The Reindeer Keeper

My mother and her older sister graduated from a nursing school that was part of the hospital. Back then there were two local nursing schools. Both have since closed. I recently found a handwritten speech my mother must have given during Class Night prior to their graduation. This surprised me because I never saw my mother in that light-giving speeches-but then-she was my mother and mothers have sides their children never see. Some of what she wrote I couldn't read as it was written in pencil in 1939. She started out with a class history-stating that "three years prior, on September 11th, twenty-six young and ambitious girls entered training in the Hepburn School of Nursing. Everything was so different. It took us several weeks to become accustomed to the routine. During the first year, four of our girls left for other vocations." She explained that near the end of October, they were placed 'on duty.'  That meant they carried water and maybe helped an older studen

Little kids have their favorite books-the ones they most always pick out when you sit down to read to them. It doesn't matter how many books they have. It's those certain ones you end up reading over and over again. And if you're tired and you try to skip a page or even a paragraph-they'll catch you. I know because I tried doing that a few times and every time I'd get caught-especially if it was a Richard Scarry book. 'Best Story Book Ever' was a favorite Scarry book on those nights before bedtime. Along with, "Is This the House of Mistress Mouse?"; "Chipmunk's Birthday Party"; "The Country Mouse and The City Mouse" and more, there was one particular story read so many times those pages are now worn and tattered. I could recite it today-word for word, from beginning to end without even opening the book. That particular story, 'Pierre Bear'-was read every single time we sat down to read. And if we weren't readin

I have my grandmother to thank for introducing me to books written by Laura Ingalls Wilder. I didn't realize at the time how those books and that writer would influence me or how the storylines would follow me through adulthood as favorite ones ever read. I don't remember how old I was when I found "Little House in the Big Woods" wrapped in tissue paper under the Christmas tree. It would be the first of many of this author's books I'd receive. I never had a favorite. From "The Long Winter" to "On the Banks of Plum Creek" I absorbed every word. I could see Laura living in her sod house or surviving what must have seemed a never-ending winter. Sometimes I'd take one with me when going to play in the chicken coop clubhouse and sometimes, I found time to read. The books fit right in to the surroundings since the chicken coop had been gutted and filled with the remains of an abandoned one-room schoolhouse. It mirrored the classroom in the

There's something about licking beaters covered in cake batter. Growing up my cousin and I would mix the ingredients of a Jiffy cake mix. Then we'd not only lick the beaters-we'd eat the cake mix as well. Not once did we get sick. I've thought of those times when making cupcakes these days with a certain little 3-year old. If she had her way she'd do more than lick the beaters.  It's different when you're the adult doing the baking. You get the job done-clean up-and that's that. But it's amazing when you are the grandparent doing the baking and you have a little helper by your side. Cookies-cakes-cupcakes-they all take on a different meaning. Suddenly flour becomes snow and sprinkles fall like rain. Perfection in rolling out the sugar cookie dough or frosting the cookies goes out the window. Imagination takes over. Forget the flawless cut-out cookies. After awhile-forget the cookie cutters. Anyone can cut out a horse-a heart-a gingerbread boy. But n