watch you from here.” 

My visiting daughter stretched out on her stomach on the floor beside the cracking fire.  In front of her sat her daughter, who bounced on her bottom, clapped her chubby hands and giggled with glee when the blocks they stacked tumbled to the floor.  Things had come full circle.  Oh, my granddaughter wasn’t quite old enough then to learn Grandma’s cookie recipe.  But I looked forward to when she was! 

I longed to teach Bree some of the other lessons I’d learned from Grandma, too.  Things like generosity, helpfulness…even selflessness (oh, what a foreign concept that is to many, these days!)  Again, the cookies provided the perfect example.  Grandma made dozens and dozens and passed them out to friends and strangers alike.  She’d also teach anyone who wanted to know, how to make the treats themselves.  I do suspect that somewhere along the line many adapted Grandma’s glug measurement to something a bit more conventional, though!   

She was the epitome of love-in-action.  She didn’t hesitate for one second to take me in and raise another child--long after hers had grown--when my parents were killed in a car accident.  And her caring extended far beyond family.  People knew that whenever they needed a helping hand, all they had to do was let Mrs. Petersson know.  She’d always do whatever she could.  And if she required extra help to meet someone‘s need…she’d just conscript assistance.  I don’t think anyone was ever so foolish as to try to refuse her more than once.  Grandma on a mission was a force to be reckoned with!   

Cookies finished and cooled, I packaged up several dozen to take with us to the service at the church that Christmas Eve.  I slipped one small bag of the treats into my pocket.  I had something special in mind for them.

I must admit; little of the service registered with me. My thoughts returned to Grandma, and how important she had been to me...and to many others. But, it had been years since then.  I was sure most would have forgotten long ago. As people grow old and less capable, they soon fade from the memories of all but a very few. That’s always seemed a shame to me.

After the service I visited with friends in the foyer.  Finally, I broke away, came back into the sanctuary and made my way up front.     

Even through blurred eyes, I could see that she was still beautiful.  Although I knew what I viewed was a mere shell.  The precious spirit which had dwelt within for more than a century had left to soar with the Lord.  I blinked to clear my vision, reached to place my gift…and gasped. 

The edges of tufted satin were lined with Christmas gingerbread cookies.

 

Fiction Friday- The Project

Fiction Friday is hosted this week by The Surrendered Scribe.

My selection this week is a speculative piece I wrote for a FaithWriters Challenge entry. Some who read and commented on this story “got” it, and others didn’t.  It’ll be interesting to see what any who read this think, if you haven’t read it before (or even if you have!) :-)

The Project

Clerk bounced up the stairs from the mailroom to deliver a package marked “Urgent”. The tousle-haired youth tossed the lightweight box skyward--then caught it again--several times along the way. Just outside the glass-inset laboratory door he lofted the package once more and reclaimed it with a flourish behind his back.

“What are you doing?” Assistant slammed the door open so rapidly, Clerk had to leap aside to avoid being hit. The youngster’s smile vanished and his eyes widened when he saw the near-eggplant shade of Assistant’s face.

“Just delivering this package addressed to Professor, sir!”

“I’ll give it to him.” Assistant tore the box from the boy’s hand. “How could you be so stupid as to throw this around?” He held the package inches from the boy’s nose.  “Don’t you know its value?”

“No, sir. I had no idea. It’s so small I just…”

“You didn’t drop it, did you?”

“No, sir…not at all. I caught it every time.”

Assistant grimaced on hearing ‘every time‘ but he took a deep breath and muttered, “It should be okay...surely they would have packaged it carefully.”

The youngster--encouraged by Assistant’s tone--dared a question. “What’s in there, anyway?”

“ I can’t tell you!” Assistant roared. “Just don’t ever…ever toss what you are delivering again. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Never again!” The shaken Clerk fled without daring a look back.

Assistant glanced up at the chart of instructions posted on the wall…though he no longer had need of them. He had cleansed, suited up and entered the class-one cleanroom--where Professor awaited him--often enough in these past months he could follow the procedures in his sleep.

Inside, Assistant’s hands trembled when he tested the contents of the package. He could barely bring himself to look at the readout. If they were unusable…well, to put it mildly, Minister would not be pleased.

“They’re fine. No damage,” he announced with an long exhale into his breathing canister.

He and his boss set to work on the final programming of the miniscule components.

“It’s strange…we may never even see the benefit of what we’re doing today,” Assistant said.

“That’s true. But even if we don‘t, we can be proud of our contribution to the project. The reward to our country will be beyond measure! Eventually we’ll have hundreds--maybe thousands--of modified units installed in the most strategic locations. Through these, our government will gain access to high level meetings, top-secret documents, every form of communication…and no one will suspect a thing!“

The pair finished their work and returned to the outer office just in time to see the hapless Clerk peer through the window then knock. When Professor answered, Clerk thrust an envelope toward him and beat a hasty retreat.

By the time Professor had read through the message he was beaming.  “It’s a great honor!  Minister himself has invited us to observe the installation of our components into the very first unit which is scheduled for export soon!”

+ + + + + + +

Assistant and Professor sat surrounded by dignitaries they had previously seen only on news reports.  Beyond a glass barrier half a dozen white-suited workers undertook the painstaking installation process. Through monitors which projected the microscopic display, they watched the workers make the intricate connections to link the components to the unit’s data processing and retrieval ports, sensors and more.

Following the installation, workers moved the unit to an adjacent room.  Immediately the monitors showed--in perfect detail--the sights and sounds from that room.  Exultant murmurs spread among the observers until Chairman silenced them with a raised hand.  One test remained.  To be successful in its future placement, the modifications to the unit must be all but undetectable.  A definitive scan proved it to be so--even from the inside.

Cheering erupted in earnest at this news, yet once again it was quickly stilled.  This time by Messenger.  Without acknowledging anyone else he strode straight to Minister, saluted, and handed him a folder. Eternity passed in moments while Minister read. 

Finally, he cleared his throat. “My friends…as we know, ours in a long-term project. It will take years before the fruits of our labors are ripe for the picking. Some in this room may well have passed on before then. But our patience will be rewarded! Not only is the unit working perfectly…so is the plan.  This envelope contains the very best of news! The unit before us will be delivered to a U.S. senator. …He and his wife just signed the adoption papers.”

Giveaway Winner…

It looks like I’m going to be away from the computer most of the day today, so I wanted to quickly post the winner of the autographed copy of The Shack.

Out of just short of 400 entries, the winner is: Rochelle Helms.  Rochelle has a blog at http://leftcoastgirlie.blogspot.com

Congratulations Rochelle!

Coming Down to the Wire!

The giveaway of the autographed copy of The Shack is ending soon!

You have until tomorrow, Thursday, April 30, at 11:59 PM pacific time, so there's still time to get an (or another!) entry in.

I'll announce the winner on Friday.

Good Luck!

Friday Fiction (Bull Terrier edition)- It All Comes Back to Me Now

Friday Fiction is hosted today by Vonnie at My Back Door.

This selection is another my Bull Terrier owning friends will probably enjoy. I originally wrote it from a different perspective for one of the FaithWriters writing challenges, but later lengthened it a bit and changed it to the perspective of one of our clowns-in-residence! :-)



It All Comes Back To Me Now

I awake face down on the carpet. The sound of laughter surrounds me like a living being. I try to make sense of what’s happening, but can’t. Not quite sure what I‘ll find, I lift my nose from its cushion of plush fibers just far enough to survey my surroundings. A brightness I hadn’t expected assaults my eyes. I blink; a crowd has gathered.

Where am I? Who am I?

Ah, yes!

It all comes back to me now.

I rest my chin on the floor and look up at the group using only my eyes. The onlookers squeal with delight.

“Oh, I can’t believe this!”

“Somebody get the camera.”

“Doesn’t he look just like Eeyore?”

Mission accomplished. I remain thus for a moment and, for good measure, add in the rapid tail wag--the one so vigorous it extends into what my lady calls the wiggle-bum. The crowd roars their approval.

This is almost too easy. Everything I do today inspires mirth!

Delighted by my effect on the crowd, I perform another favorite--what the two-legs like to call my “screaming yawn”. Very big. Very noisy. Once again, I’ve amused them. I do the yawn mostly for effect, but--now that I think about it--the idea of returning once again to the land of slumber does have its appeal. A brief suspension of my role as entertainer extraordinaire couldn’t hurt. My adoring fans will wait. I place my chin across my curled paw and prepare to re-enter that other world. Ah. “To sleep; perchance to dream….”

“Hey, Sam! Don’t you want a cookie?” A tall man in the middle of the group waves several of the treats in my direction, then hands them out for crowd members to pass to me. I lift my nose and inhale in shallow, rapid chuffs to discern the flavor. Liver! My favorite.

For just an instant, I hesitate. You know, there are times I almost wish I could maintain the reserve, or better yet, the delightful disdain of Tiger, my feline housemate. I’ve tried. Really, I have. But it’s just not…me. I guess it boils down to the innate inability of my species--and especially my breed--to feign such decorum in the presence of food for longer than…oh, half a second. On a good day.

All thought of sleep vanishes like an unattended hotdog as I spring from my prone position in one grand, twisting motion. Reminiscent of a “sick frontside 360 with big air”. Or something like that. Okay, I really don’t have a clue what that means, but one of the friends of my boy described it that way. And I think I like it. Anyway, I know I like the attention the move always brings!

I score the first cookie by an Olympic-worthy execution of the snatch and gulp. One of the careless two-legs (and not a pup, either) was silly enough to leave a half-inch border of cookie showing out from the edge of her closed fist. That was all I needed. It’s mine, now!

Guffaws bounce around me. I’m not quite sure why they’re so thrilled with everything I do today, but I’ll take it!

They make me work for the next cookies. Great. Evidently they’re smarter than they look. I have to sit for one, down for the next, roll over for the one after that. Surrounded by laughter at every turn. But it doesn’t end there….

Once again, they tell me to “down“. I’m getting a little bored with this game, but I do want that last luscious liver-treat, so I cooperate. Then I see the hand slowly extend toward me. Oh, no. Not the dreaded balancing and--infinitely worse--waiting act! But it is. It takes the two-leg quite some time to find a spot to place the treat. Can’t they realize that I am simply not designed for cookie balancing? The first few attempts slide off my nose. I try my best to grab the cookie from the floor, but the buggers are getting wise to my tactics; their reactions are annoyingly fast. Sigh. I finally decide the only way for me to get that last treat is to put up with their foolishness, so I stay as still as a stone in order to facilitate the cookie placement.

“This is like trying to balance it on a football!”

My boy explains the intricacies of my kind to his companion--an obvious newcomer to the fine art of cookie placement onto the epitome of canine evolution. “Yeah, you’ll have to put it on top of his head. Bull Terriers don’t have normal noses. Their head is their nose. Or their nose is their head. Or something like that. Anyway, it’s all connected, with no flat spots for cookies!”

The raucous laughter of my audience almost makes up for the humiliation.

Finally the newcomer gets the cookie placed. I almost don’t dare to breathe, for fear I’ll dislodge the treat and they’ll have to begin the all-but-impossible balancing act once again. Thus begins my agony. Waiting, waiting….

“Three, four, five. Okay, Sam! Get the cookie!”

Did they say five? No wonder I’m so weak I can barely move! I marshal my last reserve of strength, toss my head to loft the cookie, and grab it before it reaches the floor. The crowd cheers. Usually this would have thrilled me. Well, okay, it still does thrill me, but I’m not about to give them the satisfaction of knowing it does. To make me wait five hours to get that cookie is just too much! They really must be punished for this. I give them “the look” (which usually melts even the hardest of hearts), and, for added effect, take a few steps away to sit with my back turned to them, giving only the occasional glance over my shoulder to be sure they notice the shun.

“What’s the matter, boy? That was great! You made it five seconds!”

Five seconds? It’s worse than I thought. The two-legs are delusional! Woefully lacking in their knowledge of the intricacies of canine existence. Completely unaware of the cruel rift in the space-time continuum which extends time almost interminably for my species during cookie-waiting. They just don’t understand.

I vacillate between forgiving the poor, misguided souls and continuing their well-deserved punishment.

“Hey, Sam. You know you can’t stay mad at us. Look what we have for you now!”

A red glow appears on the floor in front of my right front paw.

Can it be? It is. She’s back. My best friend (I love her!) My worst nightmare (I hate her!) That most elusive enigma…Dot.

She darts across the floor. I am right on her tail…if a dot has a tail. In an instant she changes direction and doubles back toward the crowd. I turn to follow, but skid out of control thanks to that evil anti-force field the two-legs have code named “laminate floor“.

“Look at him slide!”

“His legs are going like crazy but he’s not going anywhere!”

The crowd erupts in cheering and laughter. They trivialize our contest…call it variously “cat and mouse”…“Road Runner and the coyote” even “Laurel and Hardy”.

Dot traverses the room in a perfect figure-eight; around the chair in one direction, then around the table in the other. I do the same. She reverses the pattern. So do I.

And then, as suddenly as it began…it’s over. With a click, Dot is gone. I search for her, but she is nowhere to be found. It always ends like this. She appears; she leaves. Without warning. With never even so much as a goodbye. I tip my substantial proboscis skyward and howl my displeasure.

Disconsolate, I return to my rug and bury my face in the fibers.

“Three, two, one….”

Snap.

“Wake up, Sam.”

I awake face down on the carpet. The sound of laughter surrounds me like a living being. I try to make sense of what’s happening, but can’t. Not quite sure what I‘ll find, I lift my nose from its cushion of plush fibers and survey my surroundings. A gritty residue coats my mouth; its scent assaults my nose. Glaring light confronts my eyes. I blink; a crowd has gathered.

Where am I? Who am I?

I stand and look around. The roar of the crowd is deafening. Finally, I see my wife sitting front and center, holding her sides; mirth born tears course down her cheeks. The kids are there, too. A tall man walks toward me, holding out a microphone.

In an incredible déjà vu moment, I’m convinced I’ve been here before. On this very spot. Self-assured. Confident.

But what was it I had said?

The realization begins to dawn.

“No,” I had assured the entertainer. “I’m certain. You won’t get me to run around and cluck like a chicken or whatever it is you do. You just don’t understand. I cannot be hypnotized.”

But--somehow--I got irresistibly sleepy. Then, I awoke. As my d.…

Oh. No.

It all comes back to me now.

Friday Fiction – Up a Tree Without a Paddle

Today’s Friday Fiction is hosted by Patty at Patterings.  This piece is another FaithWriters challenge entry.  This was from the quarter where the theme each week was a well-known saying, and you were supposed to write something that illustrated the saying without using the phrase itself.  The topic for this one was “A man is known by the company he keeps”.

By the way, although “Charlie” is a fictional character, the idea—and the title, which is an actual quote—came from someone I know (who shall remain nameless! :-))

Up a Tree Without a Paddle

“I’d better find the book I need for finishing my report that’s due tomorrow or…you know what they say…I’ll be up a tree without a paddle!”

Poor cousin Charlie.  He’s not the brightest bulb in the chandelier, if you know what I mean.  Okay, okay…to be honest, Charlie is really not stupid.  But he is unique.  He does, shall we say, march to the beat of his own drummer?  In a kind of absent-minded professor manner.

You see, Charlie loves to quote the wit and wisdom of the ages.  Or at least Grandma’s never ending litany of wry platitudes.  But the problem is, Charlie never seems to get these sayings quite right.  When Charlie begins his now-signature phrase in that characteristic drawl… “Well, you know what they say…“ we all know what’s coming next.  The murder of some well-known bit of wisdom. 

Sometimes, he gets it totally wrong, like being up a tree without a paddle.  On other occasions, he might have the wording right, but give the saying an entirely new twist.  Like the time he was eight, and my aunt found a store of change in her fancy marble vase.  Upon questioning Charlie, she was surprised to learn that this was the proper place to keep change, because, after all, “A penny saved is a penny urned.”

It’s funny, though.  Despite mangled wording or alternate interpretations, Charlie often manages to portray the essence of a saying or some related truth quite correctly in his quirky way.  Kind of like Yogi Berra.  You know, the baseball legend famous for pronouncements like, “When you get to a fork in the road, take it”, or “The future ain’t what it used to be”.  Or--the one which could be Charlie‘s life motto--“You’ve got to be  careful if you don’t know where you’re going, because you might not get there.“

Yes…just as Yogi is known for his “Yogi-isms”, so our Charlie has his “Charlie-isms”.

One of my favorites came about when several of us had gone to watch my little sister Amanda compete in a swim meet.  A fierce competitor, Amanda had done very well all season, but on that particular day had finished in second place by the narrowest of margins. 

After the meet, Amanda emerged from the dressing room and stomped toward the car.  Head down, hands stuffed into the pockets of her jeans, she made it clear that she was not pleased with her placement.  She shrugged off all attempts to cheer her.  That is, until Charlie quickened his pace to draw beside her. 

“That’s okay, Amanda.  You know what they say…you can’t win the mall.”

My sister whirled sharply…hands now on her hips, facing her cousin.  “Did you just say you can’t win the mall?”

“Yep.  You know…no matter how good you are, you can win lots of things but you can’t ever win the mall.”

This declaration worked where none of our others had.  The corners of Amanda’s mouth twitched slightly…then softened into a smile.  Finally, she chuckled.  Patting Charlie on the arm, she acknowledged, “You’re right Charlie…you’re right.”

Another Charlie classic came at chicken butchering time.  Our extended family always gathered to help accomplish the tasks involved.  Dad and Uncle Bob dispatched the birds, while the rest of us took care of the plucking, cleaning and processing chores.  When we had finished Aunt June made a quick tally then commented that we were short by a couple of packages.  Uncle Bob admitted that two of the fowl had flown the coop, so to speak, on their way to meet their Maker. 

“Well, you know what they say…”

Everyone looked toward Charlie.

“Don’t count your chickens before they’re hacked.”

Hmmm…a variation on the original, to be sure, but you have to admit…the meaning’s spot-on.

The Charlie-isms continue.  The latest edition occurred just recently…not long after the death of our grandfather.    

Grandpa had made some modest investments and his will stipulated that these stocks be distributed among his now-adult grandchildren.  Charlie received shares of a natural foods conglomerate and a tobacco company.

“I’ll keep my natural food stocks, but I’m definitely selling the tobacco shares,” he told me emphatically one day, shortly after receiving his inheritance.

“But why?  It’s a great investment.”

“I don’t care.  They’re a business which causes harm.  Like it or not, a man is judged by  his associations.  If I kept that stock I’d end up being known by my affiliation with that group!  

I…just…won’t…keep…that…company!” he insisted.

“Because…well, you know what they say…“ 

Photo Slideshow

Today's post has nothing to do with spec-fic, or even writing. 

But, since many of my loyal blog readers have followed my camera drama here (from the demise of my little point and shoot in the Pacific Ocean to the long wait for the delivery of my DSLR and beyond), I thought you might like to see a little slideshow of some of the pictures I've taken.

With GREAT difficulty, I've selected a mere 32 of my favorites from among the almost 2,000 pictures I've taken over the past few weeks!

They do lose a little quality here, and I also wish I could display them bigger. But the next bigger size disappeared under my sidebar. If you'd like to see the album and have the option to view the pictures in a larger size (they really do show better that way) you can do that here.

I hope you enjoy them...