Storytime Tapestry Newsletter

The newsletter devoted to spreading love and cultural awareness throughout the world.

Hearts and Humor – A Michael Smith Column

March 22, 2007

Hey, Gang!


    I'm sorry for being late this week. Ginny and I spent
   
Saturday afternoon and night at our friend Eileen's in Brooklyn.

Brooklyn is a fun place to be on Saint Patty's Day. We had

dinner at Fort Hamilton in Brooklyn. They served us a great

Irish dinner.


    After dinner, we went to a Karaoke place. I tried several
   
songs, but failed at most of them. Only one song works for me.

I sang "What a Wonderful World" by Louie Armstrong. I nailed it.

Some guy handed me $4.00 and told me to sing more. He didn't

know it's the only song I can really do well.


    Ginny and I got home Sunday afternoon. I worked on this story
   
late into the day. I'm not sure if it's right yet. Let me know

what you think. The ending seems weak to me. Please give me your

opinions. Mail me at msmith4@nj.rr.com
   

    If anyone is interested in greeting cards, Ginny

belongs to a group of artists. They've teamed together

to market their products. Check them out at:

http://www.etsygreetings.blogspot.com


    Ginny's cards and other crafts are at:

http://www.ginginsgoodies.etsy.com

    Now for today's story.



                           A Mother's Love

    Mum's loving hands spread Vicks Vapor Rub© on my chest. My white
   
T-shirt hung over the open oven door of our oil stove. I coughed. "Mum,

I can't breath."


    "This will help. Turn around." I did as I was told. Mum spread the
   
vapor rub on my back. The scent began to work. My sinuses loosened. She

lifted the T-shirt from the oven door. "Lift your arms." she said and

pulled the shirt down over my head.


    The heated T-shirt warmed my feverish body. "It feels so good, Mum.
   
Thank you!"


    "Let's get you to bed" she said and led me to the room I shared
   
with my two brothers. She tucked me in and read "The Three Little

Pigs."


    "Mum, can pigs really talk?"

    "It's just a story, Michael. Pigs can't talk." She pulled the
   
blankets up to my chin and kissed me on the forehead. "Try to sleep

now. You'll feel better in the morning."


            ****************************


    "Romper, bomper, stomper boom. Tell me, tell me, tell me whom.
   
Who do I see in my magic mirror today?" The lady on Romper Room

asked. The sparkly stuff in the mirror cleared and I could see

the Romper Room lady's face. "I see June and Larry, and Martha.

Larry I hope you're being a good do-bee today. And I see Alice

and little Mikey. Remember children, do be a do-bee and don't be

a don't-bee."


    "Mum!" I croaked. "Mum, the lady on Romper Room saw me today!"


    Mum came into the room. "She saw you? That mirror must really
   
be magic." She smiled and held her hand to my forehead. "You still

feel warm. Are you hungry?" she asked.


    "Not really. My head hurts."


    "Do you want some chicken soup?"


    "I'll try, Mum. I'm scared I'll get sick again." I suffered
   
through my second week with the mumps.


    Mum felt the sides of my throat. "You're still swollen. I
   
don't think you'll get to school this week at all."


    "Mum, I'm tired of being sick. I'm falling behind in school
   
too."


    "Jimmy said he would bring your homework." she said.


    "You asked him?" Jimmy was my neighbor and best friend at
   
that time.


    "I saw him on his way to school and gave him a note for
   
your teacher. I asked your teacher to give your homework to

Jimmy."


    I settled back into the sofa. "Thanks, Mum."


    "You'll be better soon." she assured me and left to
   
heat my soup.


            ****************************


    I clutched a nickel and ran the field. I was going to
   
buy a bag of potato chips at the store and eat them while

I watched "Bugs Bunny" on TV. I ran across a large rock,

leaped into the air, and landed hard on both feet. There

was a crunch. I looked down. My left foot rested on the

jagged bottom of a broken bottle. I lifted my foot. The

broken bottle stuck to the bottom of my heavy winter boot.

I shook my foot, dislodged the glass, and sat. A two inch

gash marred the arch of my new boot. I got scared. "Mum is

going to be mad at me." I thought to myself.


    I pulled the boot off and found a hole in my sock too.
   
There was no pain. I grabbed the edges of the hole in my

sock with my fingers and opened it. Beneath the sock was a

two-inch, red gash in my arch.


    I grabbed my boot and hopped on my good foot back to
   
our house. Tears streamed down my cheeks as I hobbled up

the steps, "Mum!" I screamed. "Mum, I cut my foot!"


    Mum sat me on a chair in our kitchen. As I cried, she
   
removed my sock. Blood dripped to the floor. "Michael, we

need to get you to the hospital. You need stitches."


    I cried harder. "Mum, I don't want stitches."


    "I know you don't, Michael, but this is a big cut. A
   
Band-Aid© can't fix it."


    "A big cut?"  Big tears rolled down my cheeks.


    Dad helped me to the car. Mum sat behind me in the
   
back seat.  The hospital was twenty miles from our house.

I stretched out on the back seat. To slow the bleeding, Mum

propped my injured foot on the back of the seat.


    She stroked my hair. "You're going to be OK, Michael."


    "Be a big boy, son." Dad said from the driver's seat.
   
"You'll be back on your feet in no time."


            ****************************


    Mum held my hand. The doctor pierced my flesh with a
   
needle, threaded a stitch and pulled it tight. I screamed.

"Mum! Mum, it hurts!"


    She held my hand tighter. "It will be over soon, Michael.
   
Hold my hand and try to think of something nice."


    "I want Blackie!" Blackie was my dog.


    "You can see Blackie when we get home."


            ****************************


    "Mum!" I screamed, as I staggered up the front steps,
   
holding a hand over my right eye. "Mum, I poked my eye out!"

Mum, her face was white with fear, burst through the front

door. "Mum, I poked my eye out!" I repeated.


    Mum dropped to her knees in front of me. "Let me see."
   
she said and reached a trembling hand toward the hand I

held over, what I knew was, an empty eye socket.


    I turned away from her. "Mum, don't look."


    "Michael, I have to look." She took my hand and slowly
   
pulled it from my eye, fearful at what she'd see. Tears

streaked my cheeks and a trail of mucus covered my upper lip.

"For goodness sake, Michael, you just have a little scratch

under your eye." She wrapped her arms around me and pulled

me to her bosom. "You scared me half to death."


    "My eye's still there?"


    "Yes, your eye is still there."


            ****************************


    "He needs to talk to you." The nurse said and left
   
us alone.


    My wife, Georgia, was still. The room was silent
   
except for the machines keeping her alive. I paced the

room, waiting for the doctor to come. It was obvious.

The machines had to be silenced. Georgia's journey on

this world would end.


    I continued to pace and wished for Mum's comfort.
   
I wanted her arms around me - her words, "Michael, it's

going to be OK."


    A year later, I held a new wife in my arms. We'd
   
just said our vows in front of a "Justice of The Peace."

I wanted Mum to see me happy again - her hugs and blessings.


            ****************************


    Mum is nine hundred miles away, but she's my inspiration
   
and strength. She couldn't hold me when Georgia died or

when I married Ginny, but she was with me in spirit. Through

the phone, her strength and love supported me.


    Nothing can stop a mother's love.


Michael T. Smith


Now for comments from last week:

    "PUDDLE" reminded me of a cross country trip that my
   
husband and I took several years ago, before he went to

Heaven.  I don't remember how many rolls of film I had used

when he asked,"Honey, are you supposed to take that cap off

of the front of the camera"? MEMMORIES, I love,em.

Keep writing,

Vonda


**************************

From my other mom, Liz. She know me and writes

to me about the Puddle splashing through the window and

into my face.

And knowing you, you probably laughed!
Liz

She was right. I did laugh


************************

I love you, but if you feel you need to leave