Once Upon a Sunday New Year

by Renee Hawkley

Once upon a Sunday New Year, a stranger was driving along a stretch of McMillan Road that borders a residential area in Boise, Idaho.  She happened to pass a makeshift "Hot Cocoa Stand" attended by a smattering of young children.  A rickety car was holding its ground nearby.

OK.  A hot cocoa stand is an unusual sight to behold along McMillan Road on a frosty, sky-blue Sunday in January.  On her way home, the stranger passed the stand again, noticed the children had a small stream of customers, and was, well—curious.  She was also smitten with a sudden craving for hot cocoa. 

Now, this stranger has a rule about spending money on a Sunday.  She doesn’t.  So she turned her gaze again to the straight and narrow road ahead and kept driving.

Still . . . the car slowed as she decided there would be no slackening of standards if she were to turn the car around and go back just to hear how this “Hot Cocoa Stand” came to be.  That way, she could get the story without having to pay for it.  So she did.

And here’s the story, as told by the hot cocoa stand’s owner, a girl of about age ten, who wanted a specific family game for Christmas that hadn’t been delivered.  She wanted it badly enough to come up with an idea.  She would raid her piggy bank to buy hot cocoa mix and a can of Reddi-Whip, make a “Hot Cocoa Stand” sign out of cardboard, and ask her dad for help to set up shop with her younger siblings on McMillan Road.  Dad agreed to help.  And there they were—Dad helping the younger children to dispense hot cocoa and Reddi-Whip while his oldest daughter acted as cashier.

I don’t know if the family’s “Once upon a time” story has the “Happily ever after” ending it deserves.  All I know is that the stranger bought a tasty cup of hot cocoa that kept her warm all day—“with Reddi-Whip, thank you”—and paid more money for it than the cardboard sign suggested.  Once upon a Sunday New Year.  

Happy New Year!

Sunday ~ January 1, 2012

"Have You Seen My Glasses?"

by Renee Hawkley

I need to see.
That's why I wear glasses.
All day, every day.
Mostly.

Sometimes, I take them off and set them down.
(Wherever I might be in the house.)
Forget where I put them, and go on my merry way.

I don't know why I do this.
Set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
And forget where I put them. When I need to see.
All day, every day.
But I do.

That was before.
November 20th, 2004.
The day my sweetheart was snatched away.
At age 60. After 38 years of marriage.

Let me just say. He didn't go on purpose.
He would never leave me on purpose.

But God didn't give us a choice. Or a chance.
To beg at His gates.
Right then. When it happened.
The heart attack that clutched Dan.
While his cell phone remained in his pocket.

Honestly. I've had time to think.
And here's what it comes down to.
I think I set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
To get his attention. Because you know I love attention.

His office was at home. And he was a busy man.
Father of eight. Provider. Protector.
Attorney. Church volunteer. Political activist.
Troubleshooter. Actively engaged.

Still.
Whenever I set my glasses down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
And couldn't find them in say, 15 seconds. When I needed to see.
I made it a point. To pass within earshot of my husband and ask,
“Have you seen my glasses?” (Wherever they might be in the house.)

Whereupon.
He would immediately abandon whatever he was doing.
Whatever deadline he was up against.
And I told you he was a busy man.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
And deliver them to me. With a kiss.

And I was always grateful.
Because I needed my glasses right this very minute.
To do something very important, and I needed my glasses to do it.
And I needed a kiss.

After.
November 20th. I noticed. Pain. Whenever I asked.
“Have you seen my glasses?” (Wherever they might be in the house.)

If any of our kids happened to be visiting.
They said no. They hadn't seen them.
So I had to find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
By myself.

It wasn't their fault. They didn't know.
They were supposed to drop whatever they were doing.
Whatever deadline they were up against.
Whatever important thing they had on their calendar.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they might be in the house.)
And bring me a kiss. While they're at it.

Some people say that those who die are always happy.
But they don't know. Everything.

I found out.
That when my sweetheart isn't able. To drop whatever he is doing.
To find my glasses. (Wherever they are in the house.)
And bring them to me. With a kiss.
He feels pain.
Too.

Now.
I leave my glasses on.
All day, every day.
Mostly.

When I take them off.
And set them down. (Wherever I might be in the house.)
I'm careful to memorize where I put them.
So that when I ask myself, “Have you seen my glasses?”
I know the answer.

That way, my sweetheart and I don't have to cry.
As I flounder from room to room searching for my glasses.
And ache for the reward of kisses when I find them.
(Wherever we might be in the house.)