A House Full of Kids (Originally Written 1995)

As I sat signing my Christmas cards this evening, I came across a card I'd received from Joyce McGowan, a dear neighbor from another time, another place.  Another me.

I noted she had moved from Vernon Avenue in Huntington Woods, Michigan, where we had lived as neighbors for so many years.  Her husband, Mickey, died a few years ago but I never imagined she would move, and I wrote a note to say, "Take care, dear old friend".  Unexpectedly, my eyes filled with tears.  They splattered on the words that I had written as images of her house, that beautiful old house across the street from ours, blocked out the present.

The images continued, the years fell away, and I was back there once again.

It seemed to be summer and the sun was shining.  Everything looked so bright.  The huge old trees that lined the street were laden with foliage, the well-cared-for lawns were lush with deep green grass,  and the sky was startlingly blue.  The picture in my mind was of our street as though I was looking out from my house to hers.

I didn't actually see her but she was there.  In her house full of kids.  And I was there.  In my house full of kids.  We were friendly, borrowing neighbors and our kids played together and got into trouble together.

And I wondered why it had seemed so often hard at the time to be there in that house full of kids.  Then it seemed that the cares of the day often overwhelmed me.  So many little hands and feet and mouths to wash, to dress, to feed.  Too many dishes and clothes to wash, too many dinners to cook, too much dust to sweep, too many trips to Krogers, to the doctors, to the school, too many . . . not enough me.

Funny how time puts such a different perspective on things.  If I could be there right now, today, somehow I would find the patience to do it better this time.  This time I would know to just hold those little kids and hug them tight and tell them how precious they were to me.  Every day.  Several times a day.

Today it would be such fun to gather them in the tub and wash their sturdy little bodies.  I would relish the feel of their wonderfully tender skin as I rinsed and dried them with a big fluffy towel.  And once again I would kiss them in that delightful, most vulnerable spot right where their neck and shoulders meet.

Today it would be such a joy to help them get ready for bed.  Each one a different age, a different size.  Each one needing a little more or less of mommy's helping hand.  And then I would set them on the couch, my four little stairstep cherubs.  And we would read some bedtime stories.  Then, as I tucked each one into bed with one  special song, I would give them one last kiss and hug as I listened to them say their prayers.

I did those things back then, of course.  But not always so joyfully, I think.
* * * * *
As I sit here at my dining room table signing Christmas cards in 1995 remembering my dear old friend and the lives we lived back then, it seems like it must have been the loveliest, most wonderful thing I can think of . . .

To have lived at . . . .

                           10075 Vernon Avenue in Huntington Woods, Michigan . . .

                                                       in a house full of kids.

Blessings
Sarah



December 1995

Stone Soup Blessing

  Waking, I stretch and enjoy the sensation of feeling rested . . . feeling good.  And feeling rested..  Such a lovely way to wake up.  

“Good Morning, God. So glad to be here.  So glad to feel like me.  In fact, if I could always feel like “me” til it’s time to go, what a blessing.  In fact, that’s blessing enough.”

“Yes, feeling good – no aches or pains – no ‘funny’ feelings in my head or wherever it is they show up from time to time  – that would be enough.  Enough blessing in my life.  Well, that . . .  And maybe having enough money to pay my bills.  Yes, feeling like me and having money to pay my bills.  That’s enough blessing. That's all I need.”

“And . . . “

And then I start to smile remembering a story from my childhood.  From a book my mom read to me when I was young, like 3-8, maybe.  A story from The How and Why Library; My Story Book.  A story called 'Stone Soup.'

Betcha no one reading this has ever heard of that story . . .  or these books.

I say books because the How and Why Library consisted of 5 hard cover books –

My Hero Book, My Nature Book, My Knowledge Book, My Travel Book, and My Story Book.

Both the Hero and Story Book contained stories for children pre-school through maybe sixth grade (at that time, anyway).

These were the two books from that library that my mom read to me from most often.  

My Hero Book was divided into sections called: Holiday Stories, Great Men, Character Building Stories, Health and Thrift Stories, Selected Stories, Dramatizations, Bible Stories, and Other Lands and Peoples.

Stories like The Secret of Mrs. Santa and Skeesix, The Truthful Little Persian, The Fox Who Lost His Tail, stories about Charles Lindbergh, George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, Moses, the Law Giver, Happy Face, the Indian Boy, and others.

I still have four of the five books.  Only My Story book is missing.  How and Why I do not know. (Pun intended)   

Full of stories and poems.  She, and then I, read it the most.  I wish I could find another copy.

I WILL find a copy.  I think.  Oh, yes, it’s available on Amazon.com.  Yeay!

And that's all I need . . .

* * * * * * * * * *

The Original Stone Soup Story

The original stone soup story was first published in English in London in 1808. The author is Robert Moser. Stone Soup is classified by folklorists as a Stone Soup is an Aarne-Thompson-Uther type 1548 folktale. That is a folktale in the “clever man” category. 
    
In Moser’s version of the story he emphasizes the traveler’s social skills. Tired, hours on the road and hungry he nonetheless starts out the conversation with the woman at the farmhouse with small talk. When he finally gets around to asking for the pot and explaining about how he will make stone soup he does so in the way of a performer — “If you will lend me a small pot,” said the Traveler, “I’ll show you.” 

And I think that is way the stone soup story always ends up on a happy note. The traveler, the tramp, the soldier, whoever it is who needs to eat but only has a stone knows how to entertain! And the soup is always so good! If you are interested in the full history of the stone soup story, and its first publication 1720 by he French journalist, Madame de Noyer, please look at our stone soup history here.

— http://www.stonesoup.com/history-of-the-stone-soup-story-from-1720-to-now/