Wednesday, November 3, 2010

A story I've always enjoyed....

May Morgan Potter’s “The Singing House," a story published in the 1932 edition of “PTA Magazine.”



I tied the napkin around Fred’s neck and placed before him his glass of orange juice, his cereal, his big glass of foamy milk. In my own opinion I classified among the superior mothers whose children are brought up in the approved manner of an enlightened day.
Fred ate it all dutifully and then slipped down from his chair.
‘Now can I go over to Jimmy’s, Mother?’ he asked.
‘But Fred,’ I remonstrated, ‘you were over there yesterday, yes, and the day before. Why not have Jimmy come here today?’

‘Oh, he wouldn’t want to.’ Fred’s lip quivered in spite of his six years of manhood. ‘Please, mother.’

‘Why do you like Jimmy’s house better than ours, son?’ I pursued. It came to me suddenly that Fred and all his companions were always wanting to go to Jimmy’s house.

‘Why,’ he explained hesitantly, ‘it’s ‘cause—it’s ‘cause Jimmy’s house is a singing house.’

‘A singing house?’ I questioned. ‘Now what do you mean by that?’

‘Well,’ Fred was finding it hard to explain, ‘Jimmy’s mother hums when she sews; and Annie-in-the-kitchen, she sings when she cuts out cookies; and Jimmy’s daddy always whistles when he comes home.’ Fred stopped a moment and added, ‘Their curtains are rolled clear up and there’s flowers in the windows. All the boys like Jimmy’s house, mother.’

‘You may go, son,’ I said quickly. I wanted him out of the way so I could think.

I looked around my house. Everyone told me how lovely it was. There were oriental rugs. We were paying for them on installments. That was why there wasn’t any Annie-in-the-kitchen here. We were paying for the overstuffed furniture and the car that way, also. Perhaps that was why Fred’s daddy didn’t whistle when he came in the house.

I put on my hat and went over to Jimmy’s house, even if it was ten o’clock and Saturday morning. It came to me that Mrs. Burton would not mind being interrupted in the middle of the morning. She never seemed to be in a hurry. She met me at the door with a towel around her head.

‘Oh, come in. I have just finished the living room. No indeed, you are not interrupting. I’ll just take off this headdress and be right in.’

While I waited, I looked around. The rugs were almost threadbare; the curtains, dotted Swiss, ruffled and tied back; the furniture, old and scarred but freshened with new cretonnes. A table with a bright cover held a number of late magazines. In the window were hanging baskets of ivy and wandering Jew, while a bird warbled from his cage hanging in the sun. Homey, that was the effect.

The kitchen door was open and I saw Jerry, the baby, sitting on the clean linoleum, watching Annie as she pinched together the edges of an apple pie. She was singing; singing “Springtime in the Rockies .”

Mrs. Burton came in smiling. ‘Well,’ she asked, ‘what is it? For I know you came for something; you are such a busy woman.’

‘Yes,’ I said abruptly, ‘I came to see what a singing house is like.’

Mrs. Burton looked puzzled. ‘Why, what do you mean?’

‘Fred says he loves to come here because you have a singing house. I begin to see what he means.’

‘What a wonderful compliment!’ Mrs. Burton’s face flushed. ‘But of course my house doesn’t compare with yours. Everyone says you have the loveliest house in town.’

‘But it isn’t a singing house,’ I objected. ‘It’s just a house without a soul. Tell me how you came to have one.’

‘Well,’ smiled Mrs. Burton, ‘if you really want to know. You see, John doesn’t make much. I don’t think he ever will. He isn’t the type. We have to cut somewhere, and we decided on non essentials. I am not very strong and when Jerry came we decided Annie was an essential if the children were to have a cheerful mother. Then there are books, magazines, and music.’ She pointed to the radio. ‘These are things the children can keep inside. They can’t be touched by fire or reverses so we decided they were essentials. Of course good wholesome food is another essential, but we don’t buy things out of season, and our bills are not large. The children’s clothes are very simple and I make them. But when all these things are paid for, there doesn’t seem to be much left for rugs and furniture. But we find we get almost as much pleasure from our long country walks, with Jerry in her buggy, as we would in a car, especially if we had to worry about financing it. We don’t go into debt if we can avoid it. Moreover, we are happy’, she concluded.

‘I see,’ I said thoughtfully. I looked over at Jerry and Fred in the corner. They had manufactured a train out of match boxes and were loading it with wheat. They were scattering it a good deal, but wheat is clean and wholesome.

I went home. My oriental rugs looked faded. I snapped my curtains to the top of the windows, but the light was subdued as it came through the silken draperies. The overstuffed couch looked bulky, and not nearly so inviting as Mrs. Burton’s old day-bed with pillows you were not afraid to use. [My house was not a singing house.] I determined to make it sing .

 
This is another story I have found that I truly enjoy reading.  For it is not "things" that make a home and family, it is the people who live within.  Size of a home does not matter, nor do the contents, but if you have the basic essentials and lots of love, then you are very rich indeed.  Count your blessings my friends, we all have many to be thankful for.  Remember to give to those less fortunate and pray for them.  For we never know in life, one day we may be the ones needing the prayers. During this holiday season through the hustle and bustle take some time to reflect on what's important.  To really see those less fortunate. I recently told one of my friends through blogging about our family Sunday nights. We watch funny home videos with our girls for laughs, then after we watch Extreme Makeover home edition.  After every show we talk about how blessed we have been and ways we can help and enrich others lives.  Some shows really do offer valuable lessons. I want to raise my girls to be part of the change in America. To respect differences and do good unto others. To be respectful and kind. To encourage learning and growth in a technologically advanced world, yet learn the essentials to be self sufficient in life.
 
Have a wonderful evening and be sure to give thanks every day for our blessings, not just at the holiday season.
 
These girls who bring my life so much joy and meaning....


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This man who gives us so much, loves us, provides for us and completes us. We are so blessed.

Blessings
Jill

5 comments:

Life In a Little House said...

Cute Post...wonderful pictures of your blessings!! What a Beautiful Family you have~ and now is a great time of year to reflect on this before we all get caught up in the rush of the holidays ~Thanks for sharing ~Love Heather

Mandie said...

Oh Jill, we are so blessed in deed!!!! You did a beautiful job with this post. I loved the story so much and it means so much to me. I grew up with so little in our family of my mom, my sister, and I. We moved a lot and I changed schools often. But it never bothered me. I knew that my mom loved me and I never felt like I was doing without. Well until I was in high school, lol. I got a job and that fixed that. The story is so true!!! I fear that too many get their self respect from "things" and not what is inside of us. We need to teach our children that it is more important to give then it is to receive. Jill I feel so refreshed reading this. Sometimes I feel alone in my thoughts of simplicity but now I know I am not. Thank you so much for being such a sweet friend.

Vic said...

Indeed SISTA. I love all your posts but this is sooooo very RICH! Love ya lady

Angie Berry said...

Wonderful story! Yes, we are so very blessed and rich beyond what we even deserve! If only we could be reminded of it every single minute of our day!

Camille said...

You are blessed Jill! For sure! :)