Mithta Hay




	WRITE 2 THE HEART Stories that are aimed "Write 2 the Heart" October 9, 2002 Cheryl Speir, Editor, moderator@write2theheart.com ----------------------------------------------------------- By subscription only! Welcome to your latest issue of "Write 2 the Heart" ------------------------------------------------------------ All new subscribers for the month of October will be entered into a drawing for a 2003/2004 pocket calendar. The winner will be announced in the November 6 issue. ------------------------------------------------------------- Maria shares a wonderful memory from her child- hood. You can read more about Maria and see a picture of her at www.write2theheart.com on the Writer's Profile page. ------------------------------------------------------------- Mithtah Hay By: Maria Harden ------------------------------------------------------------- I was six years old when my father bought home used ice skates for my brother, my sister, and myself. We were ecstatic at being able to join the neighbourhood kids at the outdoor rink, which was conveniently located in a lot right behind our house. All we had to do was walk down a sidewalk, which separated our house from the house next door, and in two minutes we were in our own magical winter playground. Those first skates were such a novelty, and I was always begging someone to take me to the rink. The rink was also used for hockey, which we occasionally watched, but we much preferred skating. Sometimes we played rambunctious skating games, like "Pom Pom Pullaway", or "Crack the Whip," taking care to avoid the pleasure skaters, who steered clear of our shenanigans. There was a heated shack with ramshackle wooden benches where we would go warm up when the chill seeped into our bones. A rink caretaker played records, which were piped outside via a tinny loudspeaker. We skated to music from the 50's, the Nutcracker Suite, or my favourite, the beautiful Skater's Waltz. At night, the outdoor lights of the rink produced a winter wonderland just for us. A white board fence surrounded the skating rink. When the rink was cleared after a snowfall, masses of snow, piled just outside the fence, created hills for sliding and playing. Our imagination made us explorers traversing mountains, pioneers in an undiscovered land, and spies in a foreign country. We played on these hills almost as much as we skated, and sometimes it was a toss-up, which one to do first. Living in the house next door to my family, was a middle- aged couple we knew as Mr. and Mrs. Hay. Mr. Hay started showing up at the rink on a regular basis. I was in awe of his big, brown skates, and marveled at the long, smooth strides that sent him gliding effortlessly across the ice. Not many adults skated for pleasure at the rink, but Mr. Hay was very comfortable in this element and sometimes even joined our skating games. I liked him, and felt a little important, almost possessive of him, since he was my next door neighbour. To him, I was the little girl next door, and to me, he was a gentle and kind man who loved to have fun. I remember one day begging my mother to take me skating, but she was busy. I can't remember if she put the suggestion into my head, or if I thought of it myself, but I mustered up all of my six-year-old courage, and wearing my skates, found my way to the house next door. Determined but nervous, I carefully climbed the few steps to the front door, and knocked. Mrs. Hay answered the door. "Well, hello," she said, peering at me through her glasses, looking a bit surprised. I almost turned and ran, but my skates prevented me from doing that. Lisping due to a couple of missing front teeth, I stammered, "Can Mithtah Hay come out to play?" I can still see her half smile, as she said politely, "Come in, I'll get him." I waited in the porch while she went to get "Mithtah Hay," and before I could say "figure eight," he had his big, brown skates on and we were on our way to the rink. Oh, how special I felt as we skated in synchrony that day, his big gloved hand in my small mittened one, his long legs keeping pace with my short ones. The twinkle in his eyes and his warm smile told me he delighted in our skating escapade as much as I did. We skated often after that day, Mithtah Hay and I, and although we were decades apart in age, we found a satisfying companionship with each other. We shared a friendship that crossed the age barrier, and I have never forgotten his kindness to me, the little girl next door. We may not have won any awards for our skating, but I consider Mithtah Hay a gold medal memory. When he reached for my hand, he also touched my heart. Maria Harden © 2002 mharden @ escape.ca (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) ---------------------------------------------------------------- Maria is a Canadian who lives and writes in Winnipeg, Manitoba. She grew up in a small town in NW Ontario, where this story took place. She feels that no matter where we end up living, it is where we grew up that generates the most memories from days gone by. Although "Mithtah Hay" is no longer with us, his memory always be. ---------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------- Letters From Our Readers -------------------------------------------------------------- Hi Cheryl, Nice newsletter! I think it was Thomas Wolfe who said "You Can Never Go Home Again".... but then he also wrote "Look Homeward Angel"...which is it? LOL! Actually, I think we can go to the place called "Home" in our heart, very often...But we can't go back to the age and time when things were so different. Yet, we can save them to share, and we can make new memories in that place called Home! We are watching for the hurricane too! I kept seeing Mississippi on the news...and praying for you, my friend.. Stay well and keep in touch! Blessings, Diane ***** Every time I go home things have changed. Funny how things are not as big as you remember them growing up. One thing stays the same, the stars are always brighter and more of them than anywhere else I know. Kate ---------------------------------------------------------------- Cheryl's Corner Another hurricane came and went with no problems for us. I know there were many praying for us. It's obvious from the way the storm behaved when it hit land that prayers were answered. My oldest son and his family sought refuge with us to get away from the tornadoes that were spinning off in their area. I kept two of my grandsons last weekend and took them to a church fair held in our area. There was a rock climbing simulation that they had a great time on. When we were finished we went shopping. The youngest asked mournfully, "Nanny, why do girls like to go shopping and boy's don't?" One lady near us laughed saying, "We all want to know the answer to that one!" Another called out, "That's one of the great mysteries of life." Don't feel sorry for him and his brother, they both came home with lots of goodies to play with. God Bless Cheryl ----------------------------------------------------------------- ----------------------------------------------------------------- © 2002 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. --------------------------------------------------------------- All subscriptions sent to your e-mail free of charge.