Shelling Peas

By Amy Coward

 

She laid the neatly folded newspaper clipping on my desk and said, “Look what I got in the mail today!” My co-worker was standing there smiling, holding the newspaper. Her eyes were lit up and she was smiling. The article was about red-heads and had a large photo of women with beautiful red hair. Being a “ginger” herself, she was touched that a friend had been thoughtful enough to send it.

We both admired the article and lamented that this simple mailing of a humble newspaper was a thing of the past. Somehow it meant so much more than an email with a link. It was the real deal. It took someone time to cut the page, write the note and enclose it in an envelope. It meant something.

Our conversation moved to other things that have gone by the wayside. Shelling peas for one thing. When we were growing up, we used to sit on the porch and shell peas .(Well, actually my mother did most of it.) Hours of tedious work, but they were fresh from the garden and so good it was worth the work. And if we had enough, we would freeze some for a winter treat.

My mother used to can pears and make grape jelly from fruit grown in our yard – neither of which I’ve ever done. We would have pear preserves and pies and grape jelly on toast throughout the year. I’ve put knick-knacks in a mason jar or maybe some flowers, but that’s about it.

I look around my house and see needlework handed down to me from my grandmother and great-grandmother. I marvel at how intricate it is and wonder how many hours it took to make a doily or a runner. I learned how to cross-stitch when I was teenager, but soon lost interest and the patience for it. Knit one, pearl two. Who cares? And making your own clothes? I’ve only made one dress in my life (during Home Ec. in high school – remember that?) and the sleeves were uneven so that was the end of that.

The main excuse I’ve had for not doing these meaningful, productive things through the years is lack of time. But now that I have an empty nest and more time than before, I still don’t have the urge to start.

I’ll probably continue buying my clothes and Smucker’s jams and jellies. I’ll find my peas already shelled. I think I’m too far gone to turn back now.

But the one thing I may hang onto is an actual newspaper. I love to flip through the pages and happen upon something I would have never searched for on the web. I’ll probably always love the smell and feel of it in my lap on a Sunday morning. And who knows? I may just come across an interesting article and think of you and I’ll mail you a clipping. By U.S. post. With a stamp.

And you’ll smile.

 

 

Amy Coward is a public relations professional in Columbia, SC. When she is not managing the madness of event planning at Palmetto Health Foundation, she is turning her empty nest upside down looking for fun and finding it. 

 

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