Mothers' Day Boggle

Want to play?

My husband put this together for me, but I'm sure you can find some good messages, too.  Ready, set, go!

The Wedding Gifts

Gift Box Wedding Cake by pinkcakebox

The plates have chipped,
the cups have cracked.
It's much too late
to take them back.

The quilts have ripped,
the towels are rough.
The toaster works--
one side's enough.

Two decades and
four thousand miles
are hard on dishes
and textiles.

The best gifts never
fade, you see:
of me for you,
and you for me.



For my dear husband

Leo and the Nightmares

A Magpie Tale

The Sleeping Gypsy, 1897, by Henri Rousseau

Pippa finished the jig with a flourish and raised her bow in the air.  Its tip tapped the dingy rafter above her, and she hastily lowered it.  But she smiled and bowed, along with Rosalind and Leo, as the audience clapped and whistled.  "Thank you!  Thank you!" Pippa called out, flushed with the thrill of a well-played set.  She caught a meaningful glance from Leo.  "And good night!"

"What, already?"  The landlord stepped forward as the performers filed off the stage.  "'Taint even midnight.  They was just gettin' warmed up."

Leo brushed past the man, latching his lute case.  Rosalind stopped, smoothing a stray lock of blond hair behind her ear.  "Sorry, sir.  Band policy."

"But . . ."

Rosalind shrugged, taking her flute apart.  The landlord stepped back on the stage, facing the already grumbling crowd.  "One more round of applause for Leo and the Nightmares!  And anyone for one more round?"  A stale bun bounced off the wall behind him, and he quickly stepped down.

"It's all for the best, sir."  Pippa settled her fiddle and stood up.  "You really want this rabble here all night?  Turn 'em out and get yourself some sleep."

The landlord sighed.  "Very well.  Meg'll show you to your room."

"Thank you kindly, but we can't take one of your fine rooms.  Save them for your paying guests," Rosalind said.

"But that's what's done!  I give you room and board, you play your tunes and attract custom."

"It's all right, we'll take coin instead," said Rosalind.

"And breakfast," added Pippa.

The landlord buried his face in his hands, his business model overturned by some upstart young minstrels.  Thinking of a loophole, he looked up, but they were gone.

Pippa and Rosalind scurried to the stable and ducked into an empty stall.

"Whew," said Rosalind, pulling off her boots.  "I thought he'd never let us go."

Pippa buried her fiddle case in the manger, and sneezed.  "Unlike old Count Droopy-Jowls, who couldn't wait for us to leave."

"I think we've improved a lot since then."  Rosalind folded her dress and placed it in a clean corner.  "If we played for the Count again, he wouldn't even recognize us."

"Except for the name he gave us."  Pippa sneezed again.  She selected a comb from the tack wall and blew out the lantern before dashing back to the stall and undressing herself.  "Do you think he'd remove the curse?"

Rosalind untied her braid and shook out her hair.  She shrugged, stretched, and whinnied.  Pippa had seen her sister's body transform into a beautiful palomino every night for months, but she still wondered:  Why does she go first?

After another sneeze, Pippa had completed her own transformation.  She was able to understand Rosalind again.

"--not so bad, really," Rosalind was saying.

"There are advantages," Pippa agreed, and took a deep breath through her enlarged nostrils.  "It cures my hay fever, every night."  She kicked the comb toward Rosalind's head.  "And I can grow my own bow-hair.  Would you mind combing the loose hairs from my tail?"

"I think I have some, too," Rosalind nickered before grasping the comb with her teeth.

"I think we could use this more to our advantage, though."  Pippa pawed at the floor as Rosalind combed her.  "We could travel so much faster if we went at night, as horses.  Then we could play in more towns, get paid more often.  Why won't Leo let us?"

Rosalind dropped the comb.  "It's hard on him, being the big brother and the only one who doesn't change."

"We're strong enough to carry the bags and Leo.  He hardly touches his food anymore.  He can't be that heavy."

"Leo needs his beauty sleep."  Rosalind snorted.  "And so do I."

Pippa combed Rosalind's tail next, and could tell her sister was dropping off to sleep.  But when she set the comb aside, full of useful hairs, Pippa felt wide awake.  And curious.  Where did Leo spend the nights, anyway?  He wouldn't take a room in any inn, and he never came to the stables with the girls.  She decided to take a trot around the village.

Pippa searched high and low, but didn't see any sign of her brother in the village.  She checked the surrounding fields, stopping for the occasional mouthful of clover, then decided to venture into the wilds.  The full moon cast plenty of light, enough to show that her brother was nowhere to be found.

The moon was sinking, and Pippa's eyes were growing bleary, when she finally spotted a figure on the ground.  The moonlight threw the man's face into shadow, but glinted off the strings of a lute.  It had to be Leo.  She studied him for a moment.  It might be nice, sleeping out here under the stars.  He certainly looked peaceful enough.  Did he just need some alone time, away from greedy landlords and drunken villagers and nightmarish sisters?

Pippa was about to wake Leo and ask, then remembered that he wouldn't understand a word she said.  Dawn was coming soon, and with it, her re-transformation; she should return to the stable.  But something caught her eye as she turned away, and she froze, one hoof in the air.

An enormous lion padded out from behind a boulder.  His sleek mane shone in the moonlight, but blood stained his chin.  The lion strode silently, straight to Leo's sleeping form.

"Neigh!"

Pippa couldn't help it.  She screamed, her horse-voice full of terror.  The lion lifted his head, looking at her with sorrowful eyes.  Pippa wheeled about and galloped back to the inn.

The lion sighed.  He had tried so hard not to frighten anyone. 

He reached across the still body and strummed the lute strings with one great claw.  He couldn't really play it, though, not like this.  Which was probably the worst part of the Count's curse.  Leo stretched his four legs and settled down, hoping for a catnap before the dawn came, when he would reinhabit his human body.

Then, it seemed, he'd have to do some explaining to his sisters.

In Memoriam

A Magpie Tale

self-portrait, Francis Bacon

"Can I help you, son?"
"Uh, yes, sir.  I missed my grandmother's funeral--"
The undertaker raised a disapproving eyebrow.
"I was deployed, sir," Nick explained.  "And now I want to pay my respects."
The undertaker whipped out his phone, and started scrolling through a list.  "Well, then, what was her name?"
"Ruby Poole."
"Poole, Poole . . . Oh, yes!  Come this way."
They walked along the path between plots of close-clipped grass.
"She's the first in a new section we've opened.  Your grandmother was a very progressive woman."
Nick chuckled.  "That she was.  Always excited about new things.  We used to call her Grandma Gadget."
"I think you'll like this, then.  Right over here."
A shiny black headstone stood apart from the mottled granite memorials.  Nick thought back to his geology merit badge training.  "Is that obsidian?"
"Even better.  It's interactive."  The undertaker brushed the blank stone with a long finger, and words appeared on it.

RUBY POOLE

1935-2014

"It's a screen?"

"It's a beauty, isn't it?  Solar powered, with very efficient storage batteries.  Sealed tight against rain, extreme temperatures, impact, and hacking.  Go on, touch the menu."

Nick crouched before the screen and chose the slideshow.  Black-and-white images of solemn faces crossed the screen.  He sat, entranced, watching his grandmother grow from a long-gowned infant to a smiling bride, to a colorful grandmother.  "Hey, that's me!  What a family reunion.  Grandma was so excited about her new GPS that she forgot the hot dogs . . . "

When the slideshow ended, Nick chose the genealogy button.  He watched a pedigree tree grow from his grandmother's name, in both directions.  "Cool."

"Some of my colleagues are offering similar information through a QR code etched on a regular headstone, but how long is that technology going to be in use?  I prefer this self-contained unit.  And here's the best part."  The undertaker pointed to a menu entry.  "Personal messages from the deceased."

"Really?"  Nick chose his name from the list of grandchildren.  His grandmother's face appeared.  She looked older than he remembered, but still had a gleam in her eye.

"Oh, Nicholas, I am so proud of you.  You've always been brave and true in your service.  I'm just glad you're listening to this message before you meet me on the other side.  Now that you're back, I hope you'll find a nice girl and settle down, stop worrying your poor mother.  You're a good boy, Nick.  I love you."

The undertaker looked back at the cemetery's flagpole as the Nick blotted his face with his sleeve.  Nick cleared his throat and stood up.

"Did you, uh, record this?"

"Yes, right there in my office.  When the iStones catch on more, I hope to build a proper recording studio.  But, except for your impressive grandmother, such things mostly appeal to the young.  And the young tend not to plan this far ahead."

"That's for sure.  I joined the Marines, did all the training, went to Afghanistan.  I never thought I could actually die.  Until my buddy was gone.  None of us did."  

The undertaker handed Nick a tissue.  Nick blew his nose loudly.

"Do you have a card or something, sir?  I know a few guys who might be more interested in planning ahead now."

"Of course.  I'll go fetch you some flyers."  The undertaker strode back to his office.

Nick settled down in front of the stone again.  He scrolled through the menu.  There were messages for his Grandpa, his mother and her siblings, all his cousins.  And more.  He picked the "Minister" entry.
"Thanks for all your support, Randall.  You've been a good shepherd.  But don't forget, I wrote the best church newsletters this congregation has ever read.  They'd better give me a big vote of thanks.  And I'll be rolling in my grave, right here, if you let Doris Howard get her hands on the newsletter.  She'll make everything rhyme, and she can't even spell 'Deuteronomy.'  You listen to me, Randall . . ."
Nick snorted.  That was the way he remembered his grandmother.  He scrolled past messages for the doctor and the paperboy, the piano tuner and even a favorite librarian.  Then Nick's eyes widened.  He knew it wasn't his business, but he couldn't ignore the category "Old Boyfriends."  He picked the name Willie Gottlieb.
"Oh, Willie, you came!  You always were a sweet one.  All my best to Janice and the kids."
Well, that was nice, Nick thought.  He tried Lee Rutter.
"How dare you darken my grave, Lee Rutter!  You still can't leave a girl alone!  Get thee hence, you--"
Nick hastily stopped the message and sat back.  Leave it to Grandma, he thought.  Who else would cast the first iStone?

Cardboard Christmas

A Magpie Tale

The Ice Cutters, 1911, Natalia Goncharova

Lisa reached into the back corner of the closet. She stood on her toes and tugged with her fingers, and finally the box came free. She carefully pulled it out and stepped down from the chair. The last box. She hoped it was the one she wanted.

As she set it next to the other boxes on the floor, Lisa heard little feet coming down the hall. Was naptime over already?

“Mommy, I waked up,” Josh announced. “What’s in the boxes?”

Caleb followed his brother on loyal little legs. “Peasants?” he suggested hopefully.

“No, not presents. Just some things we haven’t unpacked yet.”

Josh peered into one box and pulled out a tiny sweater. “Whose is this?”

“You used to wear that when you were a baby. And so did Caleb. Put it back, please.”

Caleb toddled over to Lisa and patted her belly. “Baby.”

“Yes, the new baby will wear it, too. But not for a while.”

Josh was already investigating the clothes in another box. “Did I wear these?”

“Yes, but–”

Caleb pulled a skirt out of a third box, and knitted his blond brows together. “I wear this?”

“No, that’s mine.”

“Mommy was baby?”

“Mommy wore that before you were a baby, and hopes she’ll be able to wear it again someday.” Lisa sighed, and refolded the skirt. “Anyway, I’m not looking for clothes right now. I’m–no, don’t touch that one!”

Lisa swung Caleb away from the box containing the equipment and remnants from her stained glass class. Someday she’d get back to that again, too, but it was not a safe hobby to practice with toddlers in the house.

“What are you looking for?” Josh asked.

“Christmas ornaments.”

“Kiss-miss?” Caleb repeated.

“Yes. I’ve looked through all the boxes but this one. Shall we see what’s inside?” Lisa picked up her scissors and slit the tape. Her heart thumped with anticipation. The bright colors, the familiar shapes, must be right there beneath her fingers. She opened the flaps.

Papers. Kevin’s college notes. No wonder the box was so heavy.

The little boys looked inside. “No Kiss-miss?” Caleb stuck out his lower lip.

Lisa sank to the floor. “No. The movers must have left my box of ornaments in Grandma’s garage.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

Josh wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “It’s okay, Mommy. Come on, Caleb. Let’s play trains.”

“Choo-choo!” Caleb hooted as the boys pattered back to their room.

Lisa knew she should put away the boxes and prepare the room for guests. But she felt drained after her fruitless search. She went downstairs for a glass of water, hoping Kevin would be home soon to help with the lifting.

She looked around the small living room. It was comfortable, but not very festive. She had hoped to be all ready for Christmas before Kevin’s parents came to visit. She’d bought the groceries and done most of the cleaning. But Kevin had been working late, training for his new job. He was too tired to decorate when he came home. They had not even bought a tree.

Lisa brightened. Maybe Kevin’s parents could find the box of ornaments and bring it along tomorrow. She gave them a call.

No answer. They must be still at work. Lisa left a message, and hung up with a little more hope.

It had been a blessing to live with Kevin’s folks, Dale and Donna. They had invited the young family to stay after Kevin graduated, just until he found a good job. The few weeks he expected had turned into two years, though, as Kevin applied for position after position. He worked some odd jobs during that time, and played with the little boys, but he’d spent more and more time grumbling about the economy and playing video games. Lisa was grateful that they’d had a comfortable place to live all that time. They’d never gone hungry. But she knew her husband hated depending on his parents.

Everyone was thrilled when Kevin was hired. Lisa loved the fresh sparkle in his eye, his new sense of purpose and responsibility. She also looked forward to setting up their own home, having their own space, and starting their own traditions.

As the moving van rolled away, scattering the fallen leaves, Donna pulled Kevin into a tight squeeze. “We’ll miss you so much, but we’re so proud of you.”

“That’s right.” Dale gave Josh a tickle before buckling him into his car seat. “But you’ll be back for Christmas, won’t you?”

Lisa looked at Kevin with concern. His parents’ Christmas celebrations were too glitzy for her taste.

“I won't earn much leave by then,” Kevin said. “We’ll probably be staying in our new home.”

Lisa breathed a small sigh of relief as she buckled her own safety belt.

“Then we’ll come visit you,” Dale declared.

“You bet,” Donna agreed. “It wouldn’t be Christmas without a child in the house!”

Kevin waved as he drove the car away, but Lisa felt frozen.

She’d had some time to thaw over the past couple of months, and had determined to show her in-laws a Christmas her way. A nice dinner on Christmas day, not a Christmas Eve extravaganza. Homemade cookies. Singing carols around the–well, someday she’d get a piano. Singing carols around the CD player, then. And a real tree. A small one, to be sure. Expense and living room space dictated that. But she looked forward to arranging her small collection of ornaments on a sweet-smelling fresh tree. Lisa closed her eyes, imagining the aroma.

“Behold the conquering hero!”

Lisa’s eyes flew open as the front door slammed. Little feet pounded down the stairs, and cries of “Daddy!” filled the air. Lisa struggled up from the couch.

Kevin swung the two boys into the living room, then caught Lisa in a hug. “I’ve completed my certification. I'll meet my first client after Christmas!”

Lisa gave him a kiss. “That’s wonderful, dear,” she said. “Oh, look at the time. I haven’t started dinner yet.”

“No big deal,” Kevin said. “Let’s pick something up on the way.”

“On the way to where?” Josh asked.

“To buy a Christmas tree.”

Lisa and the boys cheered, and the family piled into the car. After supplying everyone with hamburgers and fries, Kevin drove straight to the tree stand in the mall’s parking lot. The brightly colored lights turned off as they approached. Kevin stepped out to talk to a man who was sweeping pine needles.

“All sold out, sir,” Lisa heard him say. “They went fast this year. You could try the supermarket, or the lot on Old Holly Road.”

There were no trees left at the supermarket, either. Lisa and Kevin had different ideas about how to find Old Holly Road, and it took them a while to reach it. When they finally found the tree lot there, it was empty, too.

“Maybe this is why Mom and Dad use a fake tree,” Kevin said, leaning on the steering wheel. “Is it normal to run out the day before Christmas Eve?”

“I don’t think so,” Lisa answered. “Where I grew up, most lots had a few scraggly trees left even after Christmas.”

“Huh. Well, we’d better take the kiddos home.” Kevin nodded at the boys. They were asleep in their car seats, and Caleb was losing his grip on a handful of fries.

After helping Lisa set up the guest room, Kevin spent most of Christmas Eve shopping. Lisa wondered if he would come home with a fake tree. If he did, she’d be stuck with it, probably forever. Ugh. But having no Christmas tree would be worse.

She tried not to think about it as she rolled out sugar cookie dough. She helped Caleb wield a star-shaped cookie cutter with his pudgy fingers. Josh cut out a cookie and held it up. “Is this what our tree will look like?” he asked. He wiggled the tree shape until it broke and fell to the counter, leaving just the point in his hand.

“Probably so.” Lisa squished the dough together and rolled it out so Josh could try again.

“Will we put up a 'table?” he asked.

“This is the table.”

“No, a Christmas 'table.”

Lisa frowned, trying to read Josh's mind. “Oh.” She remembered that Dale built an elaborate train set on the coffee table each Christmas. “You mean like Grandpa's? We don't have anything like that.”

"Why not?"

Lisa slid the cookie sheet into the oven, and the front door opened.

“Don’t look,” Kevin called, sweeping past with something held behind his back.

Josh covered his eyes with his hands. Caleb put his hands on his own face, but missed one eye.

“Did you bring a tree, Daddy?” Josh shouted.

Kevin looked around the corner. “No, but I have an idea. Come here, kiddos.” They followed him to the living room, and he shut the kitchen door.

Lisa finished baking the cookies and started some soup for dinner. A pair of headlights swept up the driveway as she stirred. Donna's sweater sparkled as she came through the door. “Merry Christmas Eve, Lisa, honey,” she said with her usual broad smile.

Dale followed her inside, carrying a box. “We couldn’t find your box, Lisa, but we thought you might like these.” He set the box on the table.

Lisa’s face fell as she looked inside. Instead of the treasures her own grandparents had sent each year, or the cute ornaments her crafty aunts had made, there were packages of silver bells, violet balls, strings of blue lights, and a huge silver star. They had never been opened.

“We can’t use these.”

“Sure, you can! We bought them all on clearance last January,” Donna said with a wink.

“But we don’t have a tree.”

The kitchen door opened. “Yes, we do,” said Kevin. “Come see.”

The little boys rushed at their grandparents, who paused for hugs and tickles. Kevin took Lisa by the hand and led her to the living room. On the floor she saw that a large moving box had been cut in the shape of a fir tree. The boys had obviously been coloring it, with large swathes of green ink and little patches of green crayon.

Tears came to Lisa’s eyes. Kevin put his arm around her. “It doesn't smell great, but I think we can have some fun with it. Okay?”

Lisa wiped her eyes and smiled. “I’ll go find the construction paper.”

After supper, Kevin led the way to the living room, flexing his muscles. “So, I cut this tree myself, and hauled it all the way from the shed with my bare hands. Let's dress it up.”

Dale frowned. “That's not a tree. That's a tree by-product.”

“Start producing some decorations for it, then.”

Dale chuckled. “I'm no artist. You kids go ahead without me.”

“I'll help you.” Josh handed his grandfather a piece of orange paper. “Draw around my hand, Grandpa.”

“Me, too,” insisted Caleb, and the decorating began.

           Donna snipped lacy snowflakes to tape to the cardboard tree. Lisa tied yarn into bows. The boys colored their handprints, then drew stars, train engines, and more abstract shapes.

           Dale traced his own hand, colored it like a turkey, and cut it out, too. “I call it, 'Self-Portrait,'” he said, taping it onto the tree.

           Donna rolled her eyes. “That's you, all right. Full of stuffing and nonsense.”

           Kevin searched the Internet for origami instructions, and busied himself with sheets of aluminum foil. He showed Lisa his creations.

           “Christmas cranes?” she asked.

           He grinned. “Silver swans a-swimming.”

           Soon the flat tree was covered with colorful, fanciful, utterly original decorations.

           “This certainly is unique,” Donna said, surveying their work. “I'll never forget this little tree.”

           “Neither will I,” Lisa agreed. “But how will it stand up?”

           “Got it covered,” said Kevin. “Make me another big bow, will you?” He looped some yellow yarn through a hole near the point of the tree. After attaching Lisa's bow, he hung the loop on a hook in the ceiling. The cardboard tree dangled, swinging slightly in the breeze from the heating vent.

           “Pity,” said Caleb.

           “Yes, it's a very pretty Christmas tree,” Lisa said, hugging her sons, “though I feel like I've forgotten to do something.” She yawned.

           “What about a 'table?” Josh asked.

           “Not now, Josh.”

           “The tree is just fine this way,” Kevin declared, “and you're tired. Go ahead and get the boys into their pajamas. I'll take care of the dishes.”

           Lisa woke with a start. “Did you hear that?” Kevin did not respond. How could he not hear it? Lisa shook his shoulder. “Kevin, what's that sound?”

           He rolled over and grunted at the darkness. “Huh?”

           “That rustling sound. Listen.” Lisa sat up, heart pounding. “There's a light on, too.”

           Kevin raised himself up on one elbow. “I doubt our presents would attract burglars,” he said.

        “Well, probably not.” The gifts they had set out, after tucking the boys in, made a pretty meager pile.

           “I bet it's Mom and Dad, sneaking some more packages downstairs. Go back to sleep.” He rolled over again.

           Lisa lay down, breathing deeply, willing her heart to stop racing.

           She woke again to the sound of giggling. Weak sunlight glowed around the edges of the window blinds.

           Kevin sat up. “It must be Christmas morning,” he said, grinning.

           Lisa pulled on her robe and headed for the boys' room. “I wish your dad wouldn't tickle the boys awake.”

           “He was already awake, weren't you, little man?” Dale laughed along with the toddler.

           “Merry Kiss-miss, Mommy!” Caleb called when he caught his breath.

           “Merry Christmas, sweetie. But where's Josh?”

           “I dunno.” Caleb collapsed in a fresh round of giggles.

           Lisa walked down the hall to the guest room. “Josh, are you bothering Grandma?”

           Donna put down her magazine. “He's no bother, but he isn't in here.”

           Lisa grabbed handfuls of her own hair. “Where's Josh?”

           Kevin looked out of the boys' room, surprised. “What do you mean?”

           “He isn't there, he isn't here.” Frantic, she hugged herself. “I heard noises last night. Maybe someone took him!”

           Kevin put one hand on Lisa's shoulder, and smoothed her hair with the other. “Calm down, Lisa. He's probably getting a head start on the presents. Let's take a look downstairs.”

           Caleb and his grandparents followed silently as Kevin led Lisa down the stairs. At the bottom, she closed her eyes, afraid of what she might see. Kevin stepped out into the living room.

           Soon he returned and took Lisa's hand. “Come and see,” he said quietly. Lisa let out the breath she was holding, and followed him.

           The gifts had not been disturbed, but there was a mess beneath the dangling cardboard tree. Josh lay curled there in a nest of crayons. Lisa dropped to his side, giving his round cheek a grateful kiss. Josh's blue eyes opened in the pale morning light.

           “What are you doing down here?” she asked. “You gave me such a fright.”

           Josh looked surprised. “Sorry, Mommy. In the night I waked up, and I made the 'table you forgot. Look.” He pointed to a folded piece of cardboard, standing near the trunk of the swinging tree. Lisa picked it up.

           Brown crayon marked walls and a roof. A yellow star with eight or nine points shone at the top. Smiles split the round faces of three figures within—one wearing blue, with long hair, one with a pointy brown beard, and a small one between them, balanced on an X. Curly-hided animals stood nearby, smiling, too.

           “The stable. You're right, that's just what we need.” Lisa wiped her eyes.

           Caleb knelt down next to her, and pointed reverently to the central figure in the drawing. “Baby.”

           Lisa sat on the couch, sipping hot chocolate. She watched as Dale chased Josh through a tunnel of empty moving boxes. She leaned her head on her husband's shoulder. “The boxes were a great idea, dear.”

           Kevin grinned. Dale poked his head through a window in one box. “They're just like you. No matter what we gave you, you'd just play with the boxes.” Then he roared, and crawled after Caleb while Donna snapped photos. 

           Lisa looked around the room. She could barely hear the Christmas music from the CD player. The cardboard tree swung. Wrapping paper, crayons, and packing peanuts littered the floor. It was not quite the vision she had had for Christmas morning. But it was perfect. She picked up the cardboard Nativity and studied it again.

           “Your mom was right, Kevin.”

           “Huh?”

           “It just wouldn't be Christmas without the Child.”

For more Christmas tales, see my Anthologies page

Dear Uncle Theo

A Magpie Tale

Keene Township, Ohio

May 25, 1893

Dear Uncle Theo,

     I hope this letter finds you safe and well in the big city.  We all miss you, though none so much as Archippos.  Mother mutters that he must be a faithful hound indeed to whine and howl at the absence of such a master.  She has not forgiven you for taking your journey during the planting season.  "Any able-bodied man . . . " she says when Archippos barks, glancing at Father in the corner.  "I shall never understand my brother."

     I understand, of course.  And the young man you hired to take your place on the farm is quite agreeable.  Abel speaks politely and works hard, and the crops are coming along quite well with his assistance.  Still, you had not been gone a week before Mother turned Abel out of your room and installed a lodger there.  Abel nodded and said, "Yes'm," and took his little bundle out to the hayloft.  John, though, was furious.  You know my brother's temper.  He told Mother that if Abel was to sleep outside, that he would, too.  Mother simply shrugged.  I almost envy the boys out there, with no one shushing them after prayers.  Mother would probably let out John's room, too, if she could find a soul desperate enough to live in his musty garret.  

    I do not trust the lodger, Mr. Schneeman.  He leers at Mother with his coal-black eyes and sniffs his sharp nose before every blessed thing he says.  I think Mother hoped he'd pity us and help out on the farm, but he does no such thing.  He claims to be a traveling salesman, and leaves the homestead with his mysterious painted cart every morning.  He must not travel far, though, for he returns to the supper table promptly every evening.  When we're washing up, Mother grumbles that Mr. Schneeman eats far more than his share, but she won't say a thing to him.  She is afraid to lose his money.

     Archippos is howling again.  I am sure he does miss you, but I think there is more to his distress.  The hens have been acting most peculiarly, and even placid Bossy has been skittish in the milk stall.  I think the pixies have gotten in again.  Mother won't hear anything about it, though.  What shall I do?

     Father shakes his head and says that none of this would ever have happened if Mr. Buchanan had not been reelected.  But that is what he always says, so no one pays him any mind.

     Have you found what you were seeking?  I wish I could join you and see the great Columbian Exposition, but I cannot leave Mother now.  She would likely rent my little room out to someone even more disagreeable than Mr. Schneeman.

Your faithful niece,

Susannah

P.S.:  Who wants to play the Letter Game?

Reflection

A Magpie Tale

Photo by Elena Kalis

The barrier is not so firm, but fine.
Did you catch a glimpse before slipping through,
leaving behind
the canker that muddled your mind,
limbs weary from fighting the current?
Is the other side a reflection
of this murkiness, but clear?
Take along your vivid colors.
A sweet savor trails in your wake.
Rest with the saints in glory,
but we know you won't be still.
If work there be to do, you'll find it;
idleness was never your ideal.
Family ties still anchor us--
we'll watch for your beacon smile
when our turn comes to cross
and wait, with you,
'til every silken hair will be restored.


For my mother-in-law, Sierra Sue Osgood, 1946-2013

Eve's Kitchen

A Magpie Tale

Between Heaven and Hell, 1989 by Jacek Yerka

What's for supper?
Bread, again,
seasoned with our toil
among the thorns
and creeping things
and storms.

Oh, yes, I miss it, too,
the vines and branches
hanging low
with just-ripe fruit
for just us two,
a feast for the plucking,
juice dripping
down our skin.

But recall:
until that one
Forbidden flavor
taught us other-
wise,
we knew not
how sweet it was,
our Paradise;

without that bite
we would still be
unsalted dough,
no need to rise
to any occasion,
ever baking
in the sun,
but never done.

Department of Motherhood and Internal Management

A Magpie Tale

 Venus de Milo with Drawers, 1936, Salvador Dali 

"Mom!  What is sixteen squared?"
Two hundred fifty-six, I said
easily; I pulled the answer
right out of my head.

"Mom!"  A little one has slipped
upon the fresh-cleaned floors.
"Help!  I have an owie!"
Let me check my chest of drawers.
A cheery little Band-aid,
and a kiss to dry the eyes:
a simple panacea
for children of her size.

"Mom!  I lost a button.
My trousers slip and slide."
Let's look in my button drawer.
Here's just the thing inside.
Stitch it on and send him off
with a bolder stride.

The cabinet chief asks a report
from this bureaucracy of one.    
I've filled many needs today;
there's still more to be done.
Supplies are running low,
it might be hard to meet demand.
If I'm to stay open,
I could really use a hand!    

    

Entitlement

A Magpie Tale

artwork by Joseph Lorusso

On February 14th of my senior year in high school, Señorita D flounced into Spanish class, singing out "¿Qué día es hoy?"  What is today?

"Jueves," we all answered with one disgruntled accord.  Thursday.

Señorita D must have been disappointed.  Shouldn't the best and brightest students of a Romance language have a better attitude toward Valentine's Day?  Maybe she should have tried the French class.

I'm sure some of my classmates were attached at the time, but they didn't seem too optimistic.  I knew no one liked me; I wasn't pursuing anyone myself.  Why should anything special happen?

And yet I felt cheated.  Shouldn't Prince Charming Intelligent Witty Handsome Morally-Excellent (royals always have a lot of names, you know) appear and sweep me off my feet?  Just because it was Valentine's Day?  Didn't I deserve that?

I guess I did, eventually.  Prince All That And More and I have been settled for several years now.  We recently heard a presentation given by a younger couple regarding strengthening marriage.  They mentioned the oft-quoted truth that one of the most important things parents can do for their children is to show love for each other.  "It may sound like we kiss a lot," said the husband.  Their seven- and four-year-old children protest these displays of affection, rolling their eyes and saying "Eww."  "But they love it," he claimed.  At least, someday they'll appreciate it.

I reflected: we do plenty of kissing, too, but I've never heard any negative remarks from our children.  Yes, they're all boys.  But they're fairly affectionate ones.

The youngest, at age six, is still on the receiving end of lots of hugs and kisses, since he's still so darn cute.  He gives pretty well, too.

The nine-year-old is getting pretty tall, but still thinks Dad is a good seat, or jungle gym.  

The twelve-year-old is very physically oriented, as likely to trip or throw things at his brothers as to look at them.  But he also freely gives rib-cracking hugs.  We know in whom we'll trust if we need the Heimlich Maneuver.  

Before our oldest learned to talk, he knew when kissing was going on, and would smack his lips to ask for his share.  He's a more stand-offish fourteen-year-old now, but will still wrap his long arms around the group hug when Dad comes home.  

The boys don't see Dad bringing flowers very often, but they do see him doing dishes.  They don't see us go out on dates frequently, but they hear us talk and laugh.  And when there's kissing going on, they either ignore it, or join in.  I think they know our family is based on love.  

I'm entitled to love every day, because I also give it away.

So, if Señorita D were to show up today and ask the same question, I'd probably give her the same answer, but without the bitterness.  It's Thursday, another opportunity to help each other live Happily Ever After.

The Meek

Charlotte Gainsbourg, AnOther

"Ah, President Mandu! We're so honored that you made the long journey.  I trust you won't be disappointed."

"This had better be good, Warrigal."  The university president rubbed his forehead.  

"Would you care to rest first?  Miss Arinya, will you bring the president some refreshments?"

"No, no, let's get on with it."

Professor Warrigal's face lit up.  "You know I've been digging on this continent for years now, and I've had some success.  But this is, by far, the best site I've located.  You'll be astonished at the level of preservation.  Come this way."  

The professor led the president toward the ruined dwellings, detailing his discovery of the site.  The field assistants followed, clutching their tools and notebooks.  

"Just show me the best one," President Mandu growled.

"The most complete dwelling would be, ah, which one, Miss Arinya?"

"Number 5, sir."

"Yes, Number 5, right over here."  The professor stopped in the open doorway to put on his hardhat.  "Only thirty percent of the roof has fallen in, but we can't be too careful, you know.  Jerara, do you have another hat for the President?"

Mandu accepted the hat reluctantly, and stepped over the threshold onto the somewhat spongy surface of the floor.  Bits of the interior wall were missing, exposing rotting beams.  Mandu sneezed as a breeze through the gaping windows stirred up dust.  That was why he hated archaeology.  Too much dust.

"Sorry about that.  My assistants have been cleaning the site carefully, but the walls continue to deteriorate," the professor explained.  "We've located the food preparation area and bathing chambers, through this doorway and to the left."

"Multiple bathing chambers?  Are you sure?"

"The plumbing is mostly intact, sir." Jerara's enthusiasm overwhelmed his awe of the president.  "The Archaic system is quite intricate.  The pipes lead from this basin to--"

"Thank you, I'm sure your paper will be quite detailed.  What else is there?"

Barega showed the president back to the food preparation area.  "Most of the potsherds were in this room.  Later Corning period, generally."

"Which has a wide distribution on this continent, you know," Professor Warrigal interrupted.  "Show him the box."

Barega opened a panel on a large box in the corner.  "We found traces of food on these trays."  He pulled a flat object from a shelf, and handed it to the president.  "Each tray is divided into three sections, with different discoloration patterns.  I, um, broke one.  The tray is white inside, and looks sort of bubbly."

Mandu balanced the tray on his hand.  "It's very lightweight, isn't it?  Definitely not ceramic.  Curious."

The professor led the way back to the main room.  "Ah, but this is more curious."  He waved his hand at a large object hanging on the front wall.  "Look at this black oblong.  The two skeletons we found here were facing it."

Mandu tried to hide his shiver.  Skeletons were worse than dust.  He was glad the professor had moved the remains to the field lab. 

Unbothered by the idea of Archaic bones, the professor went on.  "We have found more of them.  Glossy black oblongs, or their fragments, in nearly every room of each dwelling.  They vary in size.  We have found small ones in the hands of individuals of all ages, male and female.  No individual was farther than three arms from an oblong at the time of the Cataclysm."

"In Number 3, sir, we found an adult female skeleton, reclining on a collection of coiled wires," reported Mogo, the skeletal expert.  "Textile fragments suggest it may have been some sort of bed.  Even there, the subject had one of the oblongs.  It was lodged beneath the skull."

"A few of these oblongs have been observed elsewhere, haven't they?" asked the president.

"Yes, but not whole, or in such concentration," Lowan put in.  "Without evidence of any practical function, I suggest they may have had ceremonial or religious significance."

"Or, perhaps they were communication devices, capable of displaying information and entertainment," Barega said.  

Mandu snorted.  "That is preposterous.  Our best modern steam mechanics have not produced any such item.  Certainly the Archaics could not.  No, a religious function seems more likely."

"Look at these."  Lowan walked over to a shelf near the largest black oblong.  It held many thin, rectangular objects.  He picked one up and showed it to the president.  Its bright colors had smeared.

"Is that text?" The president was surprised.  "I didn't think the Archaic people had a written language."

"There has been little evidence of it in other locations," Professor Warrigal admitted.  "But we plan to study the remnants available."

Lowan slid a tool into a crack in the rectangle.  "Anyway, see what is inside."  The object divided in two, and a colorful circle slipped out.  It fell to the floor.  Lowan picked it up carefully.  "This side appears metallic, iridescent in sunlight.  It is  lightweight, but must have been valuable.  I took measurements, and found that the diameter corresponds with this opening on the side of the large oblong."

Lowan slid the disc into the slit.  After a slight push, the oblong pulled the disc inside.  Lowan bowed his head.  "The idol accepts the offering."  He gestured to the shelves.  "And this household had hundreds of them in store.  This must have been a very devout family."

"You found similar objects in the other dwellings?"

"Quite a few, sir."

"So you see, President, how much there is to study at this site.  I need more time, more assistants--"

"More funding, Warrigal?"

"Naturally.  But I'd appreciate your discretion in securing it.  I'm not ready to share this find with our rivals yet."

"I'll see what I can do."

The group stepped outside again.

"Let's go back to the field office for some refreshments," Professor Warrigal suggested, "and we can review my plans for--"

"What is that?"  Miss Arinya pointed, and walked toward a thicket of trees.  She carefully walked around the foundation of a more completely ruined dwelling, with the others trailing after her.  "I thought I saw a reflection..."

She pushed branches aside and found a wall.  President Mandu watched as the professor and other assistants pulled back vines and pushed through shrubbery.

"Over here!" Lowan called.  "I found a door!"

"Well done, Miss Arinya," the professor said as the group followed Lowan's voice.  "I believe you have found Number 10."

"Will my name be on the paper?" she asked.

"Of course, right after mine."

"And mine," put in the president as Lowan and Barega shouldered the door open.  "This discovery will redound to the glory of New Tamani University."

Arinya's sigh turned to a gasp.  The floor of the dwelling was covered with a soft textile.  The walls were not crumbling.  The windows' transparent coverings were intact.  Cobwebs and a thick layer of dust were the only evidence of the time this house had stood alone.

And dusty skeletons, of course.  This room held three of them.  Two sets of small bones, swathed in strange fabrics, lay near a pile of brightly colored, knobby bricks.  Some of the bricks had been formed into fanciful shapes. 

"Start sketching, Miss Arinya," the professor directed unnecessarily.  She had already filled one page of her notebook.  The rest of the team dispersed through the dwelling.  Mandu heard Jerara exclaiming over the plumbing, Barega counting intact pieces of crockery. 

Mogo reported the presence of seven skeletons within the dwelling.  "Two are holding tools, seemingly in the process of building something.  One is in the food preparation area."  "There appears to be an adolescent female in the bathing chamber."   The normally imperturbable young man shuddered.  "There's no fabric on the bones, but there is metal attached to her teeth." He shook his head, then went back to take proper measurements of each.

Lowan returned, looking frustrated.  "I can't find any of the black oblongs."

Miss Arinya looked up from her sketchbook.  She saw a panel on the wall and slid it open.  "There you go.  They had one, too."

"It is quite small for a family shrine, don't you think?  And the door was closed.  Everyone else in the village was looking to their idols when the Cataclysm came.  What about these people?"  

Miss Arinya shrugged.  She approached the large skeleton which was seated on a soft platform.  "Perhaps they were poor, or maybe they had different beliefs."  She carefully extracted an object from the dusty phalanges.  A thin, flat piece of it drifted to the floor.  "Look.  A book."

President Mandu turned to stare at her.  "A paper book?  With text?"  

"Full of it."  Miss Arinya looked around.  "And there are more."  Lowan and the president looked at the shelves.  Instead of the uniformly sized offering boxes of Number 5, these shelves held books.  Large, small, colorful, dull.  Hundreds of books.  


Mandu held out his hand, and the young lady reluctantly gave him the first book.  She turned back to the wall.  The lowest shelf held something different.  

She crouched to examine the flat objects.  Lowan joined her, pulled some off the shelf, and handed a few to Miss Arinya.

"Heavy paper,"  he noted, "decorated with different images..."

Miss Arinya looked through her stack.  She held one square by its sides, wishing she could read what was written on it, when something fell out.  A large, flat, black disc.  "What on earth?"

Barega stepped in, holding a large pitcher.  He eyed the circle on the floor.  "Maybe it was some sort of sound storage, for music and the like."

Lowan snorted and Arinya rolled her eyes.

"Just kidding," Barega said.  "Take a look at this, President."  He stepped back into the food preparation area, Mandu following.

Arinya gently slid the black disc into its covering, and stood up.  Something caught her eye near the doorway.  

"Here's an oblong for you, Lowan."  Instead of a glossy black surface, it held an image of people.  They were very pale, but smiled, with their arms around each other.  

"An amazingly realistic depiction," Lowan murmured.  "Very advanced art.  Perhaps they worshiped these figures, with the black discs, somehow..." He searched for a slot near the image.

"...six, seven."  Miss Arinya finished counting.  "No.  I think this shows something the individuals valued, but not as an object of worship."

"What could be more important to an Archaic household than its idols?

"It's a picture of this family."     

For once, Lowan had nothing to say.