Faith Works 12-25-21

Faith Works 12-25-21

Jeff Gill

A cup of sugar, a story for the season

___

[In the Saturdays of December, a story is being told on the installment plan; this is the last of four parts.]

Mrs. Schaeffer at 642 was so happy to get her cookies from Mrs. Kern; as Melanie had been warned, it took a while, but from the front step she could see the procession of lights turned on one at a time inside until the older lady opened up her door.

"You're the young woman Mrs. Kern called me about, aren't you?"

"Yes, ma'am," was the instinctive reply. Mrs. Schaeffer was on a walker, but there was authority and strength in her voice that made her think of a teacher or professor of some sort.

"It's good of you to deliver these for her. If you could come on back to the kitchen and set them down; as you can see, I can't carry much." Pivoting around on the two wheels in the front of her walked, Mrs. Schaeffer made her way through the front room to the kitchen just through a wide archway.

"I'd make you a cup of coffee, but it's too late for either of us to be drinking that, even on a cold night." Mrs. Schaeffer stood herself up while standing within the security of the walker. "Can I invite you to come back some time and I promise you a good mugful, not that instant powder and hot water."

"Yes, certainly; I just have to get back to my boys tonight anyhow. But sure, sometime soon, I'd be happy to." Melanie realized she meant it, too.

"You still have some baking to do tonight, at any rate. Well, Merry Christmas to you and your sons, and I look forward to seeing you again. If you don't mind, just tug the door until it clicks behind you."

Melanie balanced the other two boxes she still had, and pulled the door shut, thinking about how she'd met more strangers tonight than she probably had in the last year, and both had felt like people she'd known for years. How odd, and all because of a cup of sugar.

She dropped the one box of cookies off at Mrs. Morley's at the door, the bag of sugar still under one arm, with a promise to check back in with her later, then finally back through her own front door.

The boys were in the back bedroom on a game console, and she sat down on a chair in her own kitchen, glancing up at the clock. It had felt like an epic adventure of a neighborhood sort, but barely half an hour had passed. Next to the stove already set to warm, the sifted flour and dry ingredients were there, and the bowl with softened butter waiting for the sugar was ready.

"Boys," Melanie called out. "Boys, come on into the kitchen."

Another half hour later, it was bedtime, and a first batch of sugar cookies were out of the oven. "These smell great!" was the unanimous opinion. Then the remembered bag of sprinkles and colored sugar in the coat pocket came out, and a last delay of bedtime with a festival of decorating (and some sprinkles on the floor to sweep up later).

Each got to eat one warm, and then a reminder to brush teeth before getting into bed. Melanie asked them, before they left the kitchen, "How would you like to bake a few more batches and take them to our neighbors?" They agreed that would be cool, especially if they could decorate them, too.

With the boys off to sleep, Melanie sat at the kitchen table thinking about cups and pounds and batches, how much waxed paper she had plus a few shoeboxes in the hall closet. With that five pound bag of sugar less one cup from her first batch, she had nine cups left. Maybe six more batches of cookies to share? For Mrs. Morley next door and Mrs. Kern at 648 and Mrs. Schaeffer at 642, plus her office mate at work, and maybe one for each of the boys's teachers?

Suddenly, somehow, the holiday ahead seemed brighter, bigger, and just a bit more merry. She started in on the next batch; maybe two more before turning in tonight, and a couple more with the boys after school.

If she ran out of anything else, she'd just go down to Mrs. Kern's to ask. And she found herself hoping that she'd have to.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he hopes these columns have led a few people into baking their own batches of cookies. Let him know how you've gotten to share Christmas at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-18-21

Faith Works 12-18-21

Jeff Gill

A cup of sugar, a story for the season

___

[In the Saturdays of December, a story is being told on the installment plan; this is part three of four.]

Melanie had never met Mrs. Kern at 648, but now she was expecting her.

Mrs. Morley, Melanie's next-door neighbor, she knew . . . well, as she walked down the street it occurred to her she didn't really know Mrs. Morley all that well. As a mother of two boys, she'd moved in a few years ago to this quiet residential street, looking for a good peaceful place to bring them up, but between her job and school and sports and then COVID, she'd really hardly met anyone in her neighborhood, and only knew Mrs. Morley because of her having taken the initiative to say hello, offer a hand at times, to simply smile and wave. That's why she'd found the nerve to walk over looking for a cup of sugar to finish a cookie recipe she'd started.

But those pictures on the piano? How long had her husband been gone, and where did her children live now, grown? Melanie realized she didn't know. Even so, the welcome that night included a bag of cookie toppings in one hand and a call to a neighbor Mrs. Morley did know promised to fill the measuring cup in her other hand.

Shifting the cup handle along with the dangling bag, she knocked at 648, and immediately the door inside the storm door swung in, steam clouding the glass. Then the outer door swung open, and a voice inside saying "come in, come in!"

Entering, Melanie saw a short, round little woman in a wide and long apron, white hair in a bun on the back of her head, who said as the storm door closed "You are just in the nick of time, I have cookies coming out, more going in, and all my supplies out on the counter! Follow me."

Mrs. Kern bustled through the living room into a brightly lit kitchen, tidy underneath but busy with bowls and trays and cookie sheets and wire racks everywhere.

"Now, dear," she went on, "you needed a cup of sugar, Martha said?" Melanie nodded, looking around at what seemed to be a veritable cookie factory. Then feeling rude, she added "yes, that's right, and you're so kind to offer to help."

"Oh, my, dear, cookies are my life. I was a school cook for years, and especially at Christmas, I just have to have a big project to make me feel at home in the season. So here…"

The older lady was holding out a bag, a full sack of five pounds of sugar. Melanie flinched, and said "oh, but I just need a cup!"

"Nonsense, dear," replied Mrs. Kern. "What about your next batch? Don't worry, I have plenty more in the pantry; it's easier for me to give you that little bagful than to parcel out a cup, easier for you to carry home. And as you go . . ."

Melanie tucked the bag under one arm, and stuck the measuring cup back into her coat pocket, the bag of sprinkles into the other one. Looking up, she saw Mrs. Kern holding three boxes, bright with ribbon and stickers, out to her.

"If you would be so kind, I wanted to get a box of fresh cookies to Mrs. Morley, and also to old Mrs. Schaeffer at 642, if you wouldn't mind delivering those with my compliments. She may take a bit to get to the door, so be patient. And that third box is for you and your boys; if you'll send one of them over after school tomorrow, I'll have another boxful for you, but these over here are spoken for first thing in the morning. But one box worth won't be enough for two growing boys, not by half! I'm doing chocolate butterscotch chip cookies tomorrow, those in the box are just chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin."

"Mrs. Kern," Melanie said taking the stack of boxes, "I just don't know what to say, but thank you . . ."

"Oh, no, dear, thank you for giving me a chance to help. It makes me happy to see a young woman in the neighborhood, and a baker, too! Anything you run out of, just come on by and ask. My boys keep me supplied: they say it keeps me off the streets."

And so Melanie found herself walking down to 642 with a stack of cookie boxes in her arms.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's been checking his pantry supplies as this story unfolds. Let him know what you are baking this Christmas at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

Faith Works 12-11-21

Faith Works 12-11-21

Jeff Gill

A cup of sugar, a story for the season

___

[In the Saturdays of Advent, a story is being told on the installment plan; this is part two of four.]

"Hello, Mrs. Morley," said Melanie. "Sorry to bother you this time of day."

It was dark out, but in December that didn't make it very late. Mrs. Morley smiled at her and said without a question "Come on in, dear."

Standing in the older lady's living room, she felt even more awkward than she had pausing at the door before she knocked, but the only way out is forward, as her dad used to say.

"Mrs. Morley, I hate to be a bother, but I'm in the middle of trying to make some sugar cookies with my boys, and like a fool…" Melanie pulled her hand out of her coat pocket, with the measuring cup in her hand. "I thought I had more sugar than I did, and I wondered if I could borrow a cup of sugar from you?"

If anything, the neighbor's smile grew larger. "Oh, how sweet. What a lovely Christmas tradition for your sons to remember; just have a seat and let me go look."

Melanie sat down, and looked around the small and tidy living room, thinking of her own toy strewn family room next door. There was an upright piano across from the door, and a row of framed pictures across the top: a young man in an old hand-tinted picture wearing a military uniform of some kind, a couple in front of a Christmas tree (was that Mrs. Morley?), and a series of candid or school photos of a few young people who got older, left to right, until a wedding photo anchored the far end.

Shaking her head, Mrs. Morley came back into the room with a small bag in her hand. "If only you had needed eggs or flour! I'm exactly where you are, dear, I thought I had sugar and I don't except a few spoonfuls on the bottom of the crock. I am so sorry…"

Melanie got up and said "Please don't apologize. It was just on the chance you might, it will keep until tomorrow I guess."

Holding out the bag, Mrs. Morley replied "I do have just the solution. Mrs. Kern two doors down has plenty; I just called her. She's at 648, and will be waiting for you."

"Oh my, don't go to the bother of…" stuttered Melanie.

Mrs. Morley laughed. "Too late! I called her on the kitchen phone, it's the one she and I gossip on all the time. She's a baker; she used to be a school cook and can't stop making things for all sorts of events. Almost a caterer, she is, except her cooking is always a pleasant surprise."

"But before you go, just to contribute to your holiday project," she said holding the bag out more insistently, "I had some sprinkles and sparkles in red and green sugar that I'm not likely to use soon, which will be perfect for what you're doing. You'll do me a favor by taking them."

Slowly accepting the bag, Melanie got up, and nodded. "Well, if she's waiting for me, I guess . . ."

"That's exactly right, dear. She's happy to hear about a mother wanting to bake cookies for her sons at Christmas, and delighted to help."

After a few more wishes of the season, Melanie was back out the door, down the walk, then turning towards 648, to a nearly neighbor she'd never even met. What had she gotten herself into, she asked herself.

A bag in one pocket, and a measuring cup in the other, Melanie pulled her coat tightly around herself, and headed on down to the house after next, looking for that elusive cup of sugar.

Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's ready for some fresh baked cookies just writing this. Let him know what you think happens next at knapsack77@gmail.com or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.