Vignettes of Small Glories

Copyright © 2000 by Christine Scott.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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CONTENTS

DEDICATION

LEGAL NOTIFICATION

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION

CHAPTER ONE:

      Circles & Glories

The Lucky Star

Stone And Security

House Of Stone

And So The Glories Began . . .

Once Upon a Christmas

Jennie

The Corn Husker

Freedom To Last a Lifetime

Beneath The Coal Dust

Daddy Bob

The Fireplace

The Ship That Never Sailed

CHAPTER TWO:

      Ribbons & Valentines

Guardian Of The Secrets

First Love

Love’s Message

Patch Stories

Love Rejected

Love Accepted

Brown Baggers Make The Best Lovers

The Immigrants

High Ranking Love

Second Chance

Autumn Leaves in April

Other Valentines

The Unexpected Easter Gift

CHAPTER THREE:

      Pieces of Rainbows

A Box Full Of Summer Dreams

Blackberry Sky And Candy Moon

Golden Meows & Woof Woofs

The Sand Bucket

The Cookie Lady

The Hunt For Bambi

To Hug A Tree

A Different Christmas Gift

The Hope Chest

Parkway House

Grandmother At Ninety-two

Sun Enchanted Visit

House Guest

Stage Right-Stage Left

CHAPTER FOUR:

      Laughter Victorious

Marching To A Different Drummer

A Bull in The Swing

Danger Zone

Cider Delivery

Pie Server

After The Prom

Necklace Mystique

The Pickle Jar

The Mad Hunters

The Snow Job

Green Forever

When I Wasn’t Mary Poppins

One Foot In Heaven

Chaotic Connie

Closet Escapades

The Sunshine Of His Smile

CHAPTER FIVE:

      More About Glories

My Checkered Career

Take A Stand Or Walk

Disillusioned

The Lonely Heart

News Flash Memories

Hello, Special Day!

His Eye Is On the Sparrow

Housewife Blessing

Thanks For Being There For Me

Strangers At My Door

Checks And Balances

Real Life Angels

Go For The Joy

Someone Out There

Christmas Love

Christmas Vigil

Circles Within Circles

June Sixth . . .Again

CHAPTER SIX:

      Storms & Tears

June The Sixth . . .A Third Time

Lift Up Mine Eyes

Bright Cross In A Dark Valley

Talent Versus Justice

Married Not Forever

Murder For Hire

The Lost Cadet

To Trust Again

Mistaken Trust

Time To Give Up

Lovingly In The Father’s Hands

If Only . . .

Farewell To Jimmy Lee

On My Knees

The Great Physician

My Walk To Emmaus

Glories Are Forever

IN CONCLUSION:

      Personal Journal

I dedicate this book to Aung San Suu Kyi, my heroine.

I dedicate this book to those brave women who participated in

the Tienanmen Demonstration in 1989 as well as those women

who stood by their husbands, fathers, sons, brothers, and friends.

I dedicate this book to all the Asian women

who have suffered so much and ask so little.

Vignettes of Small Glories

is dedicated to:

My sons, Jeffrey Robert Scott and

Clifton Walter Scott

Also in memory of:

My brother,

James L. Miller and my beloved, Doc

LEGAL NOTIFICATION

This is a non-fiction story. Poetic license has been taken to change names, locations, and events. Some characterizations and descriptions were the result of multiple images combined to produce one character, situation, or place. Every effort was made to honor the privacy of others who were innocent of the actions or reactions of any one person or series of events.

*      *      *

SPECIAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS:

My Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ,

for His gifts of creativity and guidance.

The staff at Camp Christian (Mill Run, Pennsylvania)

The Emmaus Community

for bringing it all full circle during my Walk

(E-86) in August 1999.

ADDITIONAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS TO:

The Xlibris Editing and Production Staff.

My son, Jeffrey for his total belief in this book, his loving support of the author, many hours of computer wisdom, and his gift of my Walk to Emmaus (E-86).

James A. Judd, for love, encouragement, and his generous contribution of computers and office equipment.

Kent Baylor and his wife, Mary Alice, for kindness and support that reached beyond friendship.

Patricia Saunders, the sister who was sent my way, to bond our mutual beliefs and love into golden memories.

Support, typing, and first draft editing: Barbara, LaVerne, and Marilyn.

Robert Lane, my seventies son, who always believed that I’d write this book.

To my friends and coworkers at Navy Federal Credit Union who cheered me on, with enthusiasm! Special thanks to Sherri and Kathy, who waited eagerly to read each rough draft.

To Dorothea Hall, my dear friend and partner in prayer.

Rev. Dr. Jerrold Foltz and his wife, Alice, and the "Circle of Love for All" provided by The Wellspring United Church of Christ, in Centreville, Virginia.

*      *      *

AUTHOR’S INTRODUCTION

The real victories of our lives frequently can be found after the storms, in glimpses of small glories.

In the midst of the storms of our lives, we often find mountains which appear impossible to climb. Many times we reach the top, only to discover there is yet a higher mountain to climb. Sometimes the rocks of despair and fear cause our steps to falter in defeat. In the dark of sleepless nights, we ask ourselves, What have I achieved? Where is the victory? Where is the joy?

Frequently, the answers can be found to exist in the illusive and fragile moments of small glories. Away from the storm racked mountains, in the cool valleys of time, live the small glories. They echo forth in friendship, love, laughter, fantasy, and inspiration. Small glories are brief, high intensity moments of pure joy or an unexpected gift of insight in time of trouble. It is my belief that God sends these moments to us, over and over again, with HIS affirming touch. They are nurturing and vivid reminders to keep us on the pathway of life and increase our sense of direction. Some glories are humorous, some are subtle and sweet. Others explode in a rush to rescue us from inevitable moments of darkness. It is imperative that we be aware and open to their arrival.

Journey with me beyond the storms. Perhaps you will be reminded of a similar legacy of memories. Reach out to them and let them envelop you in the joy of intangible victories. Let the facets of truth warm your heart. Finally, let the legacy of small glories whisper the calm affirmation of hope.

*      *      *

CHAPTER ONE

Circles & Glories

Memorable family ties brought strength and

a subtle awareness of spirituality.

THE LUCKY STAR

My Grandmother often told me that I had been born under a lucky star. But on the night that I was born, the stars stayed hidden under a dark veiled sky and chilling rain wept in sad lament. It was November 16 th, 1932 and the scene of tangled fates took place under the harsh lights of Saint Elizabeth’s hospital in Erie, Pennsylvania.

The cries and moans of the Maternity Ward receded as the double doors of the Delivery Room slammed shut behind hospital staff members. They moved quickly and purposefully under the terse commands of the doctor in charge. A strange and hideous silence hovered over them.

Unspoken words of helplessness masked the faces of the staff, as they surrounded the mother-to-be with the unique name of Elva Mae. They knew that the shadow of the Grim Reaper had already entered the room. The touch of his presence had already silenced her struggles. She lay motionless. The huge clock on the wall stated harshly to anyone who glanced toward it, that it was 10:20 p.m. when the invisible curtain closed on twenty-eight years of life for Elva Mae.

Uremic Poisoning, not easily detected in advance in the 1930’s, had crept in and produced traumatic results for Elva. Finally, convulsions and a blood clot to her lung snuffed out the last of life in a matter of minutes. Her internal systems of support for the baby began to plummet rapidly, as her heart came to an abrupt halt. Moving quickly as a team, the staff surrounding the lifeless mother, converged to save at least one life. Mine . . .

Simultaneously, instruments were clasped by ready hands and a scalpel slashed through her swollen abdomen. A last vital attempt was made to save the baby within. When the almost crude cesarean was completed, they held aloft a full-term baby.

But instead of the vigorous baby cry for life, and angry red skin encasing little flailing arms, there was no movement. Blue tones had replaced baby pink with an ominous touch. It seemed as if the door to the other side had opened to take both mother and child. But the hospital team was determined not to let that happen. With hope for a tiny spark of life, somewhere inside me, the fight for my life began. And somehow they won!

For many years later, I would become depressed on my birthday, always questioning my Mother’s death. Why HER death? Why MY life spared? Some people believe that events are predestined. Perhaps there is a pattern or map set forth. Sometimes, when tragic or unexpected events happen, good emerges from the bad. It frequently takes a lifetime to see the good results.

Therefore, what about my Grandmother’s belief? Behind the dark clouds of that sad night, was there light from a lucky star? Was my birth a kind of miracle? Was it God’s mysterious direction? I like to think that it was ALL of those things, wrapped into the visionary love of a Heavenly Father, who gently bestowed the spark of life. His velvet touch brought hope to the tiny heart and set it on a steady course. Obviously, He had a plan for me.

*      *      *

STONE AND SECURITY

Just three years before my traumatic birth, shock gripped the citizens of the little coal mining town of Central City, Pennsylvania. It was June 6, 1929 and the siren screeching was not a false alarm. Shopkeepers and businessmen, along the wide main street, rushed to doorways and tried to figure out the origin of the wailing noise. It wasn’t the familiar firehouse siren, of that they were certain! It was a sound that no one could recall hearing before.

Suddenly, they all seemed to recognize the meaning of the siren. Like an echo back and forth, they shouted in disbelief. My God! It’s the BANK SIREN! The bank is being robbed! As the unbelievable reality set in, the citizens rushed about, each with their own decision of the means of defense.

Twenty minutes before, inside the bank, the employees had been forced, by three unmasked bandits, to form a circle in front of the vault. With guns drawn, they ordered the bank safe to be opened. The vault had been equipped with the latest security systems of the 1920’s, which had a time lock that prevented the safe from being opened until exactly 9:00 a.m. The robbers appeared nervous and the minutes ticked by slowly. With guns pointed, the bandits instructed all but two of the employees to lie on the floor. Left standing was Head Cashier, James Miller and Assistant Cashier, Ernest Cook.

Nine o’clock ticked off stoically in the safe’s mechanism and it was time for the massive wheels on its door to be turned. They had to be cranked several times, left and right, in the proper sequence combination to open it. As James Miller opened the vault, business as usual became an event of the past.

When it was opened, the robbers acquired renewed confidence. They had broken into the bank’s basement the night before, via the window chute made for the delivery of coal for the furnace. After cutting all the wires leading to the burglar alarm system, they had remained hidden in the basement. They had entered the interior of the bank from the basement stairs, taking the employees by complete surprise. Once the safe was opened, they were home free; with the hardest part behind them.

One of the bandits who seemed to be in charge, was a large, swarthy looking man who suddenly appeared agitated. He commanded both of the cashiers to enter the vault room and disperse the money quickly. Unknown to the burglars, the room had a special battery powered alarm which was separate from the electric alarm. As James Miller and Ernest Cook entered the room, they acted as a team.

Cook began throwing the money out in every direction, as Miller quickly activated the secret alarm. Distracted by the flying money, the robbers were unaware of his actions until the terrible screeching siren went off. Totally surprised by the siren, the bandits’ plans went out of control. They rapidly stuffed money into bags and inside their shirts. But hands that had been clutching and greedy began to fumble, as fear drove them into action. However, they were in for a second shock as Miller suddenly produced a sawed-off shotgun which had been kept hidden in the vault room.

The bandits, in a panic, scrambled for their get-a-way car parked in front of the bank. Bullets rang out from both sides. Miller managed to flatten two rear tires of their car. The robbers abruptly darted for the nearby woods. Their driver jammed the car forward, only to abandon it in favor of the protection of the woods.

Meanwhile, in response to the siren, the townspeople had come alive! This was a depression era. Times were hard; no one was going to rob THEIR BANK! Most of them kept guns loaded with buck shot and were avid hunters. They too began to fire at the fleeing men who had already been wounded by Miller. As they stumbled into the woods, a trail of blood and money clearly marked their course.

Hours later, one by one, they were captured by the police and held temporarily in the Central City lock-up. All of them had multiple gunshot wounds and after treatment, were placed in the Somerset County Jail. They lived to serve long jail sentences as they were also wanted for robbery by other states. From the Central City Bank, they took a total of three thousand dollars, which was a lot of money in those difficult times. Almost every dollar was recovered in the capture!

Miraculously, no one was killed or otherwise hurt. James Miller had left a vivid impression of a brave man defending the bank against four experienced men from a professional gang out of Chicago. They had been accustomed to big city indifference and completing a bank job successfully in minutes. They made a foolish error when they chose to rob a small country bank and a town of hard working people.

The local newspaper, The Johnstown Tribune, would describe the robbery as shocking. The gray-stoned bank was thought to be a symbol of untouchable strength and impeccably security. James Miller and Ernest Cook were praised for their courage and teamwork. James Miller was later described as, a man of cold steel and dignity in the face of crisis. He would be remembered!

Three years later, I was born and the strange pattern of my life began. The quiet, stoic man who defended his bank, was my Grandfather! I would be brought, directly from the hospital, to live with him. And the date, June sixth, would cast an eerie foreboding on our future.

*      *      *

HOUSE OF STONE

Three years after the Central City Bank robbery, I was born. The family was still in sorrow and shock over my mother’s death during my perilous birth. Life had to go on and now there was a new baby to take care of. Eventually the hospital released me to the care of my paternal grandparents, James Monroe Miller and Jennie Hammer Miller. It was just before the Christmas of 1932 and I was only seventeen days old, when I came to the house of stone.

My grandparents were middle aged by then. They sent their eldest daughter, Dorothy, by train from Johnstown to Erie, Pennsylvania, to bring home the baby. With all the confusion at my birth, no one had given me a name. Hospital paperwork simply gave me my mother’s name, Elva Mae. Meanwhile my father, Robert E.B. Miller, had to return to Erie after my mother’s funeral; settle affairs there, and try to relocate nearer the family.

In those days, most widowed or single men, who had no home of their own, had little choice but to live in boarding houses or one room flats with few facilities. It was the Depression Era and jobs were hard to come by. There was little or no glamour for men in that status. No luxury apartments, condos or sleek cars made their lonely lives bearable.

As for my father, his life was completely shattered. Bob and Elva had been high school sweethearts; they were the best dancers around and won a Loving Cup trophy to prove it. At one point in time, my grandparents did not approve of their relationship and when my father went off on a rash trip to see the wild west, they hoped he would forget about Elva. He returned months later, determined to marry the girl of his dreams . . . and he did!

After her death, the chill of loneliness and December snow had buried almost every dream in his heart. Two small dreams remained; his four year old son, Jimmy Lee and a tiny infant still struggling for strength and life. Those two frail dreams had already begun to quietly slip from his grasp. Jimmy Lee was temporarily staying with his maternal grandparents, the Burtnetts of Windber, Pennsylvania, and I had been taken to the Miller home.

I have often wondered, in my search for faith, what events or fate begins to move lives around. Again, was fate a heavenly power, the power of forceful human decisions or just a domino effect of tragedy? I only know that Elva’s death, similar to many tragic deaths, began to tear apart the two families. Soon both sets of grandparents became estranged; there was no joint bond of support.

Tempers flared on both sides and melted away to leave behind a cold and divided line. It was a line that has lasted to this day. Bits and pieces that I learned throughout the years, established the fact that whatever caused the breach, there were many reasons on both sides. And the Millers had quote, won. Soon after my Aunt Dorothy brought me home, my brother, Jimmy Lee also became part of the family.

Although the Millers never adopted us legally, they became our Legal Guardians until we reached maturity. There in the house of stone, our young lives seemed to be reborn and we became, perhaps, totally different children from what Elva and Bob had dreamed for us.

Bob, our father, took a room in Johnstown to be near whatever job offers he could find. He no longer had a car, his wife or his children, but he visited us on Sundays, as often as possible. Bob was a creative and handsome man. He was an artist, loved music of every kind and had even taught himself to tap dance.

The unexpected shroud of loss wrapped him in a harsh reality. Eventually, he took the best and worst job available for him in that time frame; he went to work for the Johnstown Bethlehem Steel Mill. His long creative hands and dancer’s feet slowly hardened to the heat and sweat of handling hot steel for the rest of his life. It was a time when only the lucky few could indulge in creative or fantasy dreams.

Opportunities in factory and coal towns offered a particular entrapment for many in that time period; especially those tied down with families. At various points in the past, other doors had been opened by Grandfather for each of his children, including my father, to make a better life choice. But each of his children seemed to carry a kind of steely independence; they seldom followed advice and lived their lives totally their way. And for some of them, it did not always bring victory.

When my brother and I arrived in the family, five of their six children were grown and gone. Only their youngest child, Evelyn, was at home. She was ten years old at the time. During the Depression and in World War II, the house offered special security. Family members came home between jobs, residence changes, and the birth of other grandchildren. It was never an empty house and always seemed to echo with noise and activity.

The house was a very large house but not a mansion. It was a Dutch colonial, fairly new and was the shining example of the best housing in the 1930s. It was set far back on an acre of frontage, that included a long driveway, that led away from the main road leading to Central City. Surrounding it was nearly thirty acres of undeveloped farmland and woods. The lower half of the house was entirely encased in fieldstone; which was handpicked stone from nearby fields. I was to learn years later, that fieldstone could be had, in those difficult times, for $7.50 a truckload!

The inside of the house, in that era of time, was a marvel to behold! For after all, it had real plumbing, running heated water, and most of all, a bathtub built right into the floor! The tub did not stand on high claw shaped feet or legs of any kind; it set decoratively smooth within the floor and surrounded, not with linoleum but tiny pieces of floor tiles.

The living room and dining room had French doors with solid mahogany wood, which was matched in both ceiling and baseboards. Two unique chandeliers adorned the living room ceiling. They had hand painted Columbus’ ships holding each small light globe. But most important of all was a fieldstone fireplace, built from floor to ceiling against the main wall. The fireplace dominated the whole living room and gradually over the years, it also dominated some of the warmest memories of our lives.

At the time of our arrival, ten-year old Aunt Evelyn was delighted to have a new baby in the house. And she was a big help to Grandmother. Over the years we became as sisters and she seemed to have loved me from that very first day. Grandmother had taken in Jimmy Lee and me when she had just acquired a sense of freedom in her life; there were no more little ones under foot. Therefore, it was not an easy choice for her to accept the burden of our care. Later when I, myself, had children and reached various stages in life, I realized what a sacrifice she had made to take in two more children.

The hospital doctors had believed that I wouldn’t live one year, had some brain damage, and probably would never live to go to school! She not only took on that questionable responsibility but also that of a little boy. His four-year life had crashed, and his mother had just vanished to a strange place called heaven. But Grandmother had taken us both with a determined spirit of her own; not many things got in her way! People and things that got in her way, usually regretted it.

Her fiery spirit and stubbornness became both a curse and a blessing in her life. And each of the family members could tell stories of both. She was probably the most iron willed and tough lady that I have ever known. But note, I use the term lady, and that she truly was!

Based on her role as a surrogate mother to me, she had my name changed. She dropped Mae and added Christine, which was a name that she cherished. Thus, I became Elva Christine. I don’t think that my father ever forgave her for that! Even though she could be a harsh mother at times, she rapidly became the best and only mother that I ever had! Her love for all of us was both strong and fierce. And sometimes, that fierceness scared us to death! Whatever mixed impact her love had for the others, the impact for me will never be forgotten. I will cherish it always.

And what of the Grandfather who had been termed cold steel and dignity in the face of the bank robbery crisis? In a few years he became President of the bank. He was always dignified, had tremendous pride and often could appear cold or distant in his responses. On other occasions his warmth and sentimentality could be overwhelming, even though physical displays of love and affection were difficult for him.

The best of families have those who do not feel equally treated or loved the same. Each member will carry their own judgment of their parents. Perhaps, because I never had an existence with my real parents, my memories of those two grand folks became very special. To me, Grandfather was symbolic of the meaning of a Gentleman, with dignity and strength. He represented a special sense of security, intellect and stability. Until now, I never realized how deeply their characters were subtly blended and molded, to be reflected in the house of stone. The love and family created for me in that home, became one of the greatest blessings of my life!

However, if there was any special lesson to be learned, it dealt with the fact that I never got to know my real Mother’s family. The future would show that the adults were wrong to encourage the breach of the two families. As Jimmy and I grew older, the less we were inclined to search for any such contact. I sense that God must have been very disappointed in all of us. Many blessings were perhaps missed by the break in the two families.

Forgiveness throughout life, is an important factor. Only love can balance the issues and therefore change the outcome.

Grandfather had built his house of stone and it had provided great strength and protection. But the walls within could have been built with more wisdom and guidance from Heaven’s Highest Architect of Love and forgiveness.

*      *      *

AND SO THE GLORIES BEGAN . . .

Some people start out in tragedy and their life is a series of endless tragedies. Others might have a difficult or sad childhood and then move on to a bright and more wonderful future. There are few guarantees. Most of us receive a little of both the good and the bad. And my life was no exception; I had plenty of both!

I realized, as I wrote these pages in the 1990’s, that I was incredibly fortunate to have had good things happen in my childhood in spite of my Mother’s death, at the time of my birth. I can easily look back at all the rainbow glimpses, of bright colors and warmth that surrounded me, after the rain of tears that followed the first days of my life.

As you read these vignettes, you will see that maturity brought me many unexpected traumas. Some of the events were out of the ordinary and made it difficult to find reference for self help to get through the experiences. I weathered them but some of the scars will always be there. Looking back, I realize more than ever, that it was the events of small glories that helped me pull through. Their energy warmed my heart, even in the midst of the shadows of suicide, betrayals, and death. Without their gentle touch in my life, I would have surely succumbed to total despair.

For me, the small glories are: BRIEF, HIGH INTENSITY MOMENTS OF PURE JOY! They seem to come out of the blue, without conscious introduction. They are usually gone in a flash but the memory can last a LIFETIME! Their power lies in promoting a sense of rejuvenation. For a few seconds or longer, a rush of good feelings surface to lift your spirits. Being able to be aware and remember golden images of life, can often provide a happy survival technique to get through bad times.

When the going got rough for me, it was good to realize that my life had indeed, some wonderful moments! Let your almost forgotten events come back to you with their warmth and renewal. Share some of them with friends and loved ones. Frequently, others will relate their own stories to add to your memory bank of small glories. You can make a withdrawal at any time, without penalties, and love builds the interest.

Once upon a Christmas, a small glory happened to me . . .

*      *      *

ONCE UPON A CHRISTMAS

Although many deeply religious people do not acknowledge Santa Claus as a part of Christmas, we have been continuously bombarded with its magical effect throughout the years. It continues to be merged within our culture and captures a certain delight within the young and the very old . . . and those of us in between! Nearly every child, in their heart of hearts, has dreamed of the wonder of a Santa Claus.

I was about five years old when the mystery of Santa Claus began to plague my every waking moment. Was he for real? Did he really have a sleigh? And what about those mysterious reindeer? By Christmas Eve, I was frantic for proof of his existence—for REAL! So on this very special Christmas Eve, I was put to bed at an unthinkable early hour! I just thought and thought about good ole’ Santa. But my weary little head couldn’t seem to find the answers to all my questions.

I was in a huge old bed with a Granny Quilt pulled up to my chin. Peering over the mound of cover, I could see the bedroom window. A huge, white winter moon shimmered in the night sky. Did the moon have a face? Of course he did when seen by my wide awake eyes. And I kept my glance riveted on his face. Then, it happened. . . . to the left of the moon, several tiny specks emerged.

To my astonishment, I realized the specks had become reindeer! They were so far far up in the sky, that they had only tiny bodies. But they were reindeer, for sure! Within seconds, it was an unforgettable scene as the miniature sleigh followed the reindeer. Without a doubt, I could glimpse a SANTA at the reins! They just glided slowly and beautifully right across the smiling face of the moon! I wanted to shout and perhaps run to the window but pure enchantment tingled through my body. I didn’t dare move and not a sound came from my lips. In a few unforgettable minutes, the lovely sight disappeared into a field of sparkling stars. But I knew that every detail would be cherished forever in my memory. I was out of bed in a flash and headed for the stairs.

I reached the banister at the top of the steps and stopped abruptly. I heard laughter and voices below. Peeking carefully through the banister rails, I surveyed the living room. There were quite a few adults gathered around the Christmas Tree. But only one figure stood out vividly, Santa Claus!

He was putting a new red tricycle under the tree. It was MY tricycle! My heart pounded! I wanted to dash down the stairs. But something stopped me; the golden image of the Santa sleigh ride across the moon. I knew then, that I had witnessed a HUGE secret! I knew that I must keep that secret all to myself, or the magic would disappear. Silently, I crept back to the old fashioned bed to dream the best of sugar plum dreams.

The next morning, it was all for real; there set the tricycle! I could keep the secret not a second longer and I blurted out the whole story of Santa on the moon. The family exchanged knowing glances and chuckles of amusement. Had a neighbor been dressed in a Santa Claus suit and placed the bike? And what about the Santa on the moon?

Fortunately, I will never know the facts from fiction concerning that wonderful night. But what I do know, is that years later, when my own children asked about Santa Claus, the magic burst forth again. And it glowed from my eyes to theirs, in one simple heartbeat.

*      *      *

JENNIE

Jennie was born at the end of the 1890’s. She was born in the wrong era of time to become the person that she longed to be. She was bright, sassy, independent and blessed with a touch of Irish sparkle and charm.

She lived in the deep farmland area near Bethel Hollow in Bedford County, Pennsylvania. Jennie had big dreams to become a doctor or at the very least, a registered nurse. It was a goal that she had only read about. In time, she discovered that it was a dream that could never become a reality in that era of country life. The big city of Johnstown, where she would have pursued her dream, was several hours away by horse and buggy over the Pleasantville Mountain.

Even if there was a way to solve the distance problem, there simply was no money available for such a frivolous dream. But she didn’t give up, she made the effort to pick the next dream avenue open. She became a country doctor’s helper and served often as a midwife. Her adventurous career bordered on scandalous as she traveled alone with the doctor, through miles of dirt road and wooded areas.

Jennie had a way of creating little scandals with her fiery spirit and bright flashes of independence. She once challenged two young men, at a church social, to a horseback race. She chose a short destination and assured them she would win. Not having a horse of her own, she borrowed one from a willing member of the congregation. She was dressed in her Sunday Best with the proper long, full skirt. Ladies of that time period did not mount and straddle a horse. They rode side-saddle, carefully balanced with both legs on one side of the horse. Skirts and petticoats were arranged very tactfully so that not a glimpse of an ankle or leg would show.

To the shock of the crowd, Jennie made one graceful leap with skirt and petticoats flying and straddled the horse. In a burst of flying color, she was off and down the lane with the two young men in close pursuit. Yes, she won the race that day!

Later, she also won the heart of one of those she challenged and she married him. Their marriage lasted almost seventy years. She was the Grandmother who raised me in the house of stone. Indeed, she became a glory to be remembered and cherished for the rest of my life.

*      *      *

THE CORN HUSKER

Darkness had settled early on a crisp October night. It was a school night meaning, we had to go to bed early. We always hoped for excuses to stay up later. Dinner was nearly over when my Grandfather suddenly announced, Tonight, Christine, you may stay up a bit later and husk corn with us at the barn! Then he reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a tiny wooden object about three inches long. I knew instantly what it was. He had carved, from a piece of wood, a small bullet-shaped tool to rip open the hard covering or husks that wrapped each ear of corn. Fastened crudely to the wooden bullet was a piece of black leather strap which fit neatly over my thumb and index finger.

I slipped my fingers into the leather strap and it fit perfectly! At the end of the tool, was a rounded but sharp cutting point. It eliminated ripping the tough husk with fingers and nails. Everyone had their own made especially to fit either an adult or a child’s hand. I was six years old at the time and that was a pretty big event to have my very own CORN HUSKER.

As I wrote this in the late1990’s, I found it most amusing to think of presenting today’s first grader with a crude tool and offer the evening’s entertainment as Corn Husking Night. But it was a lot more than just husking corn! It was a grown-up’s job and I felt important to be allowed to stay up late. AND secretly, I was excited to venture out into the inky blackness of night and possibly see a Halloween ghost or goblin!

Dressed in my warmest clothes, I set out with Grandfather up the winding hill toward the barn. The rest of the family would be joining us later. As I followed along and tried to match Grandfather’s stride, I looked excitedly around. The night seemed different, almost creepy, I thought to myself. Even the moon looked down in an ominous way; with half of his face hidden and no smile! Cold air quickly sneaked into my jacket. I pulled up the cozy hood for protection from something but not sure what it was!

I looked over my shoulder, dark shadows seemed to be reaching out to me from everywhere. I could no longer see the house, which had disappeared into the blackness behind me. Even the soft light of the house windows seemed to be gone! And somehow, I felt that even Grandfather was rapidly being pulled out of sight. Nervously I queried, Grandfather, we don’t have any bears around here, do we?

A firm No. was his reply.

I couldn’t match my small steps to his larger ones and I began to fall further behind.

Becoming more frightened, I glanced warily around. Was there a strange white glow ahead in the bushes, I wondered? I puffed fearfully, Y-you d-don’t b-believe in g-ghosts, do you?

He stopped suddenly and I caught up to him with quick little steps. I looked up at him in the darkness but I couldn’t see his face. Speaking softly, he said, Christine, are you frightened out here in the dark?

Just then, the moon came out from behind a night cloud and I could see his face etched in frosty light. Before I could admit that I was indeed, suddenly terrified, he said with a gentle laugh, Here, take hold of my hand!

I hurriedly put my small hand in his. Although Grandfather was a man of small stature, his hand felt huge as it clasp mine securely. And oh, how warm it was! I remember holding his hand tightly, as fear disappeared and confidence and strength seemed to flow from his hand to mine. Perhaps he had shortened his steps, for I immediately was able to walk beside him.

Although most barns in the area depended on lantern light, ours had electricity and we were soon within its warmth and light. The rest of the family arrived and we sat on bales of hay and began husking corn. The corn was field corn, a lovely blend of red and yellow grain. It was stored to feed the animals in the winter months. My child hands soon got tired working with the little husking tool and I began to get sleepy. I was glad that corn husking was a job that grown-ups did with an expertise that was not expected of me. In a short while, one of my uncles carried me sleepily back to the house and I was off to bed.

Years later, when Grandfather was gone, I found a box of kid-stuff treasures. Mixed in with the Cracker Jack ring, some marbles, and little girl’s beads, was the tiny corn husker! As I looked at it, I remembered again a silver frosted night, a harvest moon, and Grandfather’s warm hand holding tightly to mine. The touch of his hand had made me feel so safe and secure. The symbolism of that special moment had nurtured my belief that, if we hold fast to our Heavenly Father’s hand and stay close to his steps, the night shadows will surely disappear.

*      *      *

FREEDOM TO LAST A LIFETIME

A lesson in freedom came softly into my life, tiptoeing on the subtle sunrays of a spring morning. I was awakened early by my Grandfather as he whispered to me to wake up. Like most six-year olds, I woke up wide eyed and full of anticipation.

The first thing I noticed was that Grandfather was holding some kind of surprise inside his jacket. He quickly ordered me to close my eyes and to hold out my hands. Giggling with excitement, I obeyed. I felt a small furry creature placed gently within my hands. Opening my eyes, I was delighted to see a tiny baby rabbit. I had never held one before.

The bunny’s fur was wet from the early morning dew. He smelled of earth and moist grass. Something was gently thumping against the palms of my hands. What is that thumping that I feel? I asked in wonder.

That’s the bunny’s heart beating. Laughed Grandfather.

Why is it beating so fast? I asked.

Because it is afraid of you and doesn’t understand what is holding it so close. He answered.

I whispered and cooed to the little creature trying to tell it not to be afraid. The bunny began to struggle within my grasp. Grandfather suddenly said, Come now, bring the little fellow and follow me. We must go quietly and not wake Grandmother.

I was filled with intrigue as I held tightly to the bunny and tiptoed past the room where Grandmother was sleeping.

Sunrise colors were everywhere when we stepped outside. I followed Grandfather, my long nightgown dragged across the grass, and the dew was cool delight to my bare feet. Even being without shoes at that moment was our secret; Grandmother didn’t like me to walk in my bare feet. Grandfather stopped on a small hill overlooking a ravine. To my surprise he said, Gently now, put the rabbit down and let it go back to its mother.

When he pointed to a cluster of bushes near an old log, my hands pressed possessively around the bunny. No! I cried. I want to keep him! I don’t want to put him down! I whined as childish tears of stubbornness filled my eyes.

Although Grandfather’s voice was kind, his gray eyes held a look of unquestionable firmness as he explained, "It would not be right for you to keep him. He must be free, because it is Nature’s way. Something in his expression and the words Nature’s way" held a mysterious command for me. Reluctantly, I knelt down and carefully let the furry baby go free. Quickly, the round ball of fur hopped shakily down the hill and directly toward the old log. I was rewarded to see the tips of two long rabbit ears pointing through the bushes nearby. Mother rabbit had indeed, been waiting.

Suddenly, I felt good inside; I had done the right thing. With one last look of longing, I watched the two of them push their way through the bushes. In a blink of my eyes, both the mother rabbit and the bunny disappeared into their own world of freedom. I straightened my shoulders proudly as I saw Grandfather’s understanding smile of approval.

I was to remember that incident as the springtime of my life came and went. That simple lesson of freedom expanded into the knowledge of learning when to let go and when to hold something close. But most of all, I came to realize that the right way was usually God’s way and the freedom of choice was always mine.

*      *      *

BENEATH THE COAL DUST

Age ten can be an awkward age; at least it was for me. I wasn’t a baby child anymore but I was also not in the enviable achievement of being a teenager. I was in that awful space of being somewhere in between.

For me, life was going well; I felt secure and I loved school. Sometime during summer vacation, a letter arrived from the School Board that had a tremendous impact on my little world. I could not believe what was about to happen. I was being transferred to a totally different school.

To those of you who read this and remember changing schools, it may sound trivial to you. In my mature life, I’ve known many people whose