Not "THE END"

by Renee Hawkley

People who love to read never want their journey with words to end. For example, the weekly letter from my 92-year-old mother came on Wednesday, including a recipe for sauerkraut she copied from a book in the Dear America series she's reading. According to Mom, the recipe describes the way her parents made sauerkraut when she was a child in the early 1900s. I think she wants me to make some.
At times like this, I'm glad I paid attention to my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Stuart, who taught me about fractions and long division because the first item on the recipe is 150 heads of cabbage. It also calls for a huge barrel ("scrubbed, scalded and set in the sun to dry"), a board across two chairs and a sharp knife. Then—as if the instructions aren't exhilarating enough already—I'm supposed to enlist the help of " Stanley" after I have "helped him with his bath and spent extra time cleaning his feet, for it is the husband's job to tamp the cabbage." This could get complicated because in my "single" status, I don't even know anyone by the name of Stanley.
You're right if you guessed that my mother's love of reading has ignited many an adventure in both her life and the lives of her children. Who could forget snuggling on either side of her, waiting for The Teeny, Tiny Lady in the storybook to yell, "Take it!" when the hidden voice from her cupboard demanded that she, "Give me my bone?" Mother nearly scared us to death with the voice inflections she added to that story. We asked for it again and again!
Through my literacy journey from here to there and back again, Mom has been my pilot all the way. It's like this. The way we see it, nearly every flight of imagination begins on a runway of black and white, where you fire up your engine, get your bearings as you begin to pick up speed toward an adventure and finally, take to the skies.
By the way—if your name happens to be Stanley—I have a nice, clean potato masher all lined up to do your job, so you can come out of hiding.