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Showing posts from January, 2012
Rosemary heard Charlotte pounding up her back patio steps well before she saw her.   Charlotte was singing a song, loud and off key, but singing just the same.   It was a Sunday school song that Rosemary remembered from her past.                 “Manny, just where do you think Char learned of that song?”   Rosemary asked him.   To her knowledge Charlotte had never attended Sunday school.   Charlotte’s Uncle Paul was doing a fine job raising her.   Sadly Charlotte’s parents were killed in a plane crash six years ago, when Charlotte was two.   Paul owned the hardware store next door and lived in the apartment above it.   Since Paul had the hardware store to run Sunday morning’s Charlottes’ attendance to Sunday school was almost nonexistence.   However, Paul behaved more Christian than most Christians did, he was a gentle soft spoken man that did very well at raising Charlotte.   A time or two Rosemary had witnessed Paul reading and teaching Charlotte of the bible and the many storie
Missing her family and her sisters are just a way of life for Rosemary.   Her parents are sewing their wild oats and traveling all over the world, having raised three daughters.   They are rediscovering each other and celebrating life.                   Rosemary is the oldest of the three McDougal girls.   She has always been a bookworm and studious type with her nose in a book snuggled into a comfy chair, dreaming of adventure.   Rosemary’s parents displayed fabulous insight in naming the three sisters.   At very young ages they all developed personalities resembling their names.   Rosemary is just as her name sounds, pretty like a rose.   She has a sweet smelling personality with the potential of being prickly and thorny.   The nursery rhyme, “Mary, Mary quite contrary, how does your garden grow?”   Sings its’ song in Rosemary’s life, she loves smelling the earth while digging in the dirt planting seeds and seeing them grow.                   Henna the middle sister, very uni
Crossing the street at the end of the block Rosemary looked down Main Street.   The town of Huckleberry, lakeshore on Lake Tipawee, truly was as charming and enchanting as the name suggests.   The paved cobblestone street in which she was standing was built back in the 1800.   Each stone meticulously maintained as they were when horses and carriages traveled on them.   Lampposts happily lined the lane and were still lit every night, regardless of the weather, which for the most part was sunny, even in winter.   Rosemary didn’t mind the snow it was just part of her Montana life.   Thinking of this fact she pulled her long red wool coat closed and knotted her matching checkered scarf tighter around her neck, it was a bit chillier than she had thought.                   Starting up the opposite side of the street she passed the “Tackle Shop,” owned by Fred Thompson.   Fishing was a main attraction and hobby for locals and tourists alike, so his store was born out of his hobby as well
      Meet Huckleberry                 Rosemary loved to take her walk around Huckleberry first thing in the morning, strolling left out of her store “Buy the Book,”   Tops prancing along next to her with tail wagging and glancing up at Rosemary looking for approval her chocolate eyes conveying   happiness.                   Huckleberry was a quaint little lakeside town with beautiful views of Lake Tipawee framed with the Mountains all around.   Huckleberry existed purely on the townspeople’s love of the Lake, and a longing to keep things simple.   Everyone had a laid back comforting attitude, truly caring about one another, and the better of the community.                 Rosemary owned the lot next to her store, this was the future home of Mainlot, the neighborhood square.   Someday this lot would hopefully be full of flowers, paths, maybe a tree.   Offering the town a place to gather and share in each other’s life even more.                 Passing   “Betty’s Bakery”
     As she stood back, admiring the busy scene full of festive townspeople, her friends, and even Old Man Roofus, she knew that this was the best present she could have asked for.        “Is that not the way life is?” she asked Manny.   “Challenges are thrust upon us, and we succeed and gain strength we didn’t know we were capable of.   In the process we learn more about ourselves, our friends, and our lives.   We become enriched by the process.   It’s a present you didn’t expect.   It’s a present worth more than anyone would know to ask for.   That’s the magic of the season, the magic of life.”      As Rosemary walked into the store for a much needed break, a red envelope on her desk behind the cash register caught her eye.   It bore writing on the front that read: ‘Please don’t open until Valentines’ Day!’   “That’s so far away!” she exclaimed.      With a sigh, she said aloud, “Thank goodness for Ginger Cream Cookies!”   How else could she make it until February withou
     With so many chores to do and odds and ends to tend to, the Moss Main Winter Festival came quickly.   The vacant lot next to the book store was hers, and it was an ideal location for the townspeople to gather, so it was the default location for the town’s winter festival.   Volunteering to be the president of the ‘Winter Carnival’, as the locals called it, just added to her already busy daily life.   Taking on something this big without thinking it through may not have been the best choice, but Mrs. Nancy (her only employee) had convinced her that she should be the one to do it.   Plus, this way, she could have some control over what would happen later in the year, with plans for a court yard and gazebo to be built on the property.      Rosemary stood at the arched entranceway, Manny by her side, scanning the winter land she and her team had created together, with the newly found angel perched beautifully on top of the tree.   Snowflakes seemed to whisper from the sky, remind
          Old Man Roofus was always Rosemary’s first customer of the day.   He always bought a cup of coffee to go and was consistently very pleasant.   She looked forward to their daily morning exchanges.   He was a big mystery to her, though, as he never spoke of family, friends, or children of his own.   Rosemary didn’t even know where he lived, although she was quite sure he was not homeless, due to the fact that he was always very well dressed and smelled of Old Spice cologne, just like her Grandfather used to wear.      Having finished the cookie baking, Rosemary jumped into the task of unwrapping ornaments, memories from Christmases past.   Going through the ornaments, she thought, is always a trip down a snowy memory lane, where footprints in the snow can lead straight toward one’s heart.   A faded red and white candy cane made from play-dough, with hardened fingerprints, provided fond thoughts of home.   There was the paper cut-out green tree that her sister had made when
How in the world do I manage to get myself into these things?” Rosemary asked herself aloud, as she rolled what seemed like her hundredth ball of cookie dough in crystal white sugar and placed it gently on her cookie sheet.      “I just jump into these things, Manny, never thinking of details.”   Manny was the name she had given God when she was a little girl, and she had continued warmly calling him Manny out of habit, as if he was standing next to her having a cup of Joe.   “I never take into consideration things like who’s going to make and sell all these cookies in the bookstore?   How come you let me get myself into this stuff, Manny?   Do you think I can raise enough money for a huge Christmas tree with decorations and all?”   Rosemary was so busy talking and mixing that she almost forgot the ginger and nearly burned a batch as she stepped on her black lab, Tops, who was her partner in crime, and always underfoot.           While she was trying to concentrate on t