The Wonders of Sweet, Sweet Revenge

20 Feb 2015 12 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections Tags: ,

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I never believed in revenge and would not take it, but when it happened of its own accord, it was sweeter than I could have imagined. Sweet, sweet revenge at its recognized moment is sweeter than any soft touching ever felt. Even sweeter than chocolate is the rich sweetness of revenge given to you without asking, trying, plotting, inquiring, requesting, expecting, ever, ever questioning or posing a revenge.

You spend an inordinately large amount of time sucking it up; agonizing, despairing, and feeling hopeless, desolate and so very miserable at the way things turned out. How can a person, you wonder, have such a bad heart to put a hole in yours, so huge it has taken decades to fill and quick as a wink, it is over and revenge is yours.

I realize that the person, whose heart and mind can hurt you, can heal you as well. As the revenge occurred, I could not share it with anyone and still cannot give you any details to this day. Not only can I not give you details of the revenge, I realize I still cannot give you details of the kill. I spent days sitting in the sunlight trying to shake it. Trying to come alive again after all of that bleeding. I was weak and very, very sad. Days past and I couldn’t even get mad. I pulled myself out of the hole, never, ever to go in it again.

The moment I understood the pain was gone and the hurt was over, a ray of bright light surrounded me. I guess the curative bright light potion was just for me because in the room filled with others, I was the only one surrounded by the light. Sweet, sweet revenge is bright surrounding light, soothing pats and hugs. It is an elevation of great proportions. You will never be the same again because you have been lifted. The perpetrator will never know I was in a hole, never know my pain, will never know my light and my elevation. Thank you God for this gift of blameless, guiltless, sweet, sweet revenge.

 

Queen For A Day

12 Feb 2015 4 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections

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Bertha Baker Baldwin died after 94 years of living a fairly ordinary life, but on the day they buried her, she was a queen.

The things they said about her were astounding. She received a standing ovation as her casket preceded the group of mourners to the burial site.

She never learned to drive, so she walked everywhere and kept most of her strength for the full 94 years. Everyone knew Bertha and when she would pass by them on her walks, lots of hellos were said and lots of hand waving flew in the air.

She had 11 children. Four mentally challenged, one death and the rest relatively normal. Her 9 grandchildren hardly knew her, and the youngest two did not have the opportunity to meet her. She worked in a factory making airliner parts and rarely missed a day. She was the family cook and everyone seemed to just wait to eat until she got around to making something. She was soft-spoken, sweet, kind, a regular wife, mother and grandmother. She did not stand out in a group, she was modest, never wore make-up, hardly combed her hair, and she dressed from clothes that had graced her closet for many years, plus she kept herself clean as a whistle at all times. She was honest and trustworthy. She possessed characteristics that do not make you a queen but make you a good woman.

On the day of Bertha’s funeral, and as the first hymn was played, she began in the minds of the living participants to become raised up. The praise began with her relatives, friends, church members, neighbors, and many from the community at large.

Bertha was hailed as a woman of great character. When someone was ill, she would put her famous pot of Sunshine Soup on his or her doorstep. They were quickly cured. When someone needed help at home, Bertha was there. It was told that she was a master fixit person. There is nothing she could not make-work again. She would sing hymns as she walked to her destinations. The children would follow her and learn her songs. She fed popcorn to barking dogs. She volunteered at the retirement home singing hymns and passing out her homemade chocolate chip, oatmeal, honey flavored cookies with no nuts. She left the retirement home, singing her hymns all the way to the village center. Once there she sat down under the walnut tree and began to read stories to apparently no one. As if by magic, soon children were sitting spellbound at her feet laughing, singing, clapping and smiling great big wide smiles.

Reverend Hollister was telling the story of Bertha, when a storm hit the village center and inched along to encompass the little church that held the body of, the family of, the friends of and the admirers of Bertha Baker Baldwin. The storm raged through the kind stories, phenomenal stories, incredible stories, astonishing and unforgettable stories of Bertha. Everyone sat spellbound, and it was like a supernatural, enchanted moment when everyone blinked in unison.

In the mystical moment when they all blinked, a crown was placed on the head of our dearly departed and most deserving, Bertha. God Bless Queen Bertha!

 

 

My Grandmother’s Vintage Aluminum Colander

03 Feb 2015 10 Comments

by Sheila Clapkin in Reflections Tags: , , ,

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A few weeks before Mr. and I were to be married, my Grandma Hanna passed away. I was in shock. I could not imagine that she would not be at the wedding, and obviously she was not. Life went on and thank God, it is still going on.

When the sisters and brothers went through her things, they decided to give me a small pot with a lid and her colander. The pot was panged in a few places, but the colander had ever so many bangs, dents, and loose screws. I have never to my knowledge put a dent, loosened a screw, or put a scratch on the items. For some reason these two items became sacred to me. They became the symbol of Grandma Hanna’s essence.

The colander has served me well as a fruit bowl, a drainage mechanism, and an item I take out for no reason and let it remain on the counter with only the purpose of the memories with Grandma Hanna. She made the best kreplach and matzo ball chicken soup. Her food had the taste of love, old ties from far away, a learned style that never wavered, always perfection.

She had twinkles in her eyes, both eyes rapid fire and a sweet, sweet smile. She had rosy cheeks that I was later to realize that I inherited. In the inheritance, I got the Seborrhea dermatitis and Rosacea intermittently. When one was inactive, the other takes over creating such lovely healthy looking, but itchy, flakey cheeks. After the flakes wear off, the next day the skin is so smooth and as soft as a baby’s skin. I thought the rosy cheeks were special symbols of good cheer and an excellent healthy body. Who knew it was a skin inflammation that gave her such an angelic glow and who knew that her blood would clot and lodge in her heart.

Grandma Hanna lost her husband in his early 40’s to Pemphigus an autoimmune disorder. There were six children to raise and Grandpa Samuel left enough holdings to care for the children and Hanna all of her life. With the children grown and everyone off into their own lives, Grandma Hanna became lonely. She bought two canaries that used to sing all day long. They were beautiful and melodious. So, after being married for a number of years and five children later, I was given Hanna’s canary cage. I was so proud of the little hanging white cage. After cleaning it up, I bought two canaries and waited for the melody. They were beautiful for one day and the next morning they were dead. I fed them avocado which I was told is a no, no, no. I could not repeat the experience, so no canaries to this day flutter and sing in the white hanging cage. I am a canary failure.

My grandmother lived a quiet life that I know so little about. I loved her, she loved me, but she moved to the west side of town and we lived on the east side. I feel badly that I did not give my grandmother more time to get to know many more things about her and listen to more of what she would have told me.

When I pull out the colander for use in my kitchen, all of Grandma Hanna tumbles out with this now, antique. All of her drainage for meals funneled through the holes, now mixed with all of mine. Who will be the next to use this antique?

Whoever you are, I hope some of my Grandma Hanna and some of me will trickle through the drain.

Mr. Samuel and Mrs. Hanna Sternberg;

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