Skip to main content

Margaret and Mary Katherine

 April is the time of dogwood trees.



Margaret and Mary Katherine
Chapter One

It was a cool, sunshiny day and the twins Margaret and Mary Katherine put on their springtime coats and hats to take a walk down Pennsylvania Avenue.

The dogwood trees were still flowering, some pink and some white. Mary Katherine said, “I wonder why dogwood trees are called dogwood? What’s doggie about them?”

Margaret answered, “I don’t know, but I see that the Kousa dogwood trees are just beginning to flower.” She smiled, “I spy something white with four petals!” Mary Katherine said, “Woof, woof!”

The girls walked toward the new ice cream shop and Mary Katherine reached into her pocket. She found two coins and a bit of lint. She muttered, “Not enough to buy anything but let’s go in.”

The shop was bright and clean. The fancy new wallpaper had wide green and white stripes with clusters of bright red cherries.

A large glass jar with a lid sat on the high counter. It was filled with freshly made ice cream cones. You still could smell the toasty scent in the air.


Margaret and Mary Katherine
Chapter Two

Mr. Nelson greeted the two girls. “Would you like some ice cream today? It’s a little cold outside!” Mary Katherine looked down at the floor. “We forgot to bring enough money.”

Mrs. Nelson said, “That’s okay!” Today we are celebrating the Dogwood Festival. Free ice cream for everyone! What’s your favorite flavor?”

Margaret answered, “I like vanilla and my sister likes strawberry!”

The trip home was very chilly, but the girls happily licked their ice cream cones as they walked along.

In the distance they heard the sound of a marching band tuning up their instruments.

Mary Katherine said, “We had better get home right away to remind Mommy and Daddy about the Dogwood Parade. It’s almost time to go to the park.”

At exactly the same moment, both girls said, “Woof, woof!”



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Genealogy: it’s about connection

Each one of us has two parents, four grandparents, and eight great-grandparents. For every generation you go back, the number of people who procreated, to eventually make you, doubles. When I first started out on my genealogy journey, these numbers astounded me, and still do. I love to think about my DNA stew. It feeds my soul. Playing with numbers Let’s assume each generation makes a baby at age thirty. Perhaps the age should be 16, 18, 20, or 25, but whatever, I picked 30 for this exercise. After all, in the past, people started having children earlier than today, but they also bore many more children and did so over a period of 10, or even 20, years. Stick with me for this simplified and fictional example: For a child born in 1960, there were two parents who were born about 1930. The baby’s four grandparents were born about 1900. The baby’s eight great-grandparents were born in 1870. (You see, I'm doubling the number of grandparents and going back 30 years at the same time....

Personal history

Our son Sammy and daughter-in-law Katie gave me a handful of vintage photographs of unknown people for Christmas this year. They came with this note “We hope these snapshots prove inspiring for your work.” They are. Found photo of unidentified family I’ve been known to stand for hours at flea market stalls and silently flip through boxes and boxes of old photos. What am I looking for? I don’t know. Well, yes, I guess I do. It’s connection. When I was 10, our parents divorced. My brother, sister, and I called it “the war.”  Before the war, with three of us kids at home, our household was bustling. We lived on Summer Street in Royersford where our many friends were just next door. I can still hear the venetian blinds on the front door clang as it was opened and closed a hundred times a day. After the war, it was devastatingly quiet. I was alone much of the time. I can see now exactly what I did about it. I became exceedingly charming, ridiculously helpful...

A time of beginnings

Perhaps 15 years ago or so, we created a Moon Garden at our Coventryville house and it turned out pretty cool. The structure of the garden was native black granite boulders surrounded by white gravel paths.   We planted it with annuals and perennials with gray, silver, or pale green foliage and fragrant white flowers. Here and there we allowed some purple. A Moon Garden is designed to be enjoyed in the evening and on moonlit nights. It was a labor of love. Over several years, our family had suffered much loss: our nephews Michael and Matt, Steve’s mother, my stepfather Will, and my Mom. Chairs at our holiday tables went from a bustling many to a quiet few.   The Moon Garden felt perfect for that time of our lives -- a quiet spot to reflect, heal heavy losses, and soothe jangled nerves. At night the garden glowed. But now doesn’t feel like a time of endings. Steve and I are settled in our retirement routines. It’s been three years since we left the corporate world....