I Write: Tiny Tears

At our monthly Writing is Fun meetings we decide a prompt for writing for the next meeting. Length is set at 2 pages so we can read them at the meeting. There is quite a diversity of writing. Some are real life recollections, some fictional vignettes, and sometimes there's a poem. This is a real life recollection.

The prompt for September 2025 was - You inherit a mystery box from a long lost relative. What do you hope to find in it?

With all the spam phone calls nowadays I don’t answer the phone unless the caller-ID has a name. The voice mail on my phone is from Robert King, an attorney, asking me to call him and leaving a number.

Mr. King tells me it was difficult to find me as he only had my maiden name and a very old address. I learn that my Aunt Alice has left me something in her will. Alice and my mother had more than a falling-out when I was quite young. My mother never talked about it, but I learned from others that during a visit to Alice’s house an argument escalated, and my mother quickly swept me away home. They never reconciled.

Confirming my current address, Mr. King will send the inheritance to me. Before I can ask “how much” he needs to take another call.

A few weeks later I receive a notice to go to the post office to sign for a delivery that won’t fit in the mailbox, and I guess it isn’t a check.

The clerk hands over a box wrapped in brown paper. It is not very heavy, and the mystery box now has my interest; however, I wait until I get home to open my inheritance from Aunt Alice.

The box is on the table, and I resist shaking it. Upon opening I find wads and wads of tissue paper surrounded by bubble-wrap. I carefully unpeel the packing and there is a catch in my throat. I pull out a chair and sit down.

Slowly I reach in, and I lift it through clouds of tissue paper. Although I hadn’t seen it for – oh, how many years! – I recognize it immediately. Carefully I hold her up and she is exactly the same as when I last saw her - my Tiny Tears doll.

There was a note enclosed.

Dearest Carol,

I know how much you love her, and I have taken care of her for you for a long time. Whenever I see her I miss you. I tried to make up with you mom, but it hasn’t worked out. I miss her so much, and I am sad that we haven’t made up yet.

I hope I can get this to you someday soon. I wish that your mom and I can be sisters again.

With lots of love, Aunt Alice 

Tiny Tears dolls had special features that other dolls did not. Yes, others had lullaby eyes that slowly closed when you tipped them down to hold in your arms or tuck into a little bed. But she also was able to take a bottle, blow a bubble pipe, and easily stand up to soap and water in the bathtub. She did not have strange nylon hair, but the top of her head was molded to include a tiny bit of hair painted light brown. The most amazing thing about Tiny Tears were the tiny tears she could cry after you fed her water then gently squeezed her stomach.

She arrived as a gift with a full layette- dressed in a onesie, with a pair of crocheted pink socks, a bottle, a bubble pipe, a washcloth, ivory soap, an extra diaper – well, she also wet herself from all that water, and, of course, Kleenex tissues for when she cried. Her body was made of rubber, and her arms and legs could raise up and down.

She was my special “lovey” and listened quietly to all my stories – some sad like when our dog, Dusty, had to be put down and others happy like a trip to the Enchanted Forest. Every night she was by my pillow as I held her tiny hand. There were times when I was hurt or sad and cried. Most often I couldn’t find the baby bottle that fit perfectly in her mouth, but she was still with me.

Over the years, as with many of us, her body deteriorated. The rubber wore out at her left elbow and right knee from being bent too much without a good joint. Band-Aids held her together, often having to be replaced, especially if they got wet. No doll hospital could provide a replacement for these and eventually she lost the bottom part of the left arm and right leg when the Band-Aids could no longer hold them. Her hair thinned as the light brown paint wore off. But I loved and needed her still. I took her almost everywhere.

And so, on the day my Mother quickly took me from my aunt’s house, she was left behind. When I asked to get her back, at first my Mother was angry but then she would cry. I stopped asking.

And here she was. Tiny tears escaped my eyes. Even in her well loved condition she was welcomed back to my heart.

POEM: When the Land Remembered

 

When the Land Remembered

Long before we planted tomatoes or mowed lawns or argued with dandelions, 

    this land had its own garden.

It wasn’t planted by people — it grew by itself, slowly, patiently,

    like a story being written by wind and rain.

In that old garden, every plant had a job.

The milkweed fed the monarchs.

The oaks raised whole families of caterpillars in their branches.

The goldenrod lit up the fall like tiny lanterns,                                                        calling bees to their last feast of the season.

Everything fit. Everything belonged.

Then people arrived with seeds from faraway places — useful plants, pretty plants, curious plants.

Plants that reminded them of home.

Some plants stayed politely.

Some took over.

And some crowded out the quiet natives who had been here since the beginning.

But here’s the good part of the story — the part where we get to be the heroes.

Every time we plant a native plant, we help the old garden remember itself.

We bring back the food the butterflies lost.

We rebuild the tiny neighborhoods where bees raise their young.

We give birds the insects they need to feed their babies.

We stitch the land back together, one root at a time.

A native plant isn’t just a plant.

It’s a piece of the original story — 

and when we plant it, the land whispers, 

                                            “Oh… I remember this.”

                                               

~ A.I. Aidan

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                                              HERB SAMPLER Second Edition

Buy one for yourself and consider getting a few more as gifts – hostess gifts, teachers,  housewarming, and any celebration.

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it. 

Repeat -- Here Comes Winter - Got salt?

 A repeat of a helpful post - orig. Dec. 2023

 

Waking up this morning to a beautiful but icy wonderland, it was a reminder to find the bag of “salt” in preparation for the next winter event. It’s not really salt in the bag but calcium chloride.

Icy surfaces can be hazardous to your wintertime health so removing snow and ice is a priority. You don’t want to be quoting the Muppets all day – “Watch out for the icy patch!”

Oops!

 Although safety first, gardeners also want to consider run-off damage to lawns and gardens. A special challenge is for plants near roadways, sidewalks and other hardscape areas so gardeners might consider a salt tolerant garden. The Penn State Extension Service in Montgomery County has a demonstration salt tolerant garden with more information on their Website.

Chemical deicers come in various forms - pellets, flakes and liquids - but research shows that pellets from 1/16" to 3/16" work faster.  Regardless of the type, overuse causes problems. Only use as much as necessary.

Don't overuse deicers

Sodium chloride, also known as rock salt, melts ice down to 25 degrees and is inexpensive but it can burn plants as well as corrode metal and concrete. It is the most harmful, seriously injuring or killing plants near sidewalks or paved areas. Additionally, when it washed into storm drains, it is a nonpoint source of pollution to waterways impacting fish and marine life.

Rock Salt Damage to Grass

Other chemical choices include calcium chloride which melts ice down to -25 degrees. Overuse can harm plants. Potassium chloride is effective to 12 degrees and is a fertilizer; however, overuse can be deadly to plants. Urea, ammonia and carbon dioxide, works down to 15 degrees. Although used as a fertilizer, high concentrations can harm plants. Calcium magnesium acetate, a salt-free deicer using dolomitic limestone and acetic acid, is effective down to 5 degrees and is particularly useful in environmentally sensitive areas.

For areas where deicers can't be used, sand or kitty litter can provide traction but also can be a source of nonpoint pollution.

~ Carol Kagan, Master Gardener

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                                              HERB SAMPLER Second Edition

Buy one for yourself and consider getting a few more as gifts – hostess gifts, teachers,  housewarming, and any celebration.

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it. 

I Write - Rolling into Adventure: My First Library Checkout

 At our monthly Writing is Fun meetings we decide a prompt for writing for the next meeting. Length is set at 2 pages so we can read them at the meeting. There is quite a diversity of writing. Some are real life recollections, some fictional vignettes, and sometimes there's a poem. This is a real life recollection.

The prompt for February 2026 was BOOKS.

My friends know I love to read and when they visit there is often a comment. “Where are all your books?” Except for a few children’s and reference books, my books are stored at the library. Checking out a book to take home and read is a pleasure, knowing that later I will be nestled in my overstuffed chair with a few ginger snaps and a warm mug of chai, moving the bookmark forward between the pages. When I finish reading, I return it to the library to store.

It was when I was in fourth grade that Mr. DiPetro took our class to the small elementary school library. Bookshelves were lined with the colorful vertical stripes of book spines; there were no plastic or paper covers. After we learned about the library and how to check out books – books we could take back to our class to read, we wandered around the room to choose one.

The first one I pulled from the shelf was a mystery. I remember it because it was about a lost lunchbox and my friend Kathy had lost her lunchbox on the way to school. I sat down and looked through the pages. There was only one picture and lots of words. I wanted more pictures. We were not allowed to return books to the shelves, so I took the book to the return pile.

I recall that I was in a section of books that were mysteries and certainly there were appealing titles to explore; however, nothing looked interesting to me. Most of my classmates quickly chose a book to sign out and were sitting and reading.

On one of my trips to the return pile, I caught sight of a book propped up by the front desk. On the front cover was a girl wearing roller skates. The book title was “Roller Skates,” written by Ruth Sawyer. The librarian came over and pointed out the gold seal on the front of the book. The seal represented an award the author received.

My interest was the roller skates that were not like mine. They looked like boots and laced up the side. The skates I used were flat plates that clamped onto the soles on my shoes with straps that wrapped around my foot. There was a special metal key that tightened, or loosened, the clamps. It was a critical tool to have.

Leafing through the pages I saw that each chapter had an illustration and title. I wanted to read more about this girl with the fancy skates, so I checked the book out.

It was a story written by a young girl. Here’s what I remember about it.

The setting of the book is New York City in the early 1900’s, a place and time I was not familiar with, and which were quite different from my life in the 1950’s. The girl was Lucinda* who wasn’t quite a teenager. Her family was rich and her parents went on a trip leaving her with two lady caretakers. While her parents were quite strict with her the caretakers were not.

I lived in a small town and my friends, and I were afforded much freedom. It was typical to “go out and play” with no destination assigned or activity planned; however, for Lucinda the new unlimited freedom presented a summer full of adventures. She roller skated throughout the city day and night. The descriptions of what she sees, hears, smells, and sometimes tastes presented me with a picture of life at that time.

There were horse drawn carriages for people to ride in There was a deep smell of horse manure and the clip-clop of hooves as they moved around the city and through Central Park. I knew the sound and smell of the horses as a-rabbers** came through our neighborhood pulling open carts with summer produce but couldn’t imagine people riding with them.

A-rabbers would call out what produce they
 had for sale as they walked through the streets.

Some of the a-rabbers had bins of wrapped penny candy but Lucinda saw and smelled the sweet scent of candy as it was being made through the open windows of the penny candy stores. And sometimes, when I got a piece of candy, I remember wondering how some of the candy I ate was made – licorice, peanut butter cups, M & M’s.

When the big ships carrying iron ore arrived at our town, sailors would visit and we would hear a foreign language. Very rarely did we hear other languages spoken except when we visited the homes of some of our friends. At Rosanna’s house her mother was berated in Italian by her grandmother for “runny sauce” or at Paulina’s her father talked to his brothers in what was probably Polish. But Lucinda, on her adventures through all kinds or neighborhoods in New York, heard lots of various languages and saw different ways people lived.

The playground around the one-block long elementary school was paved with asphalt and offered a great place to skate. There were no cracks like on the sidewalks, and the fencing saved us from wheeling out into the street when we got going too fast. Kathy and I skated around the elementary school almost every day. We made up games and invented dangerous tricks on the second story steps.

1963 Sparrows Point Elementary School

No great adventures except when we lost a skate key. That took us on a trip down the street, across the streetcar tracks, around the corner to the alleyway behind Kaplan’s department store. Clinging to the handrail we went down the cement steps to the door of the basement hardware section. We were allowed inside with skates on to get a replacement key and, if we did not have the 5¢ price, we could bring it back later.

When we went to skate on long summer days after dinner we were expected to head home when the streetlights came on. There would be a quick flash of bright white lights on tall metal poles that dipped out over the street. But I remember Lucinda saw the lamplighters walking through the streets as daylight died out. The gaslights gave a warm, soft glow next to the walkways making it easy for her to skate after dark. Really quite different.

Perhaps Mr. DiPetro asked us to include in our book report why we chose the book and did we learn anything. It was the girl on roller skates that interested me because I roller skated a lot. I liked that Lucinda was able to experience the kind of freedom that my friends and I had after her parents were so strict and restrictive. As you may have figured out, for me this book made me think about how things were different long ago from what I had had then.

 

 

*An a-rabber is a street vendor selling fruits and vegetables from a horse-drawn cart, often calling what he has for sale.

** I looked up her name in the book.

                        ~    ~     ~     ~

                HERB SAMPLER Second Edition

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I Write - Santa Works the 3 - 11 Shift

 

Santa Works the 3 to 11 Shift - Carol Kagan

Our family Christmas traditions included not only a tree but also an elaborate Christmas garden with a train. The week before Christmas my Dad would bring up the large platform on legs from the basement. It was 2 ft. tall and 6 ft. x 6 ft. square. It was situated in a corner of the large living room. When we went to bed on Christmas Eve it only had a fresh cut tree at the far end. We were told Santa would decorate the tree when he visited. In the morning, we raced down the stairs and practically fell into a room full of brightly wrapped presents. There was the steady clack of the train rounding the tracks and a pine scent filled the air.

Santa had come and decorated the tree and transformed the platform into a beautiful snow covered Christmas garden. The tree was dotted with colored lights and among the draping silver tinsel were the ornaments we knew from years past. There was a train, a train station, and tree-lined streets with lighted houses. There was a mirror for a pond with ice skaters, a field in the far corner with lead soldiers marching in rows, and an out-of-season apple orchard with pink blossoms.

Christmas stockings were filled with nuts, a Lifesavers Sweet Storybook that opened to 12 rolls – butter rum, orange, cherry, Pep-O-Mint, and more. There was always a tangerine.

Santa had finished the cookies and milk and left 5 candy canes.

On Christmas Eve when I was 11, my Dad was working the 3 to 11 shift at the steel mill and wouldn’t get home until nearly midnight. My Mother was able to get all of us – me and my younger sisters and brothers, off to bed, all of us excited for Santa Claus to come.

My room was the only bedroom on the third floor and my windows looked out to the steel mill’s  open hearth only three blocks from our house. As on many nights, the bright red light from melted steel pouring into large containers exploded through the windows and filled my room. I couldn’t get to sleep then heard someone coming up the steps. Mom was standing in the doorway.

“Carol, get up and get dressed and be sure to put on shoes. Then come downstairs as quiet as you can.”

I started to ask what was wrong, but she was already gone. Maybe Santa was down there!

Once dressed, I slowly went down the third floor steps, sucking in air every time a step moaned. When I reached the first floor and turned the corner to face the living room, I stopped and stared. It took me a few moments, looking around, to finally put the pieces together.

My mother was on a ladder gently stringing silver tinsel here and there among the ornaments hanging on the lighted tree. In the dining room there were piles of boxes wrapped with Christmas paper and ribbon.

Sitting on the floor, surrounded by brown boxes, bags of white cotton, and a variety of tools, was my Dad. He looked up at me and brought his finger to his lips.

“We really need your help, but you have to be quiet,” he said softly.

Dad pointed to a box by the door. “There are lights in that box. Each one has only two short wires attached. They need to be threaded- both wires pushed through each of the holes in the platform. Can you do that?”

After I looked into the box and at the platform I nodded my head. 

 “When you’re done I’ll show you how to hook them together.”

Determined to help, I set about distributing the lights then Dad motioned for me to sit next to him. He pulled several lights from the box and a few little caps.

“Okay,” Dad said as he showed me how to wire the lights. “now they get connected by winding the one end around an end on the next one and then twisting a cap on each connection.” I looked at the platform, but all the ends were through the holes.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I put the lights in wrong. I’ll take them out and start over.”

He lifted up on his knees, looked at the platform. “Oh, no. They’re in the right way. They’ll shine inside the houses. You need to crawl under and hook them together. I’ve got a light so you can see.”

Underneath I pointed the light upward and started joining the wires. After two or three I thought Dad should check to make sure it was right.

“Daddy,” I said as poking my head out, “ you should check these before I do more.”

He slid under and started tugging at the wires then said, “They’re ok but really tighten the cap. Push harder and make sure all the wires get inside.”

After finishing the wiring, I came out to find the platform covered in cotton snow. Dad was working on the train tracks. I helped by pushing the connections together tightly and holding the track while he tacked it down.

The finished track was a large oval running near the edge of the platform and curving around at the base of the tree. Dad hooked up the train controller, added a plug to the lights, and tested them. All the lights worked.

Dad took a deep breath. “Now we get out the train.”

It was a large heavy engine, silver with bright red around the front, a yellow logo “Santa Fe” on the face along with a headlight.

“This engine has a diesel horn, and the wheels are magnetized so it stays on the tracks,” he said proudly. “The red on the front is called a warbonnet design just like the real Santa Fe railroad.”

He carefully positioned the engine on the track, moving it forward and back gently. When he moved the red handle on the controller, the train moved slowly. It went all the way around the track. It was running steadily and he was satisfied with it.

Mom leaned out from the kitchen door, “Break time. Get a snack. There’s still plenty to get done in … ,” she paused and looked at the clock, “maybe two hours if they don’t wake up sooner.”

The aroma of cinnamon and yeast filled the room. There were sticky cinnamon buns cut to bite size pieces and mugs of hot apple cider. Dad and I each grabbed a fork and dug right in.

Mom was filling the stockings – nuts in the bottom, some candy, and a tangerine on the top. She began to sing softly. “Tangerine, she is all they claim, with her eyes of night and lips as bright as flame.” I found out later that it was the words to a popular song she liked.

 

That night, piece by piece, the Christmas garden took shape. Houses and buildings were settled into the snow and over the lights, the train station was positioned and had a few people with suitcases waiting, and the cardboard church with light shining through the colored cellophane windows stood at the end of Main Street. Miniature cars were on the roads carved out of the cotton snow. Pine trees were positioned and the apple orchard put at the far end where the tracks curved. In the middle of the platform, safely away from the tracks and the edge, Mom tucked the edges of a small mirror into the snow, and ice skaters were placed on and around the glassy ice. In the far corner, outside the tracks, the lead soldiers lined up to march.

It was now 3 o’clock in the morning. I sat on the sofa and looked at the garden as Mom tacked fake brick paper around the lower edge. Dad sat down next to me.

“I got those little houses when I was in Italy during the war. I wrapped them carefully and shipped them home hoping they wouldn’t get broken and they didn’t. I got the lead soldiers in Germany, but I wasn’t worried they would break and there they are, marching. They are American soldiers; you can tell because they have hard hat helmets.”

“Two things are left to do,” Dad said. “Get all these boxes and tools back down into the basement. I’ll do that. You help Mom move the presents into the living room.”

When all the cleanup was done I asked if there was anything else to do or could I go upstairs.

“Of course you should go back to bed. We couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you,” Mom said as she hugged me.

“Yes, thanks. There just wasn’t enough time after I got off work to get this done. We really needed your help. And you must promise not to tell anyone about Santa.”

As quietly as I could I returned to my room and flopped on the bed. When I heard the sounds of little ones scurrying downstairs with shouts of “Santa was here,” I followed them, reminding myself to be surprised.

The train was running around the track, and Dad was blowing the horn. Then I saw it. In the dining room, by the table, was a bicycle with streamers on the handlebars and a basket. What a surprise! Santa must have brought it – up from the basement.

© Carol Kagan, 2025

HERB SAMPLER Second Edition

Buy one for yourself and consider getting a few more as gifts to have on hand – hostess gifts, housewarming, birthdays

Copies available locally at the Hip Gypsy Emporium in Duffield. 

The Second Edition Herb Sampler (2019) is available through Amazon. 

Just click this link to find it.