ELLA'S HAT

By Jan Sarchio, Coeur d'Alene

I have no sister, but if I did I would dress her, for her birthday, in long lacy gloves, a slinky sequined dress, feathery pink hat and loafers. Comfort is important.

I would bake her a cake and write "Happy 59th Birthday Gwendolin" across the top and I'd poke sparklers in and light the thing as a show of support for her having braved life with me as her big sister.

There would be cheering, of course, from all the family and friends gathered, each holding a plastic fork and a Dixie paper plate. Grandmaw would already have her napkin tucked into her bodice and she would be watching to make sure she got the second slice, (Gwenie would get the first), one with thick frosting roses. Gmaw would have taken extra insulin in preparation. She's always been a good planner. At least that's what I imagine about her, since I don't have a Grandmaw either.

Of course, Gwen's dog, Skippy, would be under the table. We'd hear his sausage-like arthritic tail thumping the braided rug. Skippy is deaf, but his nose still works and he knows there will be accidents waiting for him to clean up. Skippy, unfortunately, is a pudgy dog. Or he would be, if Gwen actually was real and had a dog. The vet always gives Gwen a talking to about indulging Skip, but she has a deaf ear too and can't help but indulge her baby. They both appreciate Hagen-Das, if that is how it is spelled.

As for me, I'd wear a purple hat. I'm entitled according to age. I can't say I'd look good in it, but I'd feel festive. You can't wear a big purple hat without festivity overtaking you. It is the reason purple hats were invented in the first place. I would smell faintly of Comet Cleanser, since I get the cleaning bug pretty bad before company comes. I always say to myself, as I scrub my kitchen sink, that I should invite people more frequently for incentive's sake. But, I don't. It's hard to change your nature. I would be wearing my favorite cotton shift. It's denim, with pockets to hold my tissue. I am not the type to weep, but my nose runs most of the time. It started running just after I turned 60 and hasn't turned back. I miss my old nose, but beggars can't be choosers, whatever that means.

Fred, my husband and second cousin, would pull his Hohner harmonica out of his plaid front pocket and warble the birthday song. It is always a help to have him lead the way, since otherwise we would be a pack of off key singers, as every group who attempts that song is. But, of course, I don't have a husband either. If I did, I don't think his name would be Fred. It's a name that is hard to take seriously. Though having a too serious husband could be problematic. I wouldn't know. I have stayed out of that particular kettle of fish.

•••

WITH WONDER

The daylight came

and I looked out

What is the world about?

One day comes and goes away

What really happens to the time

and the words we have to say?

Do they blow away like leaves

on a windy day or do we keep

them in a box to open some

sunny day?

The days will pass and if we let

them go, one by one, we'll never

know just where they go

But hold them dear and live them well

and we'll always have them

someday, to tell

- Lynn D. Rusch, Post Falls

•••

REMEMBER

I wonder where the toothpaste went

when I brushed my teeth with Pepsodent?

Jane Russell's cleavage was a sight to behold;

Now we bare all and see every fold.

Remember washboards, wringers washers?

Scrubbing the floor on your hands and knees?

Starched lacy curtains put out to dry?

Church every Sunday,

Please don't you cry?

The romantic moon and the wonderful stars

Now we think of men on the moon and

Who is on Mars.

How easy now -

no complaints, please!

- Virginia Burnet, Coeur d'Alene

•••

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