The Thanksgiving Table Gives Thanks

Snicker. The blog is named after him 

                 by  Valerie L. Egar

        A hundred and twenty years I’ve been in this farmhouse. Made from wide plank pumpkin pine, I glow in evening sun that comes through the west windows. It’s been a long time, but I still remember the forest, the weight of snow on my limbs, the green scent of spring, summer bird song.

            The stain near the edge over there? A bit of ink spilled from a mother writing letters to a son soldiering in some war. Lots of men on this farm have been called to serve and serve they did, but that left some of the chairs empty and a great sadness in the house.

           The little crack across the top— that’s from an enthusiastic bop with a toy hammer Santa left one of the children for Christmas.  Made from metal, it was small in size but packed a wallop. Ouch!

          My legs aren’t as smooth and well shaped as they used to be.  The chew marks record the family’s history of dogs: a few collies, early on. A beagle who was a pretty good hunter from what I’ve heard. Noble German Shepherd. Then, a black lab who really did a number on one leg. Gosh, puppies like to chew!

            I’ve seen some lean years, years when the farm didn’t yield, when money was short and dinner consisted of thin sliced bread with watery gravy. Other years, my top brimmed with so many home-canned tomatoes, pickles and string beans, I almost groaned.

          I’m proud to be a table. I’m where she puts her prize winning apple pie before she carries it to the fair. I’m where her blue ribbon rests when she comes home, until she hangs it with all the rest she’s earned over the years.

          In the winter, I’m where friends gather, drink hot cocoa  and visit.

   I’m where children roll out cookie dough and cut out gingerbread men.

   I’m where children do their homework while Mom cooks.

I’m where the men warm up with mugs of coffee after a long work day.

I’m where the family gathers at holidays. My favorite is Thanksgiving. They dress me up with a fancy cloth and a vase of chrysanthemums, light candles. They load me with food that isn’t everyday fare: a huge roasted turkey. Ham, too, because a few don’t like turkey. Stuffing with the aroma of sage. Sweet potatoes topped with marshmallows, like dessert, except it isn’t.  Mashed potatoes. Gravy. String bean casserole. Cranberry relish. Sweet pickles. Corn pudding.  Brussels sprouts?  Someone always brings them, but I’m not sure why.

Before they begin to eat, each says why he or she is grateful.  One says, “Family.”  Another, “Good health.”  So many reasons to be thankful: “Friends.” “Finding a job.” “Graduating.” “Getting into college.”  The younger ones say things that bring a smile: “I’m grateful for my new kitten.” “Thankful my braces are off, finally!” “Glad I made the football team.”

What they don’t know is that I’m grateful, too. Grateful I’ve been part of the family for generations. Grateful no one decided to opt for a newer more stylish table and push me to the back of the barn or worse, chop me up for the wood stove. Grateful they don’t mind my scars and scratches. Grateful we have another Thanksgiving to share where I can happily shoulder the feast and be part of the stories and the laughter.

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Published November  13, 2016 , The Sunday Journal Tribune. Copyright 2016 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author. 

            

Bluko the Astronaut Makes a Friend

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

                   By Valerie L. Egar

            Bluko lived on the moon in a space colony with his parents, Nika and Roanne. When he wasn’t in school, he zoomed around the stars in a space ship that was exactly his size. Bluko explored as far as his tiny spaceship would go, and knew several short-cuts to Saturn, where to find the best space rocks and to always look both ways before crossing the Milky Way.

            One day, Roanne asked Bluko if he would like to deliver some fresh cinnamon muffins to Grandpa Crawfus on Asteroid 260.  Grandpa was a prospector, mining gold in a remote canyon. Whenever Roanne got a fresh delivery of cinnamon from planet Earth, she always made muffins and sent Grandpa several dozen.

            “Of course, I’ll go!” said Bluko. He loved seeing Grandpa, and besides, Asteroid 260 was right next to Neptune’s moon, Galatea.  Bluko knew that Galatea was the only place to find rare Luna Septus rocks and he wanted at least one for his collection.

            “No short cuts and no detours,” said Roanne.  “I want you to go straight to Grandpa’s house and come straight back.”

            “Aw, Mom.”

           

  “No ‘Aw, Mom’,” Roanne said. “I don’t want you meeting any Martians, so no short cuts and no detours!” People in the moon colony didn’t know much about Martians and were afraid of them.

            Bluko stashed the muffins under his seat, locked the hatch on his spaceship and zoomed off.  He set his destination for Asteroid 260 and was soon well on his way, speeding past Mars. As he passed Galatea, the moon shone brightly.  “How long could it take to find just one Luna Septus rock?” Bluko thought. He took the ship off automatic pilot and steered it towards the glowing moon.

            Bluko guided the space ship to a rocky field and gently lowered it into a clearing. He popped open the hatch and scrambled down to search for the rare Luna Septus rock, hoping its green glow would catch his eye. Back and forth he walked, without any luck.  Meanwhile, the delicious scent of cinnamon muffins drifted into the atmosphere from the open hatch of the space ship.

         A Martian appeared from behind a large boulder. He had red glowing eyes and an enormous mouth. “What do I smell?”

 Bluko was frightened, but answered, “Cinnamon muffins. I’m taking them to my Grandpa.”

        “If you dilly-dally, they’ll be cold by the time you get there,” said the Martian.

        Bluko hopped in his space ship and headed for Grandpa’s house. “Gosh,” he thought. “Martians don’t seem so bad.”

            

         Bluko found Grandpa in bed. “I’m so tired,” Grandpa said. “Just put the muffins on my nightstand and run along.”

           

“Strange,” thought Bluko. “Grandpa always puts the muffins in the freezer and wants to talk.” Bluko looked closely at Grandpa.

            “Grandpa, what big eyes you have!”

            

        “Yes, all the better to see you.” Grandpa never said things like that.

     “Grandpa, your ears look bigger.”

            “Yes, all the better to hear you.”

            “Grandpa, your mouth looks bigger, too.”

          “All the better to eat these delicious muffins!” With that, he shoved all the muffins— two dozen!— in his mouth. “Yum, yum, yum!”

       “You’re not Grandpa! You’re a Martian! Where’s Grandpa?”

            Bluko heard noise under the bed and found Grandpa hiding.

    “Dang it, Martian,” said Grandpa, “if you wanted some cinnamon muffins, why didn’t you just ask? ”

            The Martian belched.

        Grandpa opened the freezer door. Stacks of muffins crowded the freezer. The Martian squealed.  Bluko put a dozen muffins in the solar heater to defrost them and Grandpa poured three glasses of moon milk. They ate and laughed. Bluko taught the Martian how to say “Another muffin, please” and the Martian gave Bluko a rock from a planet Bluko hadn’t heard of.

       “Follow me home,” Bluko said. He couldn’t wait to introduce Mom to his new friend.

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Published October 2, 2016 in the Sunday Journal Tribune. Copyright 2016 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied or reproduced without permission from the author. 

If I Had a Polar Bear

Snicker. The blog is named after him.

              by Valerie L. Egar

If I had a polar bear, I’d name him Blueberry, because after polar bears, blueberries are what I like best.

On Saturdays, Blueberry and I would stroll down Main Street and window shop. I’d point out the red bike in Mitch’s Bicycle Shop and he’d look at the smoked salmon in Gourmet World. Everyone would take pictures of us and post them on Facebook.  

After our walk, we’d stop for ice cream at Dairy Delight. I’d order vanilla for both of us and ask the server to please put his in a dish with the cone on top, because polar bears can't hold cones. 

If I had a polar bear, I’d bring him to school. I’d tell him to be very quiet when the teacher talked. At lunchtime, he’d know to wait in line without pushing, even when pizza was being served.

 All the bullies would stay far away from us. If they wanted to make friends with him, I’d say, “Maybe. Blueberry has to think about it, he’s very particular.”

If I had a polar bear, I’d ask Coach Simmons if he could be on the soccer team.  A polar bear would be a great goalie and maybe our team would win for a change. I wonder if team shirts come in extra-extra-extra large?

 If I had a polar bear, I would tell him my secrets and he would keep them, not like my big-mouth friend Jenna who told everybody in school about my pants ripping in the back when I bent down to pick up my pencil.

If I had a polar bear, we’d take a trip to the Arctic every year to visit his family. We’d dog-sled across the tundra with presents of herring and salmon lashed onto the sled. I’d remember to bring a good supply of peanut butter and jelly so I wouldn’t be hungry. I think fish is icky.

If I had a polar bear, we’d swim in the lake every day in the summer. If he used my inner tube, he’d pop it with his sharp claws, so I’d ask Dad to get him something nice he could use as a float, maybe a big log. Better yet, maybe Dad would let him float on top of the canoe.

If I had a polar bear, we’d go to the fair together. I’d buy him a funnel cake. If he liked cotton candy, I’d buy him that, too. I don’t think he’d like to ride on a Ferris wheel, but he might like to try the Merry-go-Round. If he did, I’d stay next to him, so he wouldn’t be scared.

If I had a polar bear, my friends and I would play hide and seek with him in the winter.  With all the snow, he would be hard to find and that would make us laugh.

 If I had a polar bear, we would talk to the President and the United Nations about preserving the places polar bears live. Blueberry would convince them to do what’s right with his polar bear smile and his big paws.

If I had a polar bear, he would hug me at night and I would fall asleep nestled in his sweet warm fur.

        I wish I had a polar bear!

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Published in The Sunday Journal Tribune, August 25, 2015 and in Making it at Home, October 1, 2015. Copyright 2015 by Valerie L. Egar. May not be copied, reproduced or distributed without permission from the author.

The Truth Test

                          

                              By Valerie L. Egar

           

When it came time for Princess Regina to marry, she discussed the matter with the King and Queen. Together they decided her husband didn’t need to be a prince or handsome as a movie star. He didn’t need to have enough gold to buy the princess diamonds. Someday, the man who married the princess would be King, and in a leader, truthfulness was more important than lineage, looks, and wealth. The man who married the princess needed to be truthful.

            A notice was sent throughout the kingdom for all 

eligible males to apply. By the end of the week, hundreds of young men crowded the castle gates. The royal scribes interviewed them and most were quickly eliminated. One said he had no allergies, but his eyes puffed shut when he pet the royal cat. Another bragged he was an ace with the cross-bow, but every arrow missed the target. Still another swore he loved licorice, the princess’ favorite candy, but gagged when he ate a piece.

             When the scribes finished, only three candidates 

remained.

          The first, Edgar Evans the Fourth, spent the day with the royal family. They sailed on the lake and picnicked on the beach. That night, Princess Regina and he danced until midnight. At bedtime, Edgar was shown to his bedroom.

           Poor Edgar!  The royal chambermaids sprinkled the bed with itching powder, as the King directed. All night, he itched and scratched, tossed and turned. He didn’t sleep a wink.

            At breakfast, the Queen asked how he’d slept. Edgar 

didn’t want to be impolite. Though his eyes were red and he was yawning, he said, “ Very well, Your Majesty.”

         “A lie!” shouted the King. Out the door went tired Edgar Evans the Fourth.

         Rufus Alfred was next. He entertained the princess with stories about his world travels. He laughed a little too loud at the King’s jokes, but the King knew his jokes were funny and overlooked it. When it came time to dance, Rufus gracefully whirled Princess Regina around the ballroom.

            When it was time for bed, Rufus Alfred was shown to a bedroom, specially prepared for him.  The mattress, filled with nails and bolts, was lumpy and hard.

            Rufus Alfred slept not a wink. He thought the floor might be more comfortable than the bed, but he didn’t want to ruin his new silk pajamas, so he tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress all night.

            At breakfast, the Queen asked Rufus how he slept.

            “Awful!” he said. “The mattress was so hard, I slept on the floor.”

        “A lie!” shouted the King when the royal chambermaid reported the silk pajamas were spotless and showed no evidence of having been on the floor.

          The castle door slammed behind poor Rufus Alfred.

          Bixbe Denderderby presented a bouquet of yellow roses to Princess Regina and smiled politely when the Queen showed him the family photo albums. When the princess and he played tennis, he didn’t let her win, because pretending he didn’t play very well would have been a lie. He could hardly dance, but didn’t mind the princess showing him how.

 When it came time for bed, Bixbe was shown to the haunted bedroom. The bed was large and soft, and Bixbe was soon fast asleep. “Ooooo!” A terrible howl came from the closet. “Woooooooo.” Another came from under the bed. Bixbe sat up. “Ghosts,” he commanded, “Stop the racket!  I’m trying to get some sleep!”

            The howling and moaning continued.  Bixbe shrugged. “All right, party on,” he said. He stuffed cotton in his ears so he couldn't hear them and went back to sleep.

          In the morning, the King and Queen inquired about how he’d slept.

            “Quite well,” he said, “once I put cotton in my ears. The room is haunted and the ghosts were rather noisy.”

            At that point, they knew Bixbe was not only truthful, but brave and resourceful, too. They decided he would make a fine husband for the princess and someday, an excellent king.

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