The Lutheran Ladies' Circle: Plucking One String Read Online Free PDF Page A

littlest guy was able to crawl inside after they hollowed ’em out. He sat outside all night, jumping from the pumpkin and scaring Trick-or-Treaters away from the door. He was pretty slimy by bedtime.”
    “Oh my. Well, visitors certainly noticed your big pumpkin here. But in the future, Roger, I’d appreciate it if you’d simply give it to me, rather than tearing apart my display. I spent quite a bit of time creating the arrangement.”
    “I’ll grow a bigger one for you next year. It’ll be huge.”
    Vera paused, replaying his words. Men liked to miss the point of a conversation. She mentally recast her message, amping up the disapproval, but Roger was talking again.
    “And I’m guessing that it’ll make at least 30 pies.”
    “Wait. What are you saying? I called to ask you to come get it.”
    “No. Keep it. You women are always begging for pies for this or that affair.”
    “Roger, I made pumpkin pies from scratch once, and that experience was enough to last a lifetime. They tasted exactly like the canned filling you buy at the grocery store. It was so much work, I vowed I’d gladly pay Mr. Libbey or Mr. Dole to do it for me.”
    “It was a gift, Vera. My gift to God. I gave my biggest and my best. I sure haven’t had anybody call and ask me to come get the gift I threw in the collection plate. Keep it. God’ll use it.” He hung up.
    Vera stared at the receiver in her hand. Since Jim had died, she was trying to be bendable. Truly she was, but other people weren’t. Life had been a lot easier when she hit them between the eyes with the bare-naked truth.

Seasons of Change  

    LORENA HEAVED THE green totes from the spare bedroom closet and dragged them in a predetermined order into her living room. She opened the top of the first carton to reveal red ceramic dinner plates dotted with white snowflakes. She’d used these every Christmas for the last twenty years. It was comforting to have traditions. Why did people feel they had to change things ?
    Tapping the plate against her palm, she gazed at the unadorned, artificial tree in the front room. She wished it would break or fall apart, so she could get one of those new ones that had lights she’d never have to remove.
    She scanned the itemized labels on each tote. Popping the top on the “Lights” box, she pulled out three strings of miniature twinklers, each neatly wound around a cardboard frame. One string had a note attached to it: “Flashes quickly-Start with this one.” She began weaving it through the fake branches.
    It always made her think about Ralph, her ex. Every year of their marriage, she’d nagged him for several weeks to accompany her to the tree lot. After they’d hauled the perfect tree home, he’d lay under it, cussing, batting the lower branches, and turning the screws in the base as she directed him.
    “A little to the left. No! That’s too much. Now back right. No! Back left.” Inevitably he’d give up, flogging the project with unholy words, and Lorena ended up turning the tree so its tilt wasn’t noticeable from the entryway.
    After one evergreen bout, she pleaded with him to help put on the lights, a job she hated because she was too short to reach the top branches. It took him approximately three minutes to stuff the strings around the tree. He hadn’t exactly thrown them on, but green cords looped in the air from the branches, and most of the lights were bunched in the middle.
    I didn’t say a word, not a word . She had smiled sweetly, thanked him for helping, then redid them the next day before he came home from work. It was only years later, she suspected that he’d done such a shoddy job so she’d never ask him to do it again. And darn if it hadn’t worked.
    Lorena moved her step-stool methodically around her man-made tree, placing lights deep between the limbs and then connecting string #2, “Slow Flasher.” She hung a crocheted lace angel at the end of string #3, so she’d know exactly where the end was