Tis the season to be Jolly, Fa la la la la la la la la…
Spreading a bit of light and joy is the true spirit of Christmas. It doesn’t have to be a purchased present. I remember feeling such joy with hand crafted gifts my children gave me for the holidays. Some of these treasures are still out on display at home. I understand now, why my mother looked so happy when I wrote a poem in her cards as a young child. No English teacher could ever convince her the poem needed work…no indeed!! I could do no wrong.
A whole year since my mother’s passing and still her absence is felt especially on holidays and birthdays. Her outrageous laughs, her off-key singing (like me…I think I’m worse) and her dancing like no one is watching, brought me such joy! She made us laugh until our bellies ached…really.
How many mothers would tell the following story with a straight face?my mom could!
Years ago, when she was a hairdresser, her customer arrived with a new seal coat? (This was before Brigitte Bardot started her crusades ). Mom, whose mother tongue is French, squeals with joy, “Oh!! I love your f….cking coat!”
The customer who is a very conservative social worker gasps, “No, no, Mrs. Roberts, we don’t say that!”
Mom’s eyes widen, “No, no, I know what this is…let me show you my f…..cking boots.” She runs up to get her seal boots. “See!” she says proudly. It took awhile to sort this whole thing. Finally another customer who is more fluent in English and French than my mom explains that Phoque is the French word for seal but pronounced like that 4-letter word. Everyone had a good laugh and I still do sharing this cute story.
Well, now that was just one of many moments that my mother brought light into our lives. And that brings me to a prompt at the Carrot Ranch asking us to write a story in 99 words (no more, no less) about “spreading the light”. Check out the post and prompt here where the writer shares a moving story about her friend as well as beautiful message for those struggling with the holiday season written on the wall where Mother Theresa cared for Calcutta children.
Now here is my short story of 99 words:
SP pushes her cart past the shelter, and then stops to admire the trees for sale. The man selling Christmas trees, asks her, “How come most people call you SP?”
She chuckles, “Well now, that’d be due to my slim pickins’ all day.”
An older woman on her way to the shelter stops, “Hello, TJ! we’re counting on you to play piano at Christmas dinner.”
The man looks puzzled, “TJ?”
“Oh, Sister Mary Mona calls me that.”
She picks up fallen branches behind the trees and adds them to her pile, whispering, “ Yuppers, slim pickins’ turning to joy!”
© Cheryl-Lynn 2015/12/18