Soft Easter
I have been cleaning a few drawers out, etc. and I found a story I wrote in 1968! I took Journalism all 4 years of high school and loved working on the school paper and annuals. I would love to have had the ability to write a book or short stories. So one winter day in 1968 I sat down at my old typewriter and wrote a short story and was going to send it to a magazine that actually printed short stories that people would send in. I seem to think it was Good Housekeeping but am not sure. Anyway, I sat down and read it and had to laugh. There were a lot of misspelled words and typos. (No spell check back then) But I re-typed it and thought I would post it here. I wrote it the first winter after we had moved to the northwest corner of Washington. So here it is.
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JUST
ANOTHER DAY
Awaking
to that horrible buzzing sound only an alarm clock can make, I
burrowed a little more under the delicious warmness of the electric
blanket. I waited until the last possible moment to get out of my
warm nest and grabbing the clothes I had worn the day before, I
staggered out to turn the furnace up and get dressed. The outside
thermometer read 19°, I noticed as I plugged the coffee pot in. We
are new to this part of Washington and had not become accustomed to
the northeasters that we had heard so much about. The temperature
might not be any colder than in other areas but when that wind hits,
you feel as if it is going right through you.
Kristi
our nine year old had gotten her legs chapped over the weekend and I
had decided, rules or no rules, she was not going to wear a mini
dress to school till the weather changed for the better. She had
gotten so tall the past few months, I am afraid she only has two pair
of long pants that don’t fit her mid-calf. So I decided to put a
load of wash in so she could wear a pair of genes that she had worn
over the week end. Knowing good and well she is not supposed to wear
these two pair except for good, she wore both pair out skating on the
ice Saturday. And for some reason when she skates, the seat of her
pants is what gets dirty.
As I
was cutting grapefruit, buttering toast and trying to get the bacon
at that just right stage, not limp and greasy and not brittle and
black, trying to get 3 kids out of bed and letting the dog out for
her duty, I noticed a funny splattering sound coming from the utility
room. Sliding out into the soapy mess all over the floor, my husband
comes out of the bathroom with a half shaved face and declares,
“Looks like the washer drain might be frozen.” About that time,
Kristi comes out of her room asking when her jeans will be dry. “I’m
sorry, but the washer won’t work, and you will have to wear another
pair.” I say as sweetly as I possibly can so early in the morning.
But knowing Kristi (Miss Temper of 1968) off she goes in a huff,
slamming her door.
After
trying to get my husband fed so he can get off to work, my oldest
boy, Mike (10) brings out his long underwear that he had been wearing
for the past five years. Now, I admit they were awfully short, but he
didn’t have to throw them on the floor, yelling “What can I wear
to keep warm?” So I say, “Well, maybe Steve (7) can wear these.”
Well, these two boys are not built like brothers. Mike is built like
his Dad, the after picture in these body building ads, but Steve,
poor little tyke, resembles the before picture! Good natured Steve
tries them on, but Mike has them so stretched out, they keep slipping
down and bunching up in the seat of his jeans. So that idea went the
way most of my ideas go...out the door.
My
husband has finished eating his breakfast and getting his car warmed
up is now hunting for a stocking hat. Now we must have at least 10 of
those little knitted head warmers around, but come this times when
someone needs one...they have all disappeared. So taking another sip
of coffee on the run, I start digging in places only kids could throw
a hat. I found one in the dirty clothes hamper one in the back of the
truck and one in the garage under a half frozen boot. So all 3 men
had head warmers to go on their way with. Where the other 7 hats are,
no one knows.
About
that time, Kristi comes out of her room with cut-offs on. How do you
explain to a 9 year old that the teacher will not understand wearing
cut-offs when her legs are chapped. Wow, this really set her off,
running down the hall. Slam!!!
My
kids never seem to all want the same thing for breakfast. Mike
declares he wants french toast, Steve wants Maypo and all I can hear
from Kris’s room are drawers slamming and muttering. Going to her
room to try to console her a little, I find the other pair of pants
that fit her. They are only a little mussed after being under the
bed. By this time, my good humor is shot. So I start a little of my
own screeching. “You’re gonna have to wear these pants today,
whether you like it or not. The other pair is in the washer and I
will have to rinse them out by hand and wring them out by hand before
I can dry them. Then you can wear them tomorrow. It’s not my fault
the washer is frozen, so quit taking it out on me. You’ve got
exactly 5 minutes to finish getting dressed and get out to the
kitchen.”
After
all my little darlings get fed, teeth brushed, faces washed and hair
combed, we start the little game of “Where are your boots?” Mike
goes out to the garage and finds parts of four different pair of
boots. So that leaves it to Mother to go out and try to find three
whole pair. Of course, Kristi had worn her fur lined snow boots
Sunday while trying to see who could walk in the deepest snow drift.
Well, half of that snow drift was still in her boot, frozen stiff.
But she doesn't want to wear her barn boots, so she timidly puts her
foot into the snow boot. And decided it wasn't too bad!
They
are all off and I could scream or cry or both. But I decide a cup of
coffee might do me more good. I pour another cup of that wonderful
brew only Mother's can appreciate. Now, I know I can't wash unless I
go to the laundromat and the weatherman predicts more snow in our
area, so that is out….But I have a lovely pile of mending that is
waiting very patiently for me so I might as well get that done. These
kids, (and their Dad) can split more things out than you can imagine.
But after I get the seat of one pair of jeans put back together with
the magic of my Singer, I reach for my brand new pair of sewing
scissors. BUT they are missing. My old pair of sewing scissors cut
more paper, tin, feathers, wire and anything else you know kids can
cut that they were shot with a capital S. So two weeks ago I had very
proudly bought a pair of good, new sewing scissors with a warning to
the entire family. “I will put the old scissors in a kitchen drawer
and you can cut anything anytime with them, but nobody, but NOBODY
dare touch my new ones.” I go to the kitchen drawer where the old
ones are nestled right where they were supposed to be, between the
stapler and the Elmer's Glue. But Mother's nice shiny new ones that
you can use one-handed are no where to be seen. I start searching
through all the drawers in the house and garage, but I guess where
they are will remain a secret until the family gets home tonight. But
I am quite sure that they are all perfectly innocent. (Until I prove
them guilty!) It is funny how sometimes something so little like a
pair of scissors will set me off but that was the last straw and I
found a little cry never hurt anyone. Fact the matter, it does you
good once in awhile. Kinda clears out your sinuses.
But to
top it all, when I struggled out through a blizzard of snow and wind
(for once the weatherman was right) to get the mail, here waiting for
me in the mail box was the summer catalog from Sears & Roebucks. It does seem
that they could pick a little nicer day, doesn't it?
So I
sit down with another cup of coffee and look at swim suits!
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This was back in the day when rural people ordered half of the things they used from the Sears and Roebuck catalog, which was a big thick book with anything you might need.
After reading this you will realize why I never became an author! But I did get to blow off some steam and got a laugh out of it 48 years later.
Back to work. Hope you enjoy my little story of a regular winter morning in 1968 trying to get 3 kids off to school!
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