Upon my grand arrival home from my unplanned week away, this was waiting for me at the back door. How classy! The attached note stated that the "lost" had been "found". Lost refers to Mother's hand pushed cultivator which Ann, Steve and I appropriated to use for imaginary transportation for cats and dolls, via train, car or pony. Since it was a favorite, there were occasional squabbles and some coveting when someone else had it.
One day Mother was canning beets and her hands were stained with juice. Steve had the cultivator, I wanted it. I took it and hid it behind the garage door and he told Mother. I reported to her that I didn't take it and Ann said she didn't take it. I was more convincing at lieing than Ann was at telling the truth. Ann got spanked with beet stained hands.
I did confess to Mother much later and I have often felt that I owed Ann for the pain she endured. And now I feel that I owe Steve his lost turn to play with my new cultivator.
In the meantime, it will reign in my garden and each time I see it, I will think of each of you and how you have loved me........but not more than I love you.
Thank you to all who have made this reunion possible.
4 comments:
What a beauty! May it bring you many happy memories and fun garden outings! I am so thankful you are home recuperating. The seed catalogs probably need some serious perusing. Love you.
omg, my sisters seem to have amassed, collectively and individually, a total museum of historical artifacts, memorabilia, keepsakes, and trivia. Who knew that memorable cultivator had nine lives? I suppose giving it a coat of green paint would reduce its market value. For something I hadn't seen or thought about for sixty years, this one is a gem. Why did no one ever take a picture of Mom pushing it?
It was a well-thought-out gift. Congratulations to Steve for having such a good memory - but then, he wasn't the one who got punished, was he? Did guilt ever overwhelm you on this one, Judy? We're so glad you're home and doing better, and that this gift brought all the healing laughter that was needed.
There were many occasions in those growing up years where Judy stood up for me, which more than made up for that one moment of being far more believable than I was. Perhaps I had just a little history of not being as truthful as I should have been - or not!
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