Aunt Bertha

Aunt Bertha

“ ‘Fair is as fair does’ ~ Aunt Bertha, what does that mean?”  My name is Steven and I am ten years old. Aunt Bertha is my favourite aunt. She has all these sayings like: ‘the hurrier I go the behinder I get’ and ‘beauty’s only skin deep’. Then there’s ‘a penny for your thoughts’. I’ve never seen a penny. I’d never asked her before what any of them meant. I would just say uh-huh or maybe nothing. After all I am only 10 years old and none of them made sense to me. ‘Fair is as fair does’ made me curious though. Or maybe I was just tired of saying ‘uh-huh’ or maybe feeling bad because I was kind of ignoring the aunt that made the most delicious cinnamon buns and always had cookies when I stopped at their house on my way home from school. If I ever wanted a sleep over on the weekends, I could stay the whole weekend or only one night. Didn’t matter. Uncle John is my favourite uncle too and he’s a lot quieter than Aunt Bertha. He’s always out in the garden, gone downtown with his buddies or behind his newspaper. Maybe he gets tired of hearing all the sayings too. When Aunt Bertha answered my question about what her saying about fair is as fair does, she was making a pie. She just kept on rolling the pie dough and said “Well, Steven, dear. It’s rather like this pie I’m making.” I rolled my eyes when she said that. “When I tell you I’m making peach pie, I put peaches in it.” I had to think real hard about that ‘cause I wasn’t sure it made sense. “So-o-o, if you tell me you’re making peach pie and then make an apple pie, and I expected peach pie………..” Aunt Bertha started cutting up the peaches for the pie. “What would you say if I gave you a piece of the pie I made, Steven?” I got out the sugar and the cloves for her. “I guess I’d say, that you hadn’t been fair. You told me one thing and did another thing.” Aunt Bertha wiped her hands on the wet towel she kept beside her and took the sugar and cloves from me. “Thank you Steven. You’re exactly right…..Here’s your Uncle John. Now let’s get him a cold drink from the fridge. He and his friends have been out on a long walk. I’ve got one for you too and a plate cookies. You two fellows can have a chat while I finish up this pie. Maybe then I can tell you about other sayings that I love.” I just said ‘uh-huh and thank you’ and took Uncle John his drink. 

~~~~~

Years later, I would recall that conversation with affection. I had been looking at my reflection in the water. Like my Uncle John, I took long walks and was hungry. Aunt Bertha’s cinnamon buns, peach pie, cookies floated in front of me. Her sayings never really became a favourite of mine, but what I learned from them were the anchors that kept me safe.

“The simple things are also the most extraordinary things, 

and only the wise can see them.”

~ Paulo Coelho, The Alchemist

Book Review: Becoming by Michelle Obama

If I had to use one word to describe Michelle Obama, it would be ‘unapologetic’. But one word is insufficient to describe her life, her heart and her honesty ~ a very no nonsense woman and, in her own words, a box checker. She came from a very loving supportive home, raised by hard working parents, Fraser and Marian Robinson, with an equally loving extended family. Some more difficult that others, but loving and loved. She was outspoken from a young age, not shy about speaking her mind. She and her brother Craig shared a room until as they got older and wall divided their bedroom was constructed. Writing of these early days elicited smiles and sometimes outright laughter from me. Excelling at school due to her own drive she always had the support and firm direction of her parents and extended family. Her father, Fraser, a quiet man, had a strong work ethic, never missing a day’s work despite having Multiple Sclerosis. When asked how he was feeling he always said that he was fine and there were times when he was not. Her mother, Marian, was a stay at home mom, until both Michelle and Craig were in Princeton.

Her ‘box checking’ involved getting a law degree, getting married, having children and a nice life. She achieved all these things but she had not counted on whom she would marry or how nice their life would be. As a junior lawyer, one of her assignments was to be advisor to a young hotshot lawyer. This ‘guy’ as she still refers to him was Barack Obama. He is not the ‘box checker’ type. Their friendship grew slowly until marriage ensued followed by two children - Malia and Sasha. The most humorous tell all was when Barack proposed to Michelle. I will just say he caught her very much off guard. The life in-between is what Michelle Obama shows her readers. Her great concern for how their children were raised, her life as a working mother and what she had to do to make it all work. A group of women friends, gathered over the years, were and still are her supports for laughter or tears.

She and Barack Obama have been and are devoted parents, despite the scheduled separation of life in the politic arena. The eight years in the White House were challenging and formative for the Obama family. The things that Michelle had to learn as First Lady were innumerable. Protocols, secret service agents, always riding in an armoured car, being under the media microscope, not to mention anyone with a cell phone, her clothes are only a few. At the same time, she tried to give her children some sort of a normal life in this bubble they lived in. One example - they had to make their own beds. It was, finally, the needs of children in the communities that seemed to give her direction within the bubble. One that would not be an intrusion on politics, as had been a problem when Hillary Clinton tried to get too involved in her years as First Lady. That being said, Michelle’s long term goal in her work with children, communities and schools did lead to productive legislation. 

Through it all, Michelle Obama, as many of us do, questioned herself, wondering if she was enough. An excellent read and definitely one I will keep on my book shelf.

“Am I good enough? Yes I am.”

~ Michelle Obama

Title: Becoming

Author: Michelle Obama

Copyright: 2018

Publisher: Crown registered trademark of Penguin Random House LLC

Type: Biography

Format: Hard Cover

ISBN - 978-1-5247-6313-8

Ebook ISBN - 978-1-5247-6315-2

Seasonal Poetry

The joys of a spring afternoon,

lunching in brilliant sunshine,

this evening, snow fell

light and glittering,

trees warmed by the sun

cars dusted by snow

 “If winter comes, can spring be far behind?”

 ~ Percy Bysshe Shelley, 

   Ode to the West Wind

Chapter Two, Episode Twenty-Eight - No One’s Perfect - Situationally Theirs

Review, Revision, Update and Edit

The episodes for Situationally Theirs could be considered, just barely, short stories. This episode, No One's Perfect, is under the suggested minimum word count of 1000, but does fit Edgar Allan Poe's definition of “something readable in a single sitting.” Other elements are setting, a single plot, a central theme, and creating a distinct mood (from blurb.com). Reviewing this aloud, this episode satisfies those elements. 

I re-structured one sentence:

Original: 'Suddenly cold, she had stepped out of the sunshine as she rounded the corner to the back porch.' 

Re-structured:  'She stepped out of the sunshine and rounded the corner to the back porch. Shivering, she said....') 

No One's Perfect

Halo’s are seldom thought of as the purview of adults. A child asleep can be called angelic in one breath but in another when screaming and throwing a tantrum, there is not a halo to be seen. Although James had called Martha ‘his angel’, she did not feel the least bit angelic. Her normal kindness, that erased all errors from people other than herself, was well practiced. Miss Emelina, her sister Dez and all the staff that worked at the Beaufort Estate were all nice. That was the problem. Everyone was just too nice. No glaring faults. No bad behaviour. All the time. Not even Samuel. 

Recovering slowly from her bad bout of the flue had left Martha feeling tired; on top of the tiredness was all the niceness. No one even got angry about the sudden call off of the party! She was angry at herself and even the flowers in her garden. “Why on earth do you have to look so cheery? I should just pull you right out of the ground and throw you in with the weeds.” Martha reached down and pulled out the weed happily growing beside the daffodils, accidentally dislodging one of James' precious flowers. She got down on her knees and patted it back in place. “I'm not even interested any more in planning a wedding reception, even though I said I would.” Somewhere a stubborn little girl had taken hold. When a basically good person is confronted every day with limits and expectations and then is sick on top of it, it’s just too much. The straw that breaks the camel’s back. Martha was at that point. She really was a good person - and a very tired person. Tired of living with the worry of a viral infection, tired of taking care of the ‘Housekeeping’ that seemed to have no purpose other than giving her a job, tired of feeling weak and unable to do much more than yell at the flowers, tired of James fussing over her like she was some poor sick thing and he was her saviour. 

Tired of it all and she didn’t know what to do. She reached for some stray rocks and supported the poor daffodil at it’s base. Her knees were wet from kneeling on the grass. Getting up she felt one-hundred years old, every joint stiff and complaining. She stepped out of the sunshine and rounded the corner to the back porch. Shivering, she said “What do I do? Who do I talk to? James has gone for the day and I don’t want to talk to him anyway.” Just as she opened the back door, the phone rang. It was one of the old wooden, hang on the wall, phones with a real mouthpiece and a real ear piece. She and James had found it at an antique store when they were on their honeymoon. When they found out it was still workable, they decided it would be perfect for their cottage. “It’s probably Elizabeth calling. James only calls on my cell phone and I don’t think I gave Joanie this number - or maybe I did/?”

The phone was on the third ring when she answered it. “Hello? ….Hello?” All Martha could hear was a distant soft sobbing then a gravelly voice spoke “Martha, is that you?” 

“Samuel? Where are you? How did you get this number?’

“Just come over here, Martha. Elizabeth needs you. She won’t talk to me and I don’t know what to do.” Samuel’s voice shook and cracked.

Martha would have gotten her coat on while she was talking, but the phone cord was too short. She needed to end the call and get going. “Samuel, just calm down. Tell Elizabeth…no, I want you to get the tea kettle on. Tell Elizabeth I’m on my way over and will be there as quick as I can. James is in his office. While you’re waiting for me, just keep Elizabeth safe.” 

Martha hung up abruptly, scribbled a note to James and left it on the table. Forgetting how tired and angry she had been, she put a sweater and coat on, made sure she had good walking shoes on and left for Elizabeth's house. What was wrong didn’t matter. Her best friend was in trouble and she needed her.

“Time to stop crying, time to get her act together and

 do something. Time to move beyond the pity party.”

~ Lisa McMann, author

Air Flow

Glad handing and high fives 

never touching skin to skin 

pass the energy of welcome and yay! 

through the air dodging 

hovering viral party crashers.

“I must choose between despair and Energy - I choose the latter.”

~ John Keats, Letters of John Keats

A Quick Detour

Intimidated by a business call

I had to make about……

SC-R-E-E-C-H!

Yesterday was more fun

and tonight I’m still exhausted.

Forget intimidation!                                      

A family Zoom gender reveal party

from my from brother in Florida

bouncing from Poland to the U.K.

to Canada….It’s a girl!

An awesome 10 K walk with 

my walking buddy started out

against the wild prairie wind

masked against the dust in the air

cooked a roast that didn’t have

the taste I expected from a roast beef ~

very odd tasting gravy so tonight 

it’s thin slices for sandwiches and a beef stew.

and then there was a fuse blown

shutting out my lights, fridge and TV

along with a plugged kitchen sink drain ~

one phone call to maintenance got it fixed.

“Sometimes it takes a wrong turn to get you to the right place.”

~ Mandy Hale, The Single Woman: Life, Love, and a Dash of Sass

Tunnel Vision

Light at the end of the tunnel ~ 

Optimism:

from news reporters, politicians 

and just about anyone

Pessimism:

‘be careful - it might be a train!’

Reality:

As with any true tunnel there are,

in the narrowed lives we live,~

graffiti and beautiful drawings

rendered by unknown artists,

stories told around kitchen tables

of difficulties, joys and working things out.

hearts with arrows through them etched in trees.

initials painted on the roadways and fences with

dates, time and places letting other travellers

know someone had walked there, 

loved there or sheltered there. 

water slicking down rock walls,

feeding moss growing in the dark.

wind gusts blowing in roadside debris:

dusts of anxiety, impatience and hate

We are not driving quickly 

through this tunnel 

but we are walking ~ 

sometimes hand in hand 

with the person in our bubble of safety.

We have time to stop, 

to get that stone out of our shoe, 

sit against the unforgiving walls 

for a moment to catch our breath. 

There is no rush to get anywhere ~

so foreign to us in our hurry up and wait world 

but with a deep breath ~ even though desperate 

to get out of the tunnelled darkness, 

even though life has become unforgiving

we keep creating our lives.

“Tunnel vision can kill creativity.”

Ami Vitale, 

photographer with National Geographic