Friday, April 22, 2011

A few more words from Ivy

"Thank you, Mrs Dawson!" the paper boy replied as Ivy handed him a bright yellow envelope, "and here is for the newspaper, that envelope is a little something for Easter, I didn't know if you are too old for candy." "Thanks!" he smiled broadly as he closed the door.

Ivy rushed back into the kitchen, she was preparing to pickle the venison hearts that Gus Nelson had brought over. Her recipe was the best he would always say. Soon there would be pickled eggs and leek dip in the fridge, some homemade crackers and there might even be some be some cookies also for those who would drop in over the Easter weekend.

As she worked Ivy thought back to the egg hunts and Easter festivities when the children were young, when the Buntings still lived on the other side of the stream. They were from Whales, and Amanda had taught her how to make scones, though Ivy's were never as good as hers, or at least that's what Ivy thought. "Mr. Chips. I think I will take a walk down by the stream, now that it is done raining for today, at least. You take care of the house while I'm gone."

It didn't really smell like Spring, the air was too cold, just above freezing. The grass was getting greener, and the daffodils along the stream where already starting to fade. In the 20 or so years since the fire the brambles and trees had almost reclaimed the place where Amanda's house had been. You had to look for the remaining pieces of the charred foundation stone.
There would have been bright plastic eggs , stuffed with candy or trinkets, "hidden" everywhere on Easter morning, the smell of ham and turkey, and the cow was very different then.
A feeling somewhere between sadness and anticipation swept over Ivy as she stood there, surveying the damage the fierce winter storms had done. Lost in thought, traveling in time she stood there, as the chill and dampness slowly made their way through Will's old coat, a she turned to walk back up to the warmth of the kitchen, she caught sight of someone waving from the top of the hill, Ivy waved back.

Mr Chips was singing to the birds at the feeder in the old pear tree. The house was a wealth of sweet and savory smells, just as it should be before a Holiday, Ivy put the kettle on.
It was almost 7:00PM , as Ivy settled down with some leftovers and a huge mug of tea, to page through her magazine. "Cold, just too cold, Mr Chips,and Easter is almost as late this year as it can get."

The sun was beginning to sink below the horizon, when Ivy put the last of the dishes on the counter,"You can wait until tomorrow!", wrapping herself in her favorite sweater, she picked up her lantern and started up the steps to the attic. "Imagine, she muttered, "snow on Easter!"

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slightly wordy Slent Sunday on a road

Not every picture is worth a thousand words, but the memory it represents is.