Covid Journal, Day 355: International Women's Day

29 and clear again this morning. It's supposed to warm up to almost 60. We'll see.

Today is International Women's Day. To tell the truth, I've never really thought about this day in the past, but I should have. Think of what women have accomplished over the years, even during our lifetime. I remember not being able to get credit in my own name; to not be allowed to take shop classes or electricity classes in high school; to not be allowed to wear pants to school or, in my childhood household, in public; to see government with few, if any, female faces. To hear women derided for working outside the home, shamed for being divorced or single mothers. I remember magazine articles about how to be a good wife--putting on a fresh apron and lipstick before the husband came home, for example. I remember so many jobs that were closed to female applicants, and of course, working even as a professional in a career field where men were always paid more than women for the same work, and were promoted faster.

So yes, we've come a long way, and yet we still have a long way to go. It has been good to see change continuing, however, to see the first female Vice-President and more women in high positions in government. Change continues. And that gives me hope.

I searched my story files for a story for this day. I don't suppose I've written one that quite suits, but I'll share this, one of my favorites that's based on a true story.

Burning the Trash

Emma always followed her own path, even if it meant that people talked about her. 

She never married, for instance. She dated one man for years, but she was not willing to give up her freedom to marry him. She had a job in Charleston, a long commute that was almost unheard of in 1950. Especially for a woman. It wasn't just any job, either—she had an important administrative assistant job for a state senator. She drove herself to work every day, at a time when few women had a license to drive, much less their own car.

 She was independent, spunky, brassy, in-your-face, depending on who you talked to about her. But one thing is certainly true—Emma was her own woman in every way, ahead of her time in rural West Virginia. When her boyfriend passed away unexpectedly, she was saddened but continued to live her life on her own terms.

 When she retired, Emma moved to her family homeplace in the country. She raised a garden, had a few chickens and re-connected with old friends. Her sister Pearl lived just down the road, and the two of them did their shopping together, often ate together (when the boyfriend was not around—Pearl did not approve of him), and attended Sunday services at the little community church. They baked for school bake sales, contributed to church rummage sales, sang at gospel sings, and took food to funerals and weddings.

 Emma was always in charge, so old age took her by surprise. She wasn’t ready for it and the loss of control that came with it. She had to give up driving and had to depend on Pearl to take her places. Her garden disappeared beneath healthy weeds, and the chicken house eventually collapsed in a strong snowstorm. There had not been any chickens in it in several years anyway. She did not, however, give up her strong, active mind. Emma remained alert and interested in everything around her, understood computers and their implications before most younger people did, and was one of the first to take classes and get an email address at the library.

 Since she had no children, it was always assumed that she would leave the homeplace to her youngest niece. She had always been fond of Kelly, and Kelly admired her aunt’s independence. Often on a summer evening the two women would sit on the porch swing and she would tell Kelly stories about the family and the community. Kelly loved those stories, because her own parents developed Alzheimer’s disease before she was old enough to understand that the disease was taking their history before they had time to give it to her. Emma's other nieces and nephews were good people too, but they lived lived far away, and seldom came to visit. Emma was glad to have Kelly nearby.

 Kelly married to a nice enough young man, or so everyone thought at the wedding. It took ten years for the real truth of his nature to make itself known. He was a grasper, as Emma called it, a greedy, hoarding man who kept his finances secret from even his wife, who doled out a meager amount to her each week for housekeeping, but never spent anything extra on his family. The children dressed in yard sale clothing while he dressed well and maintained his separate accounts. Kelly was a good manager, and she learned to cut corners and make the money he gave her go a long way. She hated to ask for any extra, even for dentist and doctor’s appointments, because he made her feel as if she was a spendthrift.

 The marriage stumbled on, and Kelly spent more and more time with her two elderly aunts Over the years, she became more and more like her husband—the forced penny-pinching made her begrudge every expense, and she took to hoarding money that he knew nothing about. She held yard sales when he was at work and kept her profits secret. He never noticed if things were missing.

Pearl passed away and Emma was dependent on Kelly and her husband for transportation, yard care and other necessities. To keep in their good graces, she showed them her will, and the clause that made them her sole beneficiaries. She thought it would please them, and it did. Although perhaps not in the way she intended.

 After that, Kelly and her husband visited Emma even more regularly, and he began to suggest repairs to the house that he felt were necessary. Emma did not think she needed new kitchen cabinets, but he insisted, and she gave in. The funds for the project came from her savings, of course. He hired a contractor to replace the bathroom, and had an estimate done for re-roofing the house. That was where Emma drew the line.

 “I don’t need a new roof, son,” she said. “This is a metal roof and it will outlast me.”

 “Yes, but you won’t be here forever, Emma. The roof will have to be replaced sometime. There’s no insulation up there in the attic, and we could do that at the same time we re-do the roof. Why not do it now so you can enjoy it? The insulation will save you on your heating bills.”

 “This place has free gas, remember? I don’t care about the heating bill, and I don’t want the mess and expense of replacing the roof.”

 “Well, I don’t want to have to replace it once we own this place. That would be a real expense! Why won’t you think about us and replace it now? It’s not like you don’t have the money.”

 That fired her up. “My money is my concern, young man, and I’ll thank you to remember that. And this house is my house until I’m dead. I do not want a new roof, and that’s that.”

He gave up on the roof. But during their visits to Emma he and Kelly discussed their plans for the house and property once Emma was gone. Often these conversations happened in front of Emma, as if she had no say in the matter. They talked about surveying and subdividing into lots and selling off as a mobile home park. Ed calculated what the costs and income would be and his eyes lit up at the profits he envisioned from the project.

 “We might just bulldoze down this old place,” he said one evening. “It’s got no insulation or foundation, and it’s drafty as all get out in winter. No one would buy it, even with those new cabinets and the new bathroom. I sure wouldn’t want to live in  it.”

 “Well, now, I don’t know about that,” Kelly hedged. “I  like this old place, and it is my family homeplace, don’t forget.”

 “Yeah, but I’m not living in it. Old memories, old ghosts is what I say. If we sell it off we could build us a nice new place in town, have all the best of everything.”

 Emma listened to this conversation passing back and forth as if she was already in her grave. Her lips set in a hard line. No one had ever pushed her around in her entire life, and she wasn’t going to let it start happening now.

When Kelly and her husband left that evening, Emma got up and tottered slowly across her living room to a chest of drawers in the corner. She opened the top drawer and took out a folder of papers. She extracted one that was headed “Last Will and Testament” and carried back out to the porch. She sat heavily on the old swing and studied the document for a long time. Finally it dropped to her lap as she swung on, deep in thought. Darkness descended and still the chains of the old swing creaked with her gentle swaying. When she finally stood up, she was smiling gently. She walked slowly back inside, the will dangling carelessly from her hand. In the kitchen she walked purposely toward the trash can.

 The next evening Kelly and her husband visited again. Emma greeted them on the porch and invited them to the kitchen for coffee. She slowly filled the pot, emptying the old grounds into the overflowing trash can.

 “Ed, dear, would you mind to take this trash out to the old barrel out back and burn it? I missed the trash man this morning, and it will smell bad by next week.”

 Ed sighed and got to his feet. “Sure, Emma. Got any matches?”

 She searched on top of the refrigerator and found a box. She handed it to him, smiling.

 “You’re a dear. Thank you!”

 

 Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Blowing Hot and Cold

This is really getting annoying. I am thankful now that the weather turned cold again so I don't have to feel bad about dragging around! This time it's a head cold, nothing serious but no fun either.

The funny thing about a cold is that while it is called a cold, I feel hot. My head feels warm, my breath heated. At the same time, my feet and hands are cold and I want to bundle up in a sweatshirt and blanket and huddle by the fire.

Which reminded me of this story from Aesop:

Hot and Cold with the Same Breath

A man and his new friend once sat down to drink a toast to their friendship. It was a cold winter day, and the man put his fingers to his mouth and blew on them.

"Why are you blowing on your fingers?" the friend asked.

"My fingers are so cold, I am blowing on them to warm them up," the man explained.

Later that day the man and his friend sat down to eat. Steam rose from their bowls; the food was very hot. So the man held the bowl to his lips and blew across the soup.

"What are you doing?" asked the friend. "Are you trying to warm your soup? I assure you, it is boiling hot already!"

"Oh no," said the first man, "I am blowing on it to cool it down. It is so hot it would burn my mouth."

"Well, I cannot remain friends with you," said the second man. "One who blows hot and cold with the same breath is not one to be trusted."

Have you heard the saying, "he blows hot one minute and cold the next"?  Now you know its source.

I am off to have some more chicken noodle soup. I made a new pot today as it seems to be the only thing I really want to eat right now. So soup, and tea, and fire, and a good book are my prescription for the rest of today.

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Inspiration, Or,Why I Like Old Stuff

 I was working on a flatwall cabinet today, getting it ready to sell. I've owned this one for about 10 years; it always had issues but I didn't care. I just used it was it was. Now I've replaced it with the china cabinet and we want to sell it, so Larry repaired the main problems and I decided to give the inside a painted-years-ago look but using a wash on it.

Inside the cabinet were a few thumbtacks and I remembered that when I bought it, there had been wallpaper lining the inside, held in place with those thumbtacks. I'd just pulled out the paper and didn't get all of the tacks apparently. As I painted I got to thinking about the woman who had put that paper in there, and those thoughts led to this story. Which is why I like old-stuff--there is always a story with it, either real or one I can create in my imagination. So here is the story of Ella and her cupboard.

Sweat ran down the back of her neck as Ella stretched on tiptoes to spread flour paste inside the cupboard. It wasn’t yet full daylight, but she had grabbed a few minutes before starting breakfast to start putting paper on the rough wood shelves. Jim would be down any minute so she worked quickly, listening for his foot on the stairs that led up to their bedroom. She grabbed the roll of wallpaper and cut a strip, pushing it carefully into place.

August was a month of hard work on the farm. The threshers would be coming soon with their big machine to harvest the wheat. The corn was ripening and the hay would soon be ready for another cutting. Tomatoes, beans, corn, squash and cucumbers filled her days with steamy heat in the kitchen as she put up jar after jar of colorful produce for the coming winter. The cabinet was not a necessary chore and she knew it, but she yearned for a pretty place to put the dishes left to her by her grandmother, and now she had it. All it needed was a little pretty paper to brighten up the dark interior.

A door closed upstairs and Ella flew to the stove. She was pouring boiling water over coffee grounds as Jim stomped downstairs. Ella pulled bacon, biscuits, and gravy from the warming oven, put the bowls on the table and began cracking eggs into a heating cast iron skillet.

“Morning, Sunshine.” Jim gave her a quick peck on the cheek and grabbed a mug. The aroma of strong coffee filled the room. He sighed and took a long sip as Ella lifted her cup and saucer from a shelf and poured her tea from a china teapot. She had never acquired a taste for the bitterness of coffee, preferring tea with milk and sugar to start her day.

“The threshers are over at Nelson’s this morning,” Jim said. “I’m going over to give them a hand after we get our chores done. They’ll be here to help us later when the machine comes to our place. Do you want to go along and visit with Mary?”

Ella shook her head. “I’d like to but I really can’t. I have two bushels of tomatoes in the cellar waiting on me this morning, and I really want to finish this cupboard today and get it put in place.” She glanced at the cupboard. The wallpaper really was going to look good.

Jim laughed. “You and that cabinet. I can’t see the use of it, really I can’t. You would have been better off to keep those blackberries for yourself. Why, you could have made us a dozen pies with those buckets of berries!” He winked at her.

“You think only of your stomach, Mister. I know you think its woman’s foolishness but I have wanted a place to put Grandma’s china for ever so long. What good is it to keep it stored away in crates in the attic?”

“What good is china anyway, Honey? These old crock plates are good enough for me.” Jim thunked his fork on the heavy brown plate in front of him. ‘But don’t overdo it today. The threshers will be here this week, and you’ll have a lot of cooking to do. Those fellas eat a powerful lot of food, you know. Will you be up to it, in your condition?” He glanced at her softly rounded belly.

“I’ll be ready. The ladies from church are coming over to help, and they’ll be bringing plenty of food with them, thank goodness. Oh, you can take these two peach pies over to Mary today when you go. She’ll be pleased to get them, I know.”

Jim finished eating and pushed back from the table. Ella watched him walk to the barn and listened to him calling to the horses.  It was going to be a hot day, that was certain. Heat shimmered on the dusty road already. She went back inside to clear away the dishes. A shout called her to the porch and she carried the pies out to Jim and waved goodbye as the wagon jounced up the road and out of sight.

While dishwater heated on the wood cookstove she worked on papering the inside of her new cupboard. Well, not new, she thought, but new to me. I wonder how long it’s been around, and where Mr. Jonesy got it? He’d been a bachelor all his life, so perhaps it had belonged to his mother. He had seen her walking home with her buckets of berries last week and had offered to trade the cupboard for the berries.

“I don’t need the thing, I sure don’t. It’s just in my way. I remember how you admired it once, so I would be glad to swap you for those fine berries.”

Ella didn’t hesitate. “Deal!” she said, laughing. Mr. Jonesy brought the cupboard over that evening, staying for supper and some cobbler out on the cool porch afterwards. Jim was puzzled but he said after all, they were her berries and if she wanted to trade her hard work for some old cabinet, who was he to argue?

******************************************

Now Ella sat on the porch in her rocker, hands folded neatly in her lap. All around her people bustled in and out, talking in quiet voices, looking at the furniture, dishes, tools and farm equipment spread out on the lawn for the auction to be held that day. The old cupboard was under the maple tree, its well worn finish dull in the harsh light of day. Ella remembered how pretty it had been filled with white china, and how proud she had been of this showpiece in her kitchen.

Over the years the china had been broken, piece by piece, and as the decades passed the delicate English pieces were replaced, first with pink and green Depression glass, later with Homer Laughlin’s cheaper lines of dinnerware, and finally with plastic Melamine. Thin china cups gave way to Fire-King mugs. Children, five of them, were born, grew up and eventually moved on to homes of their own. The flour paste had dried out over the years and Ella had used thumbtacks to hold the paper in place. Now the faded design was barely discernible and the paper hung loose here and there. She hadn’t had the energy or the desire to fix it after Jim got sick.  After he died she tried to keep the farm going but it was too much for her and she had finally agreed that it was time to sell out and move in with her oldest son and his family.

She sighed. It was going to take some getting used to, being with other people and in another woman’s home. Hardest of all was letting go of the things she had loved all these years, especially that cupboard. Her son had offered to bring it over to his place when she moved but Ella knew there was no place for it, and truth to be told it did look pretty bad. It hadn’t fared any better than she had, Ella thought. The years had worn them both down, but they were good years and she had been blessed. She had to remember that. At least she had family willing to take her in, instead of whisking her off to some nursing home.

A young woman had wondered over to the old cupboard. Ella watched as the woman pulled open the doors and lifted the peeling paper.

“Cathy, are you seriously looking at that?” A man, looking to be in his late twenties, sauntered over and put his arm around the young woman.  She looked up at him and smiled.

“Oh yeah! Look at this thing! See how someone whittled a piece to keep the doors closed? And some lady put this paper in here to make it pretty, but it’s in bad shape. She tried to keep it in place with thumbtacks when it came loose. It’s rough for sure, but I can fix it up, David, I know I can.”

The man shrugged. “Suit yourself. Are you going to bid on it? I can’t see what we need it for but if you want it go ahead.”

“I want it. You wait til you see how pretty it will be with my grandmother’s china in it.”

Copyright Susanna Holstein. All rights reserved. No Republication or Redistribution Allowed without attribution to Susanna Holstein.

Handsome, Big, and Strong

This story is based on an African tale called A Bear Went for a Walk. When I read the story, the participation possibilities were immediately evident. I could select children to play the parts of the animals (add more animals for more children). I could use the dialog in the text repetitively, with the audience calling out certain words.

The children/animals would all have the same line to say, and it was short enough to be easy to teach in a few seconds. Another adaptation also occurred to me. I could change the animals to those found in my area. Instead of lion, antelope, hippopotamus and zebra, I could use bear, deer, raccoon, and possum. That would regionalize the story and include animals more familiar to children here.

Before you start: Select audience volunteers for: deer, raccoon, possum, and mouse. Teach them their lines. All will be the same except for the mouse. Make sure the mouse knows that he/she must speak loud enough for everyone to hear them. Often the tendency is to speak in a tiny mousy squeak which may not be audible to all, and the story will lose its meaning for those who miss that last line.

A bear went for a walk in the forest. He came upon a little puddle of water in the path. Bear bent down to drink—and there in the water he saw his reflection!"Oh my!" he said. "I am the handsomest, biggest, strongest animal anywhere!No other animal is as...

(here teach the audience their part--go through a couple of practice runs to be sure their volume/inflection is right)

Handsome, Big, and Strong as I am!"

The bear went walking on, looking for another animal to compare himself with. He soon met a white-tailed deer.

"Deer," said Bear, "why is that you are not as (audience) Handsome, Big, and Strong as I am?”

"I don't know," said Deer. And Bear puffed out his chest and walked on.

It wasn't long before he met Raccoon.

"Raccoon," said Bear, "can you tell me why it is that you are not as

(audience)Handsome, Big, and Strong as I am?”

"Well," said Raccoon, "I don't know!"

Bear tossed his fine big head and walked on. There in the path ahead of him was a possum ambling along.

"Hello, Possum!" said Bear. "Can you tell me why you are not as

(audience) Handsome, Big, and Strong as I am?”

"No," said Possum. "I don't know."

The Bear puffed out his great chest and stalked past the possum.

At first, the Bear didn't see the next animal. He heard him--a teeny, tiny "aaaaah-chooo!"

The Bear looked down, and there in the grass at the side of the path was a tiny......mouse.

"Bless you!" said the Bear. "Umm, can you tell me, Mouse, how it is that you are not as

(audience) Handsome, Big, and Strong as I am?”

The tiny mouse looked up at the mighty Bear and said,

"I have been sick, that's why."
________________________________________________________________________
Other Options for Participation
Sing the repeated words to a simple melody.
Let the entire audience say the lines of the animals Bear meets.
Increase the audience lines to include all Bear’s repeated phrase.
Change the animals to reflect your area of the country/world.
Use puppets for the animal roles.

Do you have to use audience members in the animal roles? Of course not! The story could be told as easily without them, and just as effectively. But this is a simple story to try including participation. The way you tell the story is up to you, the storyteller!