The Real Deal

     She was sitting in the living room of her first home, a little square house with cream colored siding and red bricks around the bottom.  There were awnings over the windows, just like many of the other 1940's houses near the university. This house had once been the home of a music teacher--the wrought iron lyre on the porch and the two separate front entrances attested to that.  Before her, dozens of perfect squares of pale green gingham were being folded and ironed into triangles.  It was her first time sewing picots, and these would edge the quilt that she was making for her baby's crib.  Her baby.  Her first very own little boy would arrive in just a few weeks.  The cool breeze of a perfect spring day attracted her gaze toward the open door.  There was a large tree in the front yard, out on the park strip where the grass was looking especially green.   
     The memory of her recent vocal performance for the university hovered about her.  She had wanted that solo so badly, perhaps because she felt her little one nudging aside any dreams of a vocal career.  Mostly she wanted it because it was a beautiful piece of a well-known and powerful work of music, and it would be performed with the orchestra.  The real deal.  When her daddy saw her up on that stage, with the orchestra and chorus behind her, with motherhood before her, he could not keep the video camera still for the emotion he felt.   She was in the very spring of her life, right at the edge of summer. 
     She was only 9 months into her experiment.  It didn't even seem like an experiment to her.  She was full of hope and confidence.  She had prepared her whole life for this.  Of course she would succeed.
     Another day, she walked out of the grocery store into the fragrant breeze of a blossomy April evening.  Before her was a procession led by her husband who was holding a wiggly, chubby, 9 month old girl.  A store clerk followed him, pushing one cart piled with food.  The next cart was full as well, though smaller.  Just the right size for the 7 year old brunette who was proudly pushing it.  The 10 year old brother was chatting happily as he walked beside her.  He was empty handed, but mindful of the box of donuts lurking in one of those carts.  A 5 year old beauty, with the looks of her father, skipped merrily along. Sometimes she still liked to ride in the cart, while at other times she chose to run with the big kids. Yet another full cart of food was occupied by a little golden boy, age 2, sharing all of the wisdom held under his curls with his 11 year old brother whom he adored.  The 11 year old, on the verge of young manhood, was adoring in return as he pushed the cart toward the family van.  The mother followed behind, thinking about spring, and becoming aware of her experiment.
     Here she was, 12 years later, gathering safely in hundreds of pounds of food for her family, now of eight.  She thought about the happy, confident maiden folding picots for a quilt.  She thought about the many times that her confidence had been shaken. She understood what an experiment the past 12 years had been.  Though she had jumped into family life willingly, and with her eyes as open as they could be at 19, she'd had no idea what it was going to be like.  There had been so many times that she had felt a failure--that she'd felt disillusioned by her own expectations.  This was NOT how she had imagined it would be.  She remembered the dark times of recent days, and the many, many worries she had struggled with over the years.  They seemed to fade behind the bright scene before her.  She realized that for today, the hard work and struggle and planning and praying--the falling down and getting back up--were paying off. Here before her was a picture that had a hint of success in it.  Could this possibly be an image from the dreams of that headstrong young woman?  No. Though she had imagined many scenes as pretty, she would never have known that it could be like this.  So deep, so good, so glad.  The real deal.