Saturday, December 5, 2009

One for the Mouth, One for the String

The floor is covered with pieces of popcorn. The carpet looks as if it has a mild case of dandruff....large dandruff. I continue to find cranberries hiding beneath the candle holder, between sofa cushions and one even found its way into the kitchen. We made chains.

“Have you ever done this before?” I asked Heather, my granddaughters’ best friend. “No,” she said tentatively. Well, year two for stringing popcorn and cranberries was here. We were stepping back in time.

I pulled out the needles and thread. Last year Gabby was a bit young to turn loose with the needle. This year she was thrilled that she was grown up enough to do it on her own. Ah, we were headed for success.

With hot chocolate and candle light, we sat snuggled on the sofa with cranberries rolling around us. With every soft cranberry found, squeals were followed by “I want to feel it!” Chains grew longer and mouths were rimmed with hot chocolate. Gabby’s little hands struggled to push the needle through the cranberry, but she did not tire of the task. Each hung their string proud of their accomplishment.

“Do you want to do the popcorn now or wait for another time?” I asked after the berries were hung. The response was unanimous. I brought in the popcorn. Once more thread was cut and needles readied. With the same enthusiasm, they tackled the corn. One for the mouth, one for the string, one for the mouth, one for the string. Small pieces of popcorn fell like confetti. I learned a long time ago that most things that are really fun can be really messy. I have a choice: continually be on the kids to be neater or get out the vacuum cleaner later. I opt for the latter.

The tree was plugged in and the ornaments of years past were joined by strands of white and red, memories of an early time in history. Santa ho-ho’d across the TV screen while a woman and three girls snuggled on the sofa. It was a good thing we had done.

I remember someone telling me that her her grandchildren’s hand prints on the window after they had gone home were cherished. I look at my floor remembering little girls surrounded by pieces of popcorn and scattered cranberries and know how blessed I am.

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