Morning Premonition

It was not the end of the world; but when that time finally comes it will no doubt look much like this morning.

On the western horizon a boiling, churning wall of purple-black filled the space between earth and sky. The towering wall of darkness drove before it waves of destruction.

Winds peppered the sides of buildings with trash cans, benches, and garden gnomes. Trees bent double in submission, many leaving branches scattered across the ground. Birds flapped their wings frantically in a bid to escape the rushing currents threatening to drive them to the ground.

In mere moments the ordinary was forgotten - just as, when the time comes, the world will fade to black.

Little Interruptions

It was while Motivated Mom and I were cleaning up from dinner that our granddaughter, Little Miss Grabby Fingers, decided to rearrange the placement of the dishes in the dishwasher.

So I paused in the cleaning of the kitchen to wipe the tomato sauce from Little Miss Grabby Fingers' fingers and then moved our granddaughter to the family room where she could play with her toys.

It was while I continued to clean up from dinner that Little Miss Grabby Fingers decided to remove the soil from the potted palm tree.

So I paused in the cleaning of the kitchen to wipe the black smudges from tiny fingers, sweep up the potting soil that had been cast across the floor, and move Little Miss Grabby Fingers back to the family room where she could play with her toys.

It was while I worked to wrap up the cleaning in the kitchen that Motivated Mom started folding laundry... until Little Miss Grabby Fingers decided to unfold the clothes and build a pile that she could fall into.

So I paused in the cleaning of the kitchen to carry Little Miss Grabby Fingers back to the family room and sat down on the floor so we could play with her toys together.

Sometimes the important things are not what you think they are.

The Non-Stick Dilemma

Helpful hint #1,377

Our kitchen had been hit with an epidemic of Teflon pans losing their ability to prevent foods from sticking. Pans that had been our favorites for years were suddenly being shoved aside in favor of those that had been our second choice not so long ago.

We were always careful to use plastic spatulas and wooden spoons so as not to damage the Teflon coating and were stymied by non-stick failure.

Having given up entirely on our best and second best omelet pans, Motivated Mom headed off to the kitchen store... where she learned that the aerosol propellant in cooking sprays actually damages the non-stick coating when the pan heats up. 

Teflon or no, there are always times when we're looking for that little extra oily coating on the pan. Unfortunately those quick sprays were leading to routine sprays... and now we know why.

From now on we'll use the sales clerk's suggestion of keeping some light oil in a pump bottle and adding it to the pan that way.

Childhood Universe

Stuck inside during the cold snap I have found myself contemplating the simplicity of childhood in summer.

With no school to attend, the known universe... what was important anyway... fell within a two mile radius of my home. And the kids who lived in that universe had assigned a simple name to everything of importance.

If we agreed to meet at the Big Rock, there was no question as to the meeting place.  There were fields and farms all around, but if someone declared a game of touch football would be played in The Farmer's Field everybody knew where to go.Games of hide and seek started at The Bridge and toy boats were tested for integrity at The Waterfall.

An underground fort was constructed at the foot of the Big Hill. During the dog days of summer we would crawl down the sloping entrance and sip water from canteens while breathing in the cool air that smelled of damp earth

Looking back, I wonder if our parents envied the confines of our world.

Relay or Triangle

I have come to believe the Delaware Bay is the avian equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle.

During the past weeks the morning sky has been heavily peppered with flocks of birds; birds in such numbers that the individual flocks could be mistaken for thunderheads at the crest of a weather front.

Originating from every compass point, the birds seem to lose their way above the waters off of central Delaware. The flocks meet, cross either under or over one another, and suddenly become an aimless swirling mass.

It's as though their internal GPS' have gone whacky and they are no longer sure whether to maintain their original direction or head off for some other destination.

....Unless of course what I'm witnessing is a series of avian relay races and each bird is busily looking for another to pass the baton to.

Frozen Words

There have been more than a few short stories written in which the words spoken by characters in the story freeze in the air.

My first reading of such a story was in fourth grade. The temperatures dipped so low one winter that two neighbors living in cabins in the woods were forced to wait until the spring thaw to hear what the other had spoken while out of doors.

Obviously the story itself made an impression on me.  I called on Dr. Google to assist me in identifying the author and story title but to no avail.  Too many stories of a similar vein have been written since I carried textbooks bound together by a monster elastic band.

Walking outside this morning I was prepared to believe that remembered story wasn't a complete work of fiction after all.  Had I dared to open my mouth against the bitter cold and utter a single phrase I would not have been surprised had the air held my words captive until warmth returned to the world.

False Sunlight

It's a false promise...January sunlight.

Shining through the window of a building or automobile January sun promises nurturing warmth.  But dare to open a door and all that remains of sunlight is...light.

So it was interesting to note the faces of those who ventured outdoors on Sunday. Looks of startled relief and whispers of do you feel that came from all directions.  For, if you stood in a place sheltered from wind, there was the suggestion of spring warmth.

It was enough to draw people out of doors again on Monday wearing only lightweight coats or sweaters. Hats and gloves were left behind. But oh those poor souls shivered and shook when greeted by the breeze that carried nothing of warmth.

And now the forecast is peppered with temperatures nearing single digits. Temperatures that will feel all the colder for that one-day promise of warmth.

But what else could we expect from such an unfriendly month?

Baby Proofing

I never appreciated just how many cabinet doors and drawers there are in our kitchen until I had to baby-proof them.

It seemed I would never finish drilling tiny holes so that I could use tiny screws to affix tiny clips in order to keep tiny hands out of places they shouldn't be.

This undertaking was prompted by Little Miss Grabby Fingers' discovery that if she pulled plates out of the cabinets and dropped them on the floor the plates made the most marvelous shattering sound.

Thrown into sheer terror by the sight of a bare footed baby standing in the midst of a ceramic shards, I moved baby-proofing to the top of the to-do list.

It seems there ought to be an easier way to address the problem of babies getting into things they shouldn't. I'm thinking of developing baby-sized oven mitts that can only be removed by releasing a combination lock. While wearing the mitts, the baby would be limited to clapping hands in imitation of a Sea World sea lion clapping its flippers.

Acceptance Questioned

He had grown up during a dying time.

He had been only thirteen when first called upon to be a pall bearer. It had been his grandmother's funeral. He had been spared having to attend the viewing the night before but spent the entire funeral service wondering what the body within the casket looked like. Snippets of horror movies ran through his head as he studied the metal latches that held the casket lid shut. When it came time to lift the casket he made sure to take a position on the side opposite those latches.

Nearly every six months for the next six years he had been called upon. Had there been such a job as professional pall bearer he would have been eminently qualified. He carried grandparents, uncles, aunts, great-grandparents, friends, and parents to their final rest. For a short time he had taken to attending the preceding viewings, then stopped. He did not care to have memories stolen by reality. He accepted that each casket contained the body it was supposed to.

But now he found himself questioning the wisdom of that acceptance... found himself questioning many things. The grandfather he had carried across the cemetery just four months ago now sat at the opposite side of his kitchen table...offering to refill his cup with hot tea.

Cry of a Swing

He left her sitting on the porch swing and descended the springy wooden steps into the evening's swirling mist. Behind him, the metronome motion of the swing caused the chain to squeal on the eye-bolts screwed into the ceiling beams. He turned up his coat collar against the sound. If he hadn't just left the porch he would have sworn a wounded animal was stalking him.

The mist separated him from the house long before he reached the end of the winding walk. Ordinarily the house would still be visible from where he stood; even at night, for with all of the lamp posts placed around the manicured lawn there was no such thing as darkness here.

This night was no different. Darkness was held at bay but the mist had clamped a damp hand over those two-dozen lights so that he saw only a wall of steel gray illuminated from within.

The cycle of the metallic squeal slowed until stopped as a single last cry. The following silence lasted only seconds before it was broken by the thud of booted feet on nearly rotted steps. The very same steps he had descended moments earlier. He quickened his pace. His follower would know the woman's death had been by his hand.

Baby Strategy

With enough babies, we could win any war. The enemy would never have the opportunity to get organized. They would be too busy chasing diaper clad infants in order to rescue shoes, ammunition, and keys.

In command centers, maps would lie on the floor in jumbled heaps. Cell phones and radios would have disappeared down toilets and into trashcans. Desk chairs would clip generals in the backs of their knees as the chairs rolled around the bunker like bumper cars in an amusement park.

The doors to storage cabinets would stand open, the contents of those cabinets strewn across the floor. Without shoes, which the babies would have already made off with, soldiers would be forced to navigated the cluttered floors on hands and knees. Grown men, trained soldiers, would raise their hands in surrender and plead to be rescued from the perpetual tide of stubby legged toddlers surging around them.

Heebie Creepies

She had been looking forward to spending the weekend at her grandparent's house; but now, lying in bed with the covers pulled over her head she only wanted to be back home.

Everything had been fine during the day. In the morning she had helped Mama pick ripe, juicy fruit from the strawberry patch in the back yard. Later in the day she had sat on a wooden crate in the corner of Papa's basement workshop while her grandfather applied a coat of lacquer to the rocking chair that would soon sit on the front porch.

Even bath time had been fun with bubbles rising past the top of her head.

But when it had come time to climb into bed in the room that served as a library, she had gotten the heebie creepies.  It felt like she was being watched. The walls and bookcases were covered with pictures of family members who had died long before she had been born.

She told herself it was her imagination... until Great Uncle Alfred turned his head within the dark brown frame and glared down at her.

Year in a Leaf

The dried and withered tree leaf was coaxed across the back deck by a wind that dropped the temperature by an additional seven degrees.

And in that leaf I saw an entire year of seasons. I saw the oak tree with a web of fresh, spindly branches tipped by green buds. The vision morphed into a towering tree laden with hundreds of leaves casting shifting shadows on the ground below.  Those leaves changed from deep green to a blend of yellow, orange, and red. Then I saw the tree shaken bare by November winds - stripped of colored splendor the tree was little more than a skeleton with bony arms reaching upward.

Turning my back to the howling wind and studying the single leaf that had come to rest at my foot, I took comfort in the knowledge that the growing season moved closer with every passing day.

Who's Watching?

Toys, toys, everywhere and yet... nothing is so much fun as the wine glass grandma left on the end table while she went for a snack or the camera grandpa rested momentarily on the arm of the recliner.

So the question I can't help asking is... why purchase toys when the house comes ready made with all kinds of entertainment?

Entertainment that goes far beyond dabbling with plastic toys.  The simple picking up of a wine glass brings adults from all directions - racing through doorways, leaping over coffee tables, and sliding across the floor like a baseball player heading for home plate.

And in the middle of the converging adults, Miss Grabby-Fingers stands with a look of innocent amazement...which has me wondering just who is watching who?

Hopscotch Relearned

Christmas has come and gone and though the holidaydecorations are put away, our house is definitely not back to normal. A fully mobile baby has seen to that.

While Christmas decorations have been returned to boxes, the normal table-top doo-dad's have not been returned to their rightful places. To put anything within reach of Miss Grabby-Fingers would be to invite disaster.

Yet our house does not seem barren and empty - quite the opposite. The inventory of Santa's Workshop seems to have found  its way to our family room.

There are things that squeak, things that rattle, things that roll, and things that bounce - and some that squeak rattle and roll all at the same time. Any one of these items is capable of holding Miss Grabby-Fingers' attention for about...ohhh...fifteen seconds.

Which means that by the end of any given day getting from one side of the family room to the other requires feats of dexterity first learned in my own childhood games of hopscotch.