Cutting Pieces




	WRITE 2 THE HEART Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart" May 20, 2003 Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com ----------------------------------------------------------- Welcome to your latest issue of "Write 2 the Heart" You are receiving this twice weekly newsletter because you requested a subscription or a friend generously forwarded their copy to you. To subscribe send a blank e-mail to subscribe@write2theheart.com. ------------------------------------------------------------ Time invested in grandchildren's lives is never wasted. It becomes memories that last a lifetime as well as life lessons to draw from. ------------------------------------------------------------ Cutting Pieces By Mary-Ellen Grisham ------------------------------------------------------------ Mother's exasperated call would propel me from swinging on the back gate, up the drive, to the black hump-backed Plymouth. With varying success, Mom would back the unwieldy car out the drive, and we would cruise down the street, around the corner, and along the block to Grandma's corner house. With a hug and a wave, I'd be up the hill to the dirt path and in the gate. In those early days of summer vacation, my joy was unbounded. I'd pat the plump lingering snowballs and round the bush, checking the cherry trees, sour apples, plants, and flowers. With a quick look at Grandpa's gardens in the back and along the other side of the house, I would loop by the fat trunk of the enormous maple on the path to the front porch. With a sudden detour, I'd latch the front gate and then high-step up the stairs to the door. Grandma would be holding the screen open, and my regular day would begin. Some days I'd be out the back door almost immediately to gather eggs in the graying wood hen house and then help Granny dry the breakfast dishes. In his stiff straw hat, Grandpa would take the hoe to work on the garden before the sun got too hot. Then Granny and I would settle in for serious business. That summer the doctor put her on a diet, and I would study the foods and calorie amounts in the little book. I would continue cutting out the suggested meal plans, put a tiny patch of triple folded tape on the back and set up the lunch menus for the week. In typical country fashion, dinner at noon was the big meal, with homemade bread and dessert, and leftovers would be for supper. Little did I realize at first that "cutting pieces" would so change my outlook and attitudes during the long summer months. I was thrilled to be in charge of Grandma's diet and would hound her to keep her from nibbling. Then the fruits and vegetables began to ripen, and my cutting moved from menu planning to cleaning and cutting up the produce my grandparents so carefully grew. The cherries acquainted me with new sorrows in life as I spent what seemed like hours pitting the tiny round fruit and cutting the halves into pieces for pies and cobblers. My sore hands and stained fingers would have bothered me none if the rewards of baking had been bounteous, but Grandpa would allow little or no sugar so that the homemade desserts were sour and hard to eat. Eating "natural" was the country way, without a lot of additives or sweeteners; and sugar, flour, and other baking essentials were rationed in those days. The woes connected with blackberries, strawberries, and those little sour apples were even more enormous in my childish mind, but I persisted in obedience. Grandma was easy going and kind and sought to lighten my load with rich cream and spoonfuls of honey, which Grandpa bought from a man at church who had his own beehives. Honey, being natural, was an approved substance, and I learned to help Granny mellow pies and cobblers with the judicious application of honey and cream and the occasional scoop of homemade ice cream for special occasions. I was learning to cope with the real world of restrictions and discipline, even finding a little leeway now and then, a bit of sweet for every sour. Granny went to a church quilting circle one afternoon a week, and I would help her get ready by cutting large pieces from scrap material, gunny sacks, and old clothes. I got even handier with the scissors and developed a good eye for choice pieces that would make pretty quilts. I'd stash my pieces in a soft yellowed pillow case, and Granny and I would laugh about the fat "bag" of pieces she would have to take to church. One Wednesday afternoon I went with Granny to meet the ladies. Most were about Granny's age, but there was one young woman, newly married and new to the area. She and her young husband were "hard-up," as Granny put it, and knew almost no one in the town. She enjoyed being with the other women and learning to sew. I explained to her that I helped Granny cutting pieces for quilting, and she was very kind to me. Both of us learned a bit about sewing and design on those afternoons. Later, Granny and the women quilted a baby blanket for the young couple, and our pieces could be only the softest pastels, which the good ladies worked into little bow designs for the small quilt. I felt blessed with helping in this way, and I learned to feel how important worthwhile work and ordinary, everyday companionship and sharing could be. While the corridors of childhood memories are filled with both sunshine and shadow, I came to see the rightness of that proximity. That summer I learned that the blend of joy and sorrow, work and pleasure, sharing and sacrifice could make new patterns of growth for me. As I held my young friend's new baby, I looked forward to the years ahead when all sorts of "cutting pieces" would form the patchwork of my life and loves. © 2001 Mary-Ellen Grisham meginrose @ empowering.com You are encouraged to write to the authors to let them know what you think of their story, just remember to remove the space before and after the @ symbol. The space is placed in the address to protect our writers from viruses and email harvesting programs. Have a comment on today's story? Send it to: moderator@write2theheart.com ---------------------------------------------------------------- Mary-Ellen is a Christian writer who lives in Godfrey, Illinois, with her husband and son. She enjoys publishing inspirational stories and poetry in e-mail newsletters and on various Internet sites. Recently, she has become Editor-in- Chief of Eternal Ink, a twice monthly Christian ezine. eternal_ink-subscribe@associate.com -------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------- Letters From Our Readers -------------------------------------------------------------- Dear Cheryl, Just a short note to thank you for such a wonderful site. My very good friend Diane White gave me the address after she told me it was the best. She is right ! We worked together at the newspaper for a while before Diane moved away. I thought I would not be able to live without her when she left. We just spoke the same language, "Yankee". Her book: Beach Walks is exactly like she is. She is aChristian woman who lives like she speaks. Now today I also enjoyed Piano Lessons . It struck close to home. I have had the desire to learn the piano for years, but thought I was too old. I wrote her a note to say I hoped she gave me the "boost" I needed to give it a try. Thank you again for your beautiful site. I can't wait until Friday to read more. Ellinore I really liked this story about the piano and it made me realize that my mother's Alzheimer's was not as bad when she was taking organ and accordian lessons in FL. Perhaps the mental occupation was good for her brain and caused her to function better. (Perhaps it's just the disease's progression making her worse, on the other hand.) It may have helped to slow the disease. We'll never know.... N. Hi Cheryl, In case any of the readers were wondering about your comment re: my story "Piano Lessons," here is how I got the piano moved. I bought the piano from my next-door neighbor who was moving away and no longer wanted it. I called a moving company to move the piano. Two muscular, strapping young men came to move it, and found they needed two others to assist them, because unknown to me, the piano was a player piano. The player mechanisms inside are apparently very heavy. So two more strapping young men were called in to help, and they moved the piano from next door to my house, and down a flight of stairs to the family room. I honestly thought these guys were going to be crushed because they really struggled with the weight of the piano, and going down the stairs. All I could think of was "I sure hope I have enough liability insurance in case anyone gets hurt!" All four of them were sweating and panting profusely when they were done. Anyway, the cost of the move ended up being more than what I paid for the piano. So much for a yard sale bargain! Maria Harden --------------------------------------------------------------- Military Prayer Reminder --------------------------------------------------------------- As you read over this list of names, please take that moment to pray for these young people and their families: Chris Speir Tim Speir Alan Thaddeaus Howard Todd Holland Graham William Julie Sagel Jessie Marshal Thompson Jason Eric Hernandez Kristin Danielson Ken Prieur Please continue to pray for our country, our leaders, and our troops at this time. If you have loved ones in the military, or who are being called to go overseas, send their names (first and last or first only) to be included in our prayer reminder. --------------------------------------------------------------- Chocolate Alert! I know that got your attention! I am working on a chocolate cookbook to be given away on Write 2 the Heart's web site. This work in progress is tentatively called "Write 2 the Heart of the Chocolate Lover." Anyone who would like to join in the delicious fun, send a chocolate recipe with a brief bio to be included after each recipe. Send as many as you wish. --------------------------------------------------------------- Cheryl's Corner Those of you who have been with Write 2 the Heart for a while, may remember when my oldest son Chris and his family were transferred back home from Alaska. I had bought two bags of fishing minnows and put them in a kiddy pool in the back yard. I gave my two grandsons each a small dip net and let them have a wonderful day of splashing in the water and trying to catch fast, slippery fish. It was fun for them and I had a great time watching them. David did something similar for our son Aaron's two boys. He gave them permission to play with the crickets he had left over from a fishing trip. We divided them up between two cricket cages and handed them to two excited little boys. I was afraid the toddler would eat them. He didn't. They had a marvelous time trying to reach into the cages and grab the quick long legged bugs. It was hours of entertainment for them as well as the adults watching. A few crickets managed to find freedom in my living room. Their chirping reminds me of our old country home. God Bless, Cheryl ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- © 2003 Write 2 the Heart Nothing may be reproduced or published without the written permission of the individual author or copyright owner. All rights belong to the authors.