​​​Alexandria Camarda’s Portrait: 3-13-2022​

​​Creative Non-Fiction​

​​Nobody’s Darling but Mine.​

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As a child, my mother would sing to me, “be honest, be faithful and kind, and be nobody’s darling but mine.” The lullaby was simple, but she made it the security blanket of my childhood. “Be nobody’s darling but mine,” went hand in hand with her most clever ploy. Whenever I would look guilty my mother would pull me aside and duck down to my level to look me in the eyes with kindness, whispering with reassurance. “Please tell me, Lil, just be honest with me. If you are always honest with me, we can figure out the problem together.” That right there was the key to our relationship and the reason I was never afraid to come home and ask for help, even when I was ashamed.

I have the same first name as she does. Alexandria is a family name along with Lillian passed down from mother to daughter on my mother’s side of the family going back at least 9 generations. My mother has no middle name. Instead, when I introduce her, it was by her nickname, Sandy. Around family, she is always called Dolly by our cousins, aunts, and uncles. To all her grandchildren and great-grandchildren, she is known as VoVo, the Portuguese word for grandmother. My mother is half Portuguese and half Italian. She has olive skin that is so soft. Raven black hair that was kept short all my life. I don’t think I have ever seen her with a different hairstyle. She could cut and dye her hair up until her 50s, after that I helped.

My mother is shorter than me, around four feet tall. This would make it hard for her to reach the top shelves. It became my job to climb on the counters to get to the very top shelves of our cabinets when we would be baking for the holidays coming around. If you weren’t paying attention my mother would dust you with flour or smack you with thick floppy dough, thwap! I’ll never forget the sound of tacky dough slapping my cheek, and flour flying everywhere. She trilled in mischievous laughter clapping her hands together feeling very triumphant, stars twinkling in her chocolate brown eyes. My mom loves to joke it’s a rite of passage in our family. When a Lima would bring home a friend we could tell right away if she approved or not based on how hard she was teasing the new person. Based on the idea it took work and effort to come up with a clever razz to poke in lighthearted fun.

From an early age, around 9 years old, I can remember her being violently ill at least once or twice every few years. At my age, I couldn’t do much to help her but keep her company and get her little things like tea or toast. She struggles with chronic hernias. Mom has had over 24 operations to repair hernias in her lifetime. At this point late in her age, they are unwilling to do any more surgeries unless the benefit outweighs the risk. Most of our relationship developed in hospitals at my mother’s bedside. The nights they would make me go home we would talk on the phone, and she would sing to me:

Come sit by my side little darling

Come lay your cool head on Momma’s brow

And promise me that you will always

Be honest, faithful, and kind

And be nobody’s darling but mine

A lullaby to scare away nightmares. A voice with the sun’s warmth in tone, sweet like honey. Reassuring me that everything was going to be alright. Whenever I am feeling unsure of myself, I turn to my mother, and a few words are sung from her lullaby will ground me. By the glow on her cheeks, I can tell she is happy. I can only imagine the energy and strength it takes to raise four children. When hernias were not keeping her in bed, she was a workhorse. I’ve never seen anyone clean the way she does, it has always been this way with her. Pull out all the couches, wipe down the heater vents, vacuum the couch cushions, she was very meticulous and did all the housework herself, except for dusting. That glorious responsibility was mine.

My mother was the first person to introduce arts and crafts to me, she taught me how to draw and make flower arrangements. I learned how to make crafts, turning an empty tuna fish can, some fabric, and potpourri into a cute little summer hat that smelled good. She inherited this creativity from her mother. My mother often reminisces over memories of her mom. I never met my grandmother, but I can tell she was a good woman by the way my mom talks about her. My mother told me; that my grandmother knew I was going to be a girl when my mom was pregnant. Unfortunately, she did not get to see, her mother who passed away on July 4th, 1980. I was born in October, and my mom swears her mother made a deal with God. After three boys my mother was hoping and praying for me. My mom snuck in a picture of the sonogram to her mother’s resting place to be buried with her, so she could know in heaven.

Mom grew up with a rough childhood. The only time she would see her father, as he was there to steal from her mother and beat her mother. One time my mother hit her father over the head with a brick because he was strangling her mother. My mom is sweet as pie, compassionate, and kind. Until you threaten or harm one of her children or an innocent person. One time my brother Tony was hanging out with the wrong crowd. He was being grounded and snuck out of the house using his dirt bike to get to his friend’s house who lived on the other side of the woods down the dirt road. When my mom found out he was missing, she knew exactly where he was. She took her Oldsmobile around the block to the next few roads over and parked right in front of Gloria’s house. Gloria was the mother of Tony’s friend. She was bad news, inappropriate with minors, and let kids do drugs and drink in her home.  When she got there and knocked on the door and confronted the other mother, she demanded her son. Gloria tried to play dumb, but she couldn’t pull the wool over my mother’s eyes. My mom knew Gloria was a hungry old wolf. When she refused to bring my brother Tony out, by now neighborhood kids who were hanging around and playing in the street were gathering a crowd around the conflict about to go down.

My mother spots the yellow fender of my brother’s dirt bike from a split in the wooden fence. She marches over to the backyard fence and rips the gate open. She sees the Yamaha XT250 and proceeds to take it off its kickstand and roll the two hundred- and ninety-one-pound dirt bike over the grass and off the curb to the trunk of her car. She pops the trunk with her key, her adrenaline must have been pumping harder than pistons in a Chevy Nova down a drag raceway.  She has this look of determination on her face, I can see it through the review mirror. I turn around in the front passenger seat to get a better view out the back window, now all the kids are crowded around my mom’s car and Tony comes strolling out from the backyard. The kids all look cocky and amused. I think I heard the thud when all their jaws dropped, when my mother bared down and braced herself, lifting that big hulk of a bike, all by herself! Putting it into the back of her car. Tony was pale. His arms weren’t folded over his chest anymore. He gulped and got into the car, we left and went home.

 Honestly, my mom has been through a lot. What has kept her going all these years is her faith in God. She has a personal relationship with Jesus, she talks to him all day long as if he were sitting right next to her. She is in constant prayer. She is very spiritual. She is loving and welcoming to those new to the Christian faith. I specifically remember my mother telling me a story of her youth. She told me:

I remember being put in charge of Sunday school at my church. I was young and wanted to start making lesson plans for the children. When I asked the priest for a bible to work from, he told me no! Only men could have the bible, only priests. When they told me to pray to the saints, I didn’t, I went to the main man. Jesus.

My mother loves the church. She would bring us all but one night of the week. She was considered an elder in the church and would assist in the service. Instilling the love for Jesus in my life by leading an example on her own. She has shown me real miracles of God. She is a holy woman. She is wise.

When I was younger my mother tried to help me with my weight problem. She would walk me down our road and the highway to the local deli. After the walk, we would get breakfast sandwiches and orange juice. My mother approached me with encouragement, not judgment. What I find most impressive about my mother, she supports me in what makes me happy and healthy. She never raises any concerns about my choices, only leaves me a soft cushion to land on when I have made a mistake. I’ve never been ridiculed by my mother. One time she did threaten to disown me, after chasing me around the house and cornering me inside the shower tub where I hid like a cry baby. She wanted to check my sugar, which consists of stabbing one of my fingers with a sharp pointy implement of death. I ran away from her and jumped in the shower, closing the sliding glass door. “Lillian! If you don’t get out here right now! I will disown you!”, she was very exasperated and concerned my blood sugar might be too high. Diabetes runs in our family. When she said that, it was the only thing worse than getting poked in the finger, I stepped out.

My mother also taught me how to cook. You can imagine those adventures. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been chased around the house with a cucumber joke or slapped with a raw steak. Always when I least expect it to! She’s good at that. The first pastry she taught me how to bake was Apple pie. She had a very simple recipe. The trick was to cut your apples consistently. Sitting around the round wooden table with soft cushions and high back wooden chairs. She bought this kitchen dining set just for me, so I would be more comfortable at the table with her. It was hard to get chairs that would support my weight so I would not eat with her in the kitchen before. She made a sacrifice so we could be together and saved up her money so we could sit in the quaint little kitchen. The kitchen was always warm, she usually had something in the oven. Mom taught me when it comes to baking, 350 degrees works perfectly for cookies and pies. Mom taught me how to tell my food was done cooking without timers. I could either tell by the smell wafting around the kitchen or visually she taught me how the meat would pull from bones when cooked properly. Her house always smelled of sweetness, a vanilla and cinnamon aroma commonly lingered. She always smelled of garlic and olive oil with some salt.

My mother worked hard all her life. Most of her jobs were domestic, cleaning and cooking. Once she was a chef for little flower, a foundation with housing for people with disabilities. Her food is the best food I have ever tasted, restaurants included. She catered to almost every family function and church get-together. Rarely use a measuring spoon, “just a pinch of this” and a “pinch of that.” When I was a baby, she was a bus driver, she would take me to work with her. I would be in my car seat in the very first seat behind her. When my father was building his own mason business my mother did all the paperwork and secretary work. I remember countless hours laying on the plush carpet in the office room. She was sitting behind a big metal brown desk. There was a plastic floor mat for the rolling chair. She was always working with checks. There were so many pens and sticky post-it notes.

She had a way with animals and young children, especially babies. Her eyes would just sparkle and lure them in, as soon as she is noticed you hear cooing and soft amused giggles. Rosy cheeks glow with delight as this child encounters my mother. This happened a lot when we went grocery shopping. She would talk and wave to every child. Often, we would get comments “oh that’s strange, my son doesn’t usually like strangers!”, she had a special way about her. I swear she is a forest nymph as no animal has turned her away. My mom knows how to approach animals to make them not feel threatened. She loved horses, her favorite was Angel, a white palomino. She also loved Dixie, a paint pony who went blind and could follow the sound of my mother’s voice. Her heart’s desire found her when I was about 16, a black mare she named Beauty. She had chickens too! I oversaw collecting the eggs and feeding the horses twice a day. Split a bale of hay between the lot of them, scoop a grain in each bucket, and break the ice on the water supply to keep it flowing. My mom is short, my dad built her a platform with stairs so she could lead the horse up and then hop on top of the saddle and lead the horse, mounted. We used to ride with our neighbors.

Back in Long Island, we lived in Brookhaven, right behind the Brookhaven Labs. Down two blocks and through the woods and over a hill where the metal fencing has been ripped away. The backyard of the Brookhaven Lab was huge, miles and miles. I remember seeing my mother so happy and free as she rode her horse, Angel. She used to have this trick with Angel. She would have her big blonde horse lie on the sand in the corral. Angel would push her weight onto her back hooves and stretch her front legs until she was low enough to collapse on the ground with a soft thud. When Angel was on her side my mom would get on top of her, and lay on her side toward her back in the sand. Angel would get up at my mom’s que and my mom would wiggle her way into the upright position on the horse while her horse was getting up! I never saw her fall trying to practice that trick but she sure was proud of it.

She has rescued baby birds, squirrels, and kittens. She has the softest heart I know. She taught me how to mend animals and help them recover, returning them to the wild if possible. She was the one that figured out I had adopted baby pigeons and not geese as I was so assured.  I was taking my trash out to the dumpster one night and I heard “peep, peep peep!” I found two little birds nestled low in the grass near the curb of the parking lot. She came over that day and helped me try to identify them. I wound up caring for them until they were ready to fly, then transferred them to a rehoming foundation.

Flea markets and garage sales were her toast and jam. She loves the summer and all the yard sales that go on every weekend. “The big ones happen on Sunday!” she would tell me while wrestling me away from AOL (America Online) leaving my computer to fend for itself. Upon one of our road trips, after we were lost 3 times and 2 hours late, we finally made it to our friend/family Connie in Maryland. Sticky. You can feel the thickness in the atmosphere from the muggy weather, my cousins lived next to a farm. First time I saw a cow up close and personal. My mom would hit up the flea market halfway between our home and my cousins. It was a multifamily flee market. The plywood stalls smelled like cow manure wafting its way through the parking lot from the farm just behind the large building. You really couldn’t get her out of any shop, she’d tell you she was going in just for one thing, come out with two shopping carts! “It was on sale!” was all she could say. Shrugging her right shoulder and curling her lower lip down slightly. Her palm was turned toward the ceiling and as she shrugged her hand gestured lofted, she had nothing to offer to the situation beyond what it was. A good sale. Her only other excuse would be “I’m saving up for a holiday. Birthday’s come by all the time.” In the top of her bedroom closest, she has a present collection. Every after-holiday sale she would stock up on the gift sets being sold at half price after the season is over.

When I was growing up, Christmas and Easter were my mother’s favorite times of the year. How she loved to cook for our family get-togethers and hide eggs for the children. We colored Easter eggs until I was 28. Let the kids open a present on Christmas eve and the rest on Christmas morning, that was her tradition. She reminds me of an elf. Giddy and cheerful. Her aura is a brilliant glow. Her light might not be as bright as it once was, but the familiar coals burn with amber embers, reflecting on her strength within.  She spends her holidays at home now. She cannot travel very far because she is very ill. The family brings her a plate of food to help her feel included. I know she still misses participating. I moved four and a half hours away from my mom. The last time I saw her was two years ago, maybe three. We spent Christmas in her basement apartment. Tea and toasted tuna fish sandwiches were what worked for us.

At a certain point in my mother’s 60s, she had her last hernia surgery. The Doctors will not operate on her anymore unless it is a life-or-death situation. She had all but a foot of her intestines removed and left with an extended bowl. She began losing nutritional value in her diet as all her food was just passing right through her system without absorbing the nutrients. This affected my mother, pushing her into early Alzheimer’s. It was very sad when this happened. I grieved for my mother. She lost her cognitive ability and had poor judgment. I had to wrestle her away from the door one night I was visiting her. She was naked in all but a diaper and a thin robe hanging loosely around her body and a Santa hat. She was trying to get outside, into a snow blizzard to retrieve a tablet from her vehicle. She was very adamant because she thought I needed the tablet to do homework on. She was worried I would leave and thought getting me the tablet would keep me longer. I had to convince her I wouldn’t leave and that I could do my homework another time.

If my mother has taught me anything in my life, is that she is constantly and consistently there for me. I know without a doubt I can call her any time of day and night and she will be happy to hear from me. I know I can tell her my problems and she will listen with compassion and pray with me. I learned compassion from my mother. She taught me how to give to others in need. How to appreciate what blessings you have. One time, when I was in my mid-twenties, I was exploring my sexuality and was frequently visiting an adult club. My mom was concerned for my safety, so I offered to tame her worries and bring her to the club. The night I brought her the owner of the club and several of my friends put her worries to rest with reassurance. I can’t believe how many times I must have embarrassed my mother. Yet she still supports me. My mom is my biggest cheerleader.

I can’t recall how many road trips we have had; I only remember us getting lost a lot. It was usually my fault. I was fine on big roads like the interstates, she had taught me which numbers to follow to get back to Long Island from anywhere in the states. My mom also loves camping. We would camp at Wild Wood Estate Park or Smith Point Beach Park. Wild Wood had more forest around it, there was a beach down the hill at the end of the park down from a wooden deck with a long staircase. Smith Point Beach had sand everywhere. There was a worn-down old road between parking slots for camping. There was the lower ring and outer ring that was closer to the waves. My mother loved to go camping in her mobile home. She would take down the canopy and set up the picnic table with a plastic tablecloth and clips. A radio on the end of the table playing Christian worship music. My mother loves decorating the campground. She puts up strings of lights around the canopy and hangs flags. She puts pinwheels on sticks in the ground around her campsite. You can hear the squeal of plastic as the petals turn from the gusts of wind coming over the rise of the dunes on the other side of the beach. There are camping chairs arranged around a fire pit with a stack of wood near it for refueling. A bag of marshmallows and of course chocolate with graham crackers. My mother was the perfect hostess. The cabinets inside the camper are a treasure trove of snacks and treats. There are puzzle books with markers on the table. Dishes drying in the drain next to the sink.

My mother is getting closer to 80 now. She misses animals that she loved and had passed away. She still has one cat but it’s not that personable. We talk about it every two or three days.  She has regained most of her cognitive abilities and has better judgment now. She is forgetful and tends to converse in a cycle. I listen to her complaints even though I’ve heard them before and can’t do anything to resolve them. She wouldn’t have me pressure my brother for better care. She lives with my brother Tony. He has taken over the role of the father ever since my oldest brother John moved to California when I was 8 years old. Tony takes care of my mom now too. I am grateful that he can be there where I am unable to because of my own health and distance. I love my mom. I wish I could have been a better daughter. She deserves more, the best. I can never repay her or equal a balance for the debt I owe her for all her effort, encouragement, dedication, and loyalty. She is who inspires me to be an artist. She is who encouraged my creative writing. She is nobody’s darling but mine.

Alexandria Lily Camarda
5/20/2022

Grandma’s Cookies

Ellabell was a young woman in her mid-twenties. She was a college student who didn’t get to finish because she had to take time off to take care of her sick and dying grandmother. She lived with her grandmother Mary since she was a young teenager and grew up in an old country farmhouse.  Ella was working two jobs because her grandmother was struggling with the house bills and couldn’t make the taxes with her disability check alone. The rest of Ella's siblings were up north, she was the youngest of four. Each of her brothers had their own business and life and couldn't take care of Grandma Mary. Ella was left with all the responsibility. Now with her grandmother passing, she had to choose to take on the farmhouse with a wrap-around porch and renovate it or sell it as-is and be done with it. Ella wanted to process her grief and felt that working on this old home would help her through it. Her brothers urged her to sell it fast as she could and be finished with the stress, however, they could not interfere otherwise because she was the living estate owner. Ella, against better judgment, decides to keep the home and renovate it herself. She chose to restore the farmhouse to its once known pristine beauty however she dreaded the cost. She would have to take out a loan on the house to complete the renovation and pay the taxes on time.

Living in South Virginia, there were no other houses around in view, and driving into town took over 45 minutes. It was a quaint little town that held a farmer's market every Sunday. Ella drove into town to work and once a week to do her food shopping, pay her bills and check the mail at the post office. There weren't very many people populating this country town, it was easy for everyone to know your name and your business. This Saturday afternoon, when Ella walked into Cliff's coffee shop, she lifted her nose in the air taking in the sweet aroma of fresh baked goods. She ordered her usual, a twenty-ounce coffee, light and sweet with a banana nut muffin the size of a softball. The baked goods here are the best for miles around. She spent her afternoon at the library looking up newspaper articles about her grandparent’s farm, and grandma’s famous cookies. Grandma Mary won first place in the baking competition undefeated for 25 years before she could no longer join the contest because of her health issues. Ella took advantage of the time off her boss gave her to sort her situation and prepare everything for her grandmother’s memorial service and spent the afternoon researching and printing out the articles she found. Before evening she headed back to the country and back to her farmhouse. It was so quiet, the only sound you could hear was the ceiling fan wobbling back and forth as it spun. Sorting through household goods to donate to Good Will the hours passed faster than expected and she was yawning, looking at the clock it was 11 pm. Her eyebrows raised surprised and then got herself up, heading upstairs to go to bed.

The morning before her grandmother’s memorial service Ella was in the house alone. It felt so foreign without her grandmother’s voice floating in the air humming or singing a song. She was looking through old pictures of Grandma Mary to pin onto the celebration board that greeted people before entering the funeral. Ella laughed gently finding a picture of herself and grandma, in the kitchen baking, full of flour and making silly faces. There’s another one of grandma putting a band-aid on one of Ella’s teddy bears because it had an ouchie. After picking a handful of portraits with just her grandma, and grandma with the family, she took the Volkswagen bug into town and made her way over to the funeral parlor. Walking up to the Victorian building with giant white columns holding up the overhang by the entrance doors, she spotted her two brothers Timmy and Jack talking to each other. She walked over to them and overheard their conversation before being noticed.

Jack stood there, scrolling through his phone while in idle conversation with Timmy. “I don’t know Tim; I don’t think she knows what she is getting into.” Tim shook his head with a sad laugh, “No I don’t think she realizes all the responsibilities involved.” Jack replied lofting his eyebrows with concern “I don’t think she will change her mind.” “Hello, gentlemen!” Ella pipes up when she is close. She throws her arms around both her brothers and pulls them into a group hug. As she draws back and releases her embrace, she rubs her hands together and then folds them in front of her belly “Where’s Christian?”. Timmy shakes his head and Jack looks down, Ella furrows her brows, knitting them together as she asks, “What aren’t you telling me?”. Jack sighs and Timmy gives Jack a nod as if to go ahead and tell her. “He’s not coming. He’s preoccupied with a business transaction that needs all his attention.”.  Jack explained before giving a nod to both and heading into the funeral parlor to attend the service. Timmy gave Ella an apologetic gaze then patted her shoulder and took her arm, escorting her inside.

The last ones into the parlor, the doors were shut behind them. Light piano music was dancing around the room. It was tranquil and there was a hushed buzz going on with everyone crowded together, there was barely enough room for everyone to sit. Whispers could be heard sharing fond memories of Grandma Mary. All the ladies from grandma’s gardening club were there, her knitting and baking club. Mrs. Avery was sitting right up front, tall red hat with a netted veil and plume feathers. Some of grandpa’s old farming buddies came with their families to show respect, most of them were wearing blue jeans of some fashion or another. Ella walked up to the podium with a small notebook in her hands. She closed her eyes and took a very deep breath, nostrils flaring as she inhaled. Resting her open notebook on the podium she opened her eyes and looked over the crowd that gathered. With effort, her voice squeaked greeting those who were attending and offering the eulogy for her grandmother.

“I’ve known you all my life. You’ve been there for me every time I needed a soft spot to land on. I knew I could count on you. What I remember the most was when you were baking cookies for my fundraiser at school. All your cookies sold out in an hour and were a popular request for future events. You promised me you would give me the recipe before your last day. We never got to have that conversation. You grew up poor and made a life for yourself with grandpa on your farm. You raised dairy cows and he milked them. You fed the chickens and collected the eggs…”

Ella went on to share memories about her grandmother and what it was like to grow up on a farm. She choked up when she began to speak of her mother and the car accident her parents didn’t walk away from, how her grandma took the role of parenting for both mom and dad. Timmy was sitting with his head down, hands clasped in prayer, silent tears rolling down his cheek. Jack was listening but distracted by his phone, constantly scrolling. The service was called to an end and the afternoon was spent following the funeral procession. A line of cars all with their hazard lights blinking, following the leader. Ella stood between her brothers holding a hand in each. They watched as Grandma Mary’s casket was lowered into the ground. Following the funeral was a reception at the farmhouse. Ella tried to stay out of the spotlight, but it seemed like everyone had something important to share with her, a life lesson, especially the older women. She spent her time during the reception serving food and drinks. At the end of the night, she thanked each that attended and hugged her brothers. “Are you headed back tomorrow?” Ella asked her brothers. Jack replied “I’m leaving on a night flight this evening. Have a meeting in the morning.” Tim smiled and kissed Ella on the forehead, “I leave first thing in the morning.” Ella looked sad that her brothers could not stay longer. When the house was all but empty again, leaving her alone, Ella softly wept and allowed herself time to grieve.

Walking up the steps, her hand slid across the banister as she ascended. Walking into her bedroom and sat on the edge of her queen size bed. The duvet cover was in a pile and the sheets were wrinkled from the night before. Pillows were stranded, one on the floor and a refugee trying to hide between the mattress and the wall. A quiet sigh exhaled through mauve lips. Soft brown curls fall forward as she lowers her head and slouches propping her elbows on her knees and cradling her head. “I miss you, grandma, I don’t know how I’m going to do this without you.”, Ella whispered, retiring to the nest she had made the night before, finding comfort that it was still at least the same.  The next morning, the sun was peeking in the windows casting warm beams of light, her cheek a glow. With her arms bent, resting above her head, bare foot hanging out from under the blanket, a snort, and she was coughing, catching her breath, waking with a start. Blinded by the sun rays she shielded her face, groaning as she got up. Shuffling feet across a cool wooden floor, zombie walks down the stairs and into the kitchen to brew some coffee. Staring at the coffee pot, her brows begin to stitch together with question. Sniffing the air, she slowly turns around and looks at the breakfast nook, a warm and fresh-baked plate of sugar cookies, iced with red raspberry sugar. Ella began to look around, suspecting a prank. “Jack? Timmy? Where are you guys? Come on, come out, this isn’t funny.”

Pacing around the kitchen floor her arms cross over her chest, lips pursed and scrunched together with anxiety. Blinking frequently with an effort to focus. Sniffing the air, sweet honey, and vanilla. Ella approaches the plate of cookies, soft quiet pads of bare feet on the ceramic tile floor. Cautiously picking up a cookie she holds it under her nose, “Smells like grandma’s cookies. Looks like grandma’s icing.” Bravely she takes a bite, and she simply melts, closing her eyes and tears begin to water her pale cheeks. The flourish of flavors burst on her tongue. A stitch of tartness in the raspberry icing, warm soft vanilla sugar cookie melting in her mouth. When she opens her eyes, she wakes up in bed. Bewildered at the dream she just experienced. She looked confused, pressing her lips thinly together and furrowing her brows. “Grandma’s cookies.” Sigh, her chest deflates, and she crawls out of bed to shlep to the bathroom and shower to get ready for the day.

Having shower thoughts, she is standing with her hand on the wall of the shower stall, leaning against it as water cascades over her head and shoulders flowing down over her body in rivers. The water felt warm but not too hot. It was soothing and comforting, perhaps too much as she was reluctant to leave the water therapy behind. Stepping out of the shower and drying off she then brushes her hair at the same time she is brushing her teeth, saving time. Hair braided in pigtails; Ella stands in front of her closet scanning the garments for something viable as a work outfit today. Picking a sturdy pair of jeans with a work T-shirt, scrambling for time as she was dressing then headed down the stairs, and scooped up her car keys from the table by the door. Flying through the door the metal screen swings back on the spring hinge and clatters against the farmhouse door as she skips down the porch stairs and jumps into her yellow Bug.

Driving down the highway, her thumb thumping on the steering wheel in time with the rhythm of the song on the radio. Singing along to Tom Petty, “You don’t know how it feels, no you don’t know how it feels!” The busy start of the day kept Ella’s mind occupied while she was working behind the Deli counter at Frank’s Whole Foods. Half her shift was over and it was almost time for Ella’s lunch break, she asks her co-worker Cindy if she wants to order take out, “Feel like Chinese? I can call it in.” Bleach blonde hair pulled back in a high ponytail, and her gaze was frosted with light blue ice burgs, Cindy nodded, and her hair bounced. Searching for a pen Ella patted down her pockets and looked surprised when she actually found one. Cindy was leaning against the breakroom lockers as Ella is writing down the order before calling it in. “Yes, hello? I’d like a pint of pork fried rice and sesame chicken with wonton soup side for each and an eggroll each.”, Ella spoke patiently, repeating her order a few times for the person on the other end of the phone to write it down correctly. Hanging up the phone she looked over at Cindy and nodded, “They’ll be upfront in 20 minutes. Let’s go sit outside.” Cindy replied with a quick bob of her head and “Okay”, following behind Ella.

Sitting out front on the curb waiting for the food delivery guy, they’ve been chatting for some time. Ella watches as Cindy pulls out a silver cigarette case from her pocket and pops the case open, retrieving a joint, and lighting it with a single flick. She was holding the joint in her mouth and using one hand to hold the lighter while using the other to shield from any wind. “How ya holding up Ella?” she asked taking a slow drag from her joint, the ash glowing with embers, exhaling a plume of hazy white smoke into the air, coughing a bit after. “I’ll be honest, it’s not easy. I feel so alone in that big house, by myself. I know she is at peace now and that’s important to me. I’m worried about my appointment at the bank this afternoon. I’m supposed to swing by there at three, after my shift.” Cindy puts out her smoke when she notices the food delivery arrives on a moped. The delivery driver was short and thin, he leaned forward and kicked his leg over the bike to stand next to it and detach the delivery warmer unzipping an insulated pouch.  Cindy was giving eyes to the delivery man, checking him out. Ella and Cindy get up to meet the driver, exchanging cash for food and returning inside to the breakroom to finish their lunch. Ella worked for three more hours before clocking out and heading straight to the bank.

It was 2:57 pm and Ella was just making it through the bank doors arriving on time for the loan appointment. Waiting at the reception desk when it’s her turn she explains she has an appointment at three with the bank manager. The woman at the front desk was very pleasant and she took down Ella’s name to be called when Mrs. Needle was ready. Staring at the clock the minutes are going by and Ella is starting to look frustrated, she is doing her best to maintain composure, but her face keeps wrinkling up while she waits and thinks. Finally, at 3:12 she is called and shown into the office. Ella takes one of the cushioned office chairs in front of the woman’s desk, yet still manages to sit uncomfortably. A golden nameplate sitting on the edge of the desk, right in her face reads “Mrs. Needle” and underneath that “Senior Banking Manager.” Sitting in silence while Mrs. Needle goes over her paperwork, Ella’s fingers begin to ring and weave grasping her hands nervously. Her lip twitches every time her thoughts begin to spiral. Mrs. Needle has been working for Community Bank since Ella’s childhood. She remembers seeing her as a teller when visiting during errands.

Mrs. Needle clicked her tongue in dissatisfaction looking over Ella’s credit scores. “Ms. Hartwin, I can not rightfully agree to a reverse mortgage, even with your two jobs and income, it just isn’t enough. Your credit score is too low, so many school loans are unpaid, and the amount of money you make would just barely cover your expenses. I would need a co-signer.”, spoken while stacking paper into a neat pile before slipping it inside a manilla folder. Ella’s bottom lip began to tremble, she was going to lose her composure and possibly the farmhouse.  “But I don’t have enough money to cover the taxes! How am I going to sell the house in the shape it is in now, I won’t get half of what it’s worth!” Ella nearly hit her head on the ceiling she jumped so high out of her chair exclaiming her concerns. Mrs. Needle just held her hand up flat toward her in motion to stop. She clicked her tongue again, peering over the edge of her eyeglasses, “I’m Sorry Misses Hartwin, I can not help you unless you find a qualifying co-signer.” Ella snatched her purse from the chair and glared at Mrs. Needle before exiting the office and the bank, heading to her next shift at Pizza Plaza where she was the delivery driver. She spent the evening delivering to locals and ended her shift around 10 pm making her way back to the country and her quiet farmland. There were no more animals that lived here. That changed a long time ago. When grandpa got too old to work the farm, he sold off all the livestock and rented the fields to neighboring farms. That doesn’t even exist anymore, the fields have been barren for over two decades. Lying in bed she writes a note in her journal and sets it on the nightstand “Call brothers, ask to co-sign.” Clicking the back of the pen to retract the ballpoint and setting it atop the journal before falling fast asleep.

Waking up on a Sunday morning, Ella stretched out lazily in her bed groaning in protest at the sunlight shining on her face. She gathered her energy and with little motivation, she could call on, got out of bed, and headed down the stairs in her sponge bob pajamas. Making grabby hands at the coffee pot, she fills it with water and puts fresh grinds in the top of the coffee maker. Hearing the appliance hiss and start to boil up the water as it moved through the machine and pooled in the grinds to infuse the flavor and caffeine, a slow smile crawled across her gentle features. With hair in a messy bun, a white tank top, and sponge bob PJs, Ella grabbed her coffee as soon as it was done percolating and filled her favorite mug. A pink cup with baby ducks and a momma duck as the leader circled her mug’s base. Walking out to the porch, before she opened the door she stepped into her slippers. Her favorite porch swing was once pretty and inviting, now it was just old and weak, and needed fresh paint and maybe some panels replaced. Carefully she sat down with her mug of freshly brewed coffee and sipped slowly looking out at the beautiful day. After finishing her cup, she moseyed back inside and looked hesitantly at the phone.

Picking up her cellphone she scrolled through her contact list until finding Jack, her oldest brother. Jack had moved to California when he was 16, and Ella was still in grade school at the time. Pressing the send button started the phone call and it was ringing, she had it on speaker, resting on the counter. Jack picked up on the second ring, “Hey sis, how’s it going?” Ella hesitated and finally just bluntly laid it out without any sugar coating, “I need a co-signer for the renovation loan.” A sigh could be heard on the other end of the phone, “Ella you know I can’t, if you default, I could lose my business.” Ella quickly replied with urgency in her voice, “but you know I will pay it back, I mean, I’ve got two jobs, how hard can it be?” Jack shook his head and sighed once more, his lips scrunched up just the same as Ella when she is nervous or uncomfortable. “Ella I can’t, just sell the house as-is. It’s the easiest thing you could do, I’ll give you a name of a local realtor. “  Ella is silent, a few moments pass, then sniffling can be heard as she begins to cry quietly, “but I just want.. I want to be the one to fix it up. I need to fix it up. I need this Jack to work through the loss of grandma. My final farewell.” Jack replied assertively “I can’t Ella, I won’t put my business at that much of a risk, I’m sorry.” “Alright, alright.. “ soft sob, “I understand, I’ll figure it out.” Hanging up the phone and dropping her head and shoulders.

Taking in a deep breath, Ella holds it a moment and looks around her kitchen. “Time for some breakfast.” Opening the fridge, she pulls out a carton of eggs, and some half and half. From the freezer, she grabs a couple of sausage patties. Taking an egg bagel from the bread box and toasts it while breaking eggs on the edge of a skillet to cook. Add a dash of salt and pepper, mixing a drop of half and half into the scrambled eggs. Quickly she returns to the fridge to grab some Land O’Lakes yellow American cheese and layers it on top of the scrambled eggs. Cooking up the sausage patties in the skillet beside the eggs, all the juices marinate together, making it delicious, spiced, and cheesy. Dancing around the kitchen as she cooks she picks up a glass lid and covers the skillet to melt the cheese and finish cooking. “Mmm..” hovering over the stove she removes the lid and steps back for the heatwave to pass. Using a spatula to get the food onto her toasted bagel and making a sandwich. Ella refills her coffee adding sweetener and creamer before finding a spot at the breakfast nook. The morning moves by calmly, it’s quiet in the house, around 10 am Ella picks up her cellphone and gives her brother Timmy a call.

“Hey Tim..” her voice was dry and a little scratchy, clearing her throat she repeated herself more clearly. “Hey Tim, it’s Ella.” “Hey lil’ sis, how’s it going?”, Tim responded with a gentle tone. “Not great, I went to the bank yesterday, to try and secure a loan for renovation. It didn’t go well.” You could hear it in the sound of Ella’s voice, she was disheartened. Tim was quiet for a moment before responding, “What happen, do you want to talk about it?” Ella hesitated, chewing on her bottom lip, “I need a co-signer Tim.” “Bah! Ella, why don’t you just sell it as is, I don’t get it, why are you so invested in this?” was Tim’s reflex response. She sighed and closed her eyes leaning against the frame of the wall where the threshold separates the kitchen from the living area, “Because, I want to do it for grandma. Not just me. Besides, you know I won’t even get half as much selling it as-is.” Tim shook his head and stayed silent for a few moments, “I don’t know what to tell ya Ell, I can’t help ya, I just took out a huge loan to cover my new trucks for my business. There’s no way they would approve me as a co-signer, my debt-to-income ratio is way too high. I’m sorry Ella. I’m sorry.” Ella spent the rest of her morning and mid-afternoon organizing and packing boxes of grandma’s clothes to be donated. When she was finished with that, she packed the car to head into town and drop off the clothes at Good Will. Spending the rest of the day at home, gardening in the flowerbeds until sundown.

Monday was a new day, and for once Ella actually set her alarm clock, maybe she’ll be on time today. Beep! Beep! Beep! Get ready for work alarm was sounding off nice and loud. Ella rolls over in the covers, and rolls too far, falling flat on her ass tangled in her duvet cover. With some effort, she wrestles her way out and gets up to take a shower and get ready for the day. Quick shower, brushing her hair and braiding it then brushing her teeth and getting dressed before heading into town and clocking in at Frank’s Whole Foods. Cindy had the early shift and was already behind the counter, “bought time you made it here.” Cindy grinned while teasing Ella. Ella smirked and threw her a wink, finding her apron and getting behind the counter to slice meat and cheese. “How’d it go at the bank?” asked Cindy, focusing on the meat slicer while slicing salami for Mrs. Avery, a short and fat middle-aged woman who came in every day to order fresh. After tying the apron behind her back Ella steps up to take the next order in line, “what can I get for you?” Taking the order, she pulls out the meat she needs to slice, answering Cindy when she walks past her towards the front counter, “It didn’t go well at all, Mrs. Needle said I’d need a co-signer and I already asked Tim and Jack, I don’t know if I want to even try Christian, we barely talk anymore.”  Ella slaps the roast beef onto the slicing tray and moves it back and forth over the whirling blade to slice thin pieces of roast beef onto a waxed paper. She does the same with pepperoni and honey ham. “Would you like anything else Ma’am?” she asked Mrs. Avery with a polite smile. Mrs. Avery replies with a curt nod “yes I would like some swiss and provolone.” Heading to the back again to get cheese from the refrigerator this time, she bumps into Cindy while cradling two long packages of cheese, “I just don’t know what I’m going to do.” Cindy shrugged, trying to be helpful she suggested, “can you have a bake sale, at the church or school? Like we used to?” “Wish I could wish I had her recipe to do it with.”, Ella replied before walking up to the front counter to slice some cheese. Cindy walked right behind her carrying Bologna to the front and resting it on the slicer, “You should consider it, I can help you bake. I’m sure if you ask your grandmother’s baking club to help you, they would. You could purchase the supplies and they could put in the labor.” Ella clicked her tongue with a “tsk” dismissing the idea, “I don’t think that’s possible.”

When break time rolled around, Cindy and Ella were out front again, waiting for food delivery. Cindy keeps working on Ella about the bake sale idea, “We could even put out flyers.” Ella sighed and shrugged one shoulder, “I guess it’s an idea, I’m running out of options as it’s almost the end of the month and on the first, I owe taxes for the last year. I’ll reach out to Mrs. Ettie.” Cindy smiled and slapped Ella’s shoulder with a big grin “see, now that wasn’t so hard was it?” Soon the delivery food driver showed up, rolling in on his red moped with a white racing stripe. He hops off the scooter and reaches into the insulated pouch exchanging food for cash. Cindy smiles and winks at the driver, he just awkwardly hesitates before giving the food over. They thanked him and headed back into the breakroom to eat lunch before finishing their shift for the day. After finishing her first shift at Frank’s Whole Foods, Ella used what time she had between jobs to call her brother Chris.

Sitting in her car, cozy she uses her thumb to scroll through her contacts. Ella hesitates before hitting the send button, saying a little prayer “Please God, make this happen.” The phone is ringing and Ella is whispering under her breath “Please say yes, please say yes, please say yes.” Her brother Christian picks up, “Hello this Is Christian Hartwin Brokerage, how may I help you?” “It’s me, Ella.”, she tests the waters feeling out the tone of the conversation, feeling nervous. “We missed you at Grandma Mary’s funeral service.” Christian sighed heavily and began making excuses, “Yea, sorry I couldn’t make it. I had a business transaction that was on the line and I just couldn’t ignore the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. What’s up, how you doing?” “I’m alright, doing the best I can with the circumstances given. I have something to ask you, and I know it’s a lot. I need you to co-sign with me so I can get the loan for renovating the farmhouse.” Christian begins to laugh, “You’re not serious, are you? Why don’t you just sell it to me? I’ll give you two hundred grand for it.” Ella’s fuse was lit when her own brother lowballed her, “Two hundred thousand!? That’s not even half of what it’s worth!” Christian scoffed, “Well you’re not going to get a better asking price than that, you know that old house is falling apart. What, you need a new roof, probably new plumbing, and definitely new wiring. That house was built during the civil war.” Furious, Ella hung up and drove to Pizza Plaza to start her next shift.

Driving fast, she didn’t slow down until she was across town, pulling up at her second job. Shutting off her car, she puts the keys in the vizor and heads inside the pizza shop, “Hey Marco, how’d the morning treat ya?” Marco was a tall and lanky Italian man, first generation over, and made this business on his own, from the ground up. Kind brown eyes smiled at Ella as she walked in and Marco replied joyfully, “ah the morning is good, lots of customers today. The Johnsons ordered pepperoni again, can you swing by and make these deliveries, one to the Smith’s too.” Ella nodded and happily picked up the food parcels, heading back out to her bug. It was a long night for Ella, seemed like there were more deliveries than usual. At the end of her shift, 10 pm, Ella called it quits and said goodnight to Marco, heading home for the evening.

When Ella got home, she rests her keys on the small table by the door and gradually strolls through the house. There were boxes all around the living room marked with the words “Donation” or “Good Will”. Some were clothes, and accessories, others were filled with crafting supplies like fake flowers and fabrics for quilting. Walking through the kitchen, boxes were on top of the breakfast nook where she put all the ceramic jars from the pantry to be wrapped in newspaper and packed away for transferring the donated goods. Pressing her hands against the edge of the counter, she takes in a slow breath and holds it. A few moments pass and she exhales, gasping for air to replenish. Her eyes are still closed her breathing becomes erratic as she starts to sob quietly, her breath shaking. Her brows wrinkle and tears begin to fall, she clutches her chest looking at all the ceramics on the countertop. The pain escalates as she remembers her grandmother prepping food for pantry storage and using the ceramic jars for containers. There is a moment, and in this moment the expression on Ella’s face twists from pain to rage. She pounds the countertop with her fists slamming her hands down on the edge of the counter and she uses her forearm, sweeping across the breakfast nook to shove all the ceramics off the edge of the counter. Jars crashed to the floor and broke, and Ella crumpled to the kitchen floor and began to cry again. Wiping her eyes, she looks across at the mess she has made, sighing, she gets up and fetches the broom and dustpan.

Crouched down, scooping broken ceramic pieces into the dustpan and into a cardboard box for disposal, Ella sees what looks like old, stained paper peeking out from the rubble. “Hang on, what’s this?” a quiet and curious voice whispered. Ella shook the dust from the piece of paper, and she recognized her grandmother’s handwriting. She blinked a few times to make sure what she was reading was real. She begins reading off a list of ingredients, “four cups of flour, two cups of sugar, two eggs, vanilla extract, and lemon zest.” She mumbles the rest and as she begins to realize she lets out a little giggle. “Grandma’s Cookies!” There was an old recipe card hidden in one of the ceramic jars. Even though it was late, Ella gave Cindy a call, the phone rings a few times before she picks up, “Hello?” Cindy sounds sleepy. “Cindy! Cindy! I found Grandma Mary’s Cookie recipe!” Cindy took a moment to gather her bearings, “Say what, what’s going on?” Ella squealed with glee and Cindy finally caught on, “Oh that’s great, maybe instead of a bake sale, you could enter in the baking contest at the farmer’s market this weekend. There’s a grand prize of fifteen hundred dollars for the winner!” Ella grinned, with her free hand she clenched her fist and did a fist pump into the air with triumph, “That’s exactly what I’m going to do.”  “Good now go to sleep, I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”, Cindy hung up the phone and rolled over in her bed, going back to sleep. Ella held her phone and just smiled, looking around, her eyebrows went up noticing the rubble on the floor still, she finished cleaning up and put all the broken ceramic in a cardboard box for the trash bin.

The next day, Ella was on time for work and even got in some bonus hours at the Deli counter for overtime during the week. She also set aside time for organizing and packing up the home for donations. By the end of the week, Ella had everything lined up accordingly having a clean, box-free kitchen and all the counter space she needed to layout cooling racks for the cookies. Ella took the night off from pizza delivery so she could have time to bake for tomorrow’s contest at the farmer’s market. She had most of the ingredients she needed at home already. There was one particular detail Ella had to address, the special ingredients. Walking to the linen closet, she gathered a flat sheet and walked outside into the backyard from her porch. The backyard was beautiful, with fruit trees and lilac bushes. On the side of the house grew a great big raspberry tree, full of green foliage and ripe red berries. Laying out the sheet on the grass, she pulled the edge as close to the base of the bush as possible. Reaching into the bush and grabbing a sturdy branch she began to shake the bush and ripe berries were falling off the vine, collecting on the bedsheet. “Well, that’s one way to tie-dye.”, she smirked looking at the red splotches all over the stark white sheet. Gathering up the corners, she made a little pouch so none would fall out, she brought her raspberries indoors.

Dumping the raspberries into the large kitchen sink she rinsed them thoroughly, a few sprinkles of water splashing back at her, a small laugh escaping her smile. Setting aside the larger pot, she put the raspberries with a little bit of water so it would reduce and turn into a jam. Adding lemon zest to the raspberry concoction she let the pot simmer for a while when she was getting ready to make the cookie dough. A big glass bowl and a wooden spoon turned four cups of flour and two cups of sugar, some eggs, vanilla extract, and lemon zest again, into cookie dough. A small pinch of baking powder to make the cookies nice and soft. Folding the ingredients in, constantly stirring the bowl, the dough began to form. The house was starting to smell like raspberries while the fruit was cooking down and simmering in the pot. Ella had flour everywhere. In her hair, on her clothes, on her face and arms. There might have been more flour on her than in the bowl. Finished with the dough, she puts a clean dishtowel over the top of the bowl to keep it covered while raspberries simmer for about another hour. She is frequently checking the jam reduction to check its consistency. Ella stands peering over the edge of the silver pot, it's bubbling, simmering, giving off the aroma of sweet fruit all around the kitchen. She takes her wooden spoon and prods the fruit mush that has been cooking for the last hour or so. When the fruit gives way and there is a thick consistency left behind in the pot, Ella then adds sugar and melts the granules into the raspberry until they dissolve fully. She adds just a bit more lemon zest, scraping a lemon over a cheese grater above the pot. She takes the jam off the stove and sets it on an oven mitt to cool.

Now it’s time to make up the cookies, she stares determined at the glass bowl and removes the dish towel. Using a spoon, she portions out the cookies on two baking sheets, the cookies looked pitiful and misshaped, they still smelled good though. Sliding them inside the oven and set a timer for fifteen minutes. Literally hanging out in front of the oven, watching them bake. Ella stands up and wipes her hands down her jeans, checking on the raspberry jam icing, it was nice and thick and smelled sweet. Ding! The timer went off and Ella slid her hands into oven mitts to retrieve the baking trays. The cooking racks were already out so Ella let the pans sit for about five minutes to cool, then she used a plastic spatula to scoop up the cookies one by one and place them on the thin wire racks to finish cooling. The cookies smelled delicious, and the house smelled delicious! “I’m going to win that contest tomorrow and make you proud grandma!”, Ella was so happy she found a solution and she was counting on it, “this is my last chance, I’m glad you’re up there, looking out for me grandma, I know you’re my guardian angel.”

She broke a few cookies in the process but salvaged a plate full of perfectly misshaped sugar cookies. She placed her hand near the pot full of jam, feeling the heat, there was none, she dabbed her finger inside the pot to poke at the raspberry jam. Sucking on her finger she smiled around it and chuckled “Just like grans!” She was getting pretty tired and was ready for a nap, Ella might not have done the greatest job at icing, but she sure did try her best. The smaller details are what count, Ella smiled to herself while sprinkling powdered confectionary sugar over the raspberry jam when she iced each cookie. She let them cool and dry on the wire racks for the evening and before bed, she packed them into a protective Tupperware. She shut off the light in the kitchen and dragged herself up the stairs, falling flat onto her bed, face first. Snoring ensued, she was in deep sleep and deserved it.

Contest day! Sunday morning creeps around and Ella is up at dawn, she sits up on the edge of her bed, looking out the window at the trees swaying in the summer breeze. Bending her arms with her elbows up and her hands behind the back of her head she pushes her chest forward and her head and arms back stretching with a groaning yawn. She drops her arms with a flop they land beside her, one hand smacking her thigh, Ella pushes up off the bed and heads in the bathroom to get ready. After taking a shower she brushes her teeth and combs her hair. Walking back into her room and throwing the closet doors open wide, she stands in her towel wrapped around her small frame and her hands on her hips. “Okay, so we need something pretty but polite, something smart but humble.” She begins sliding the clothes on hangers from left to right, one by one, assessing her options. Reaching for her capri khakis and a gauzy white linen shirt with beige buttons down the front. Pulling on a pair of sandals she heads down the stairs to pick up the cookies and get ready to go. Before leaving, she pulls her cellphone out of her pocket and dials Cindy, “You ready? I’ll be by in a half-hour, I’m on my way into town.” Cindy’s apartment was on the edge of town, closest to Ella’s farmhouse, Cindy on the other end of the phone, “Yea I’m ready, swing by. I’ll be out front.”  Ella hangs up the phone and scoops up her keys from the table.

Hopping into the yellow bug, Ella is cruising along, thumping her thumb on the steering wheel as she turns down the winding roads. Cindy Lauper is on the radio, “girls, just wanna have fun! That’s all they really want, they just wanna have fun!”, singing unashamedly. Eventually, the yellow bug arrives in front of Cindy’s apartment, honk honk! Ella bumps the car horn to get her attention, Cindy comes out, locks her door, and headed towards the passenger side. The car door swings open, and Cindy makes herself comfortable, Ella teases her “thought you said you would be outside?” Cindy pushes Ella’s shoulder playfully, "You know me better than to think I would be anything but running late.” She chuckled and looked in the back seat seeing the large oval cake Tupperware, “oh that’s fancy!” Ella smirked and shook her head “It’s keeping the cookies safe.” Cindy grinned and buckled up, Ella took off and they were on their way to the farmers market in the middle of town.

Looking for a parking spot once they arrived proved a challenge, they had to circle the lot seven times before they found someone who was leaving and pulled into their spot once they pulled out. With a quick walk, they made it to the tent hosting the baking contest, they saw Mrs. Avery chatting it up with Mayor Charlesfield. Cindy turned to Ella rolling her eyes, “I hope she isn’t on the judge’s panel, she’s so particular.” Ella shrugged and started setting up her area on the presentation table, “I’m not worried about it, I know I’ve got Grandma Mary on my side.” Cindy smiled and helped Ella finish setting up. The farmer’s market was busy today, so many people browsing produce and pastries. You could hear shoppers haggling with the farmstands, some of the farmstands would be bartering with each other over produce and dairy products. Eggs for tomatoes and cucumbers. You could sell anything at the farmer’s market, some people worked with antique collectors and would have a whole table set up with antique wares like oil lamps from the 1800s and jewelry fashion that stretched from the roaring 1920s till mid-century today.

“Let’s go see what the other contestants brought.”, Cindy offered with curiosity and popped up, pulling Ella to come with her. To which she did, Ella followed behind her a bit reluctant, offering an awkward smile to the other contestants as she passed each table. Cream cheese frosting with the delicious smell of carrot cake with spiced cinnamon and nutmeg. Blueberry pie with a lattice crust. Licking her lips, she stopped short in front of Mrs. Payton’s presentation. Individual little cheesecake cupcakes. Ella reached for one of the samples, it was a paper cupcake wrapper, with a crumb cake base, strawberry cream cheesecake filling with fresh cut strawberries minced as a topping, drizzled with red candy syrup. Taking a bite, a bit of crumb fell down her shirt, and a quiet “Mmmm…” was heard as Ella was chewing. “Wow, that’s delicious!” Ella exclaimed, then suddenly looked a little nervous and worried about the contest. The winner of the contest wouldn’t be announced until 12 pm so the girls decided to have a look around the farmer’s market.

They passed the antiques section and played with broaches and earrings, trying on jewelry and vintage accessories. They walked through the livestock pens and visited the cows and bulls, baby lambs and goats. Ella paid a quarter for a small dixie cup full of grain, and hand fed the baby goats. They slobbered all over her palm and fingers. Cindy was leaning on the railing of the pig’s pen making piggy noise as she snorted “oink oink!” she laughed and looked across at Ella “I’d name him bacon.” Ella scoffed and pressed her lips thinly together, “Cindy! That’s not nice!” “Oh like you suddenly don’t eat bacon?” Cindy looked at her in disbelief. “I uh, I do but! Still!” Ella tried to come up with an appropriate comeback but fell very short. The two girls spent their afternoon sitting around the food stands and picnic tables. They met up with friends and played catch up, eating hotdogs and burgers for dinner and heading over to the tent that was holding the baking contest. Mayor Charlesfield was standing on the stage, with a microphone in hand, he tapped it a few times to test if it was working. The mic squealed and he flinched, laughing and trying to make light of the situation “Oh, that’s loud, well it works!” He smiled and his other hand rested on his belly, fingers tucked between the buttons of his tweed vest.

Ella and Cindy was sitting in folded chairs at their table, they were holding hands while waiting for the announcement of the winner. The mayor cleared his throat and began his speech, “First, I would like to thank all of you who entered our contest, and I have a surprise announcement. The winner of the contest is not only receiving a grand prize of fifteen hundred dollars, but they will be signing on to a contract to redistribute and sell the goods made from their recipe on a grand scale of production. The anticipation was too much, Ella scrunched her eyes closed and began to repeat repeatedly under her breath, “please let it be me, please let it be me, please let it be me.” The mayor took his time, really getting his money’s worth for suspense, “The winner is…” he hesitates in the middle of his sentence and then cheerfully exclaims, “Mrs. Payton! And her cheesecake cupcakes!” Ella stood up distraught and upset, she sincerely thought this would work. Ella walked away unable to compose herself she didn’t want anyone to see her crying, so she hid in the bathroom.

“Ella come out; you can’t stay in there all night.” Cindy was leaning against the wall in the bathroom in front of the stall Ella was hiding in. Ella replied, “I don’t want anyone to see me upset, I’m tired of having to explain myself to people. I want everyone to leave me alone. I’ll leave after everyone else leaves.” Cindy sighs and shakes her head, “well, can I get you anything then?” Ella pouts and speaks softly “Cherry topped funnel cake with powdered sugar.” Cindy pushed off the wall and left the restroom to go find some food for Ella, playfully she responds “as you wish my queen.” Later on, that evening, when Ella eventually came back out of hiding and showed up in front of her peers by the picnic tables, Lara, the pastors wife of the village church flags Ella and the group she’s with. “Ella, Ella! I have something important to tell you!”, Lara grabbed Ella by the shoulders and shook her gently “Lara as the second runner up for the contest, you’ve been elected to receive the grand prize and recapie contract. Ella looks stunned, she looks between her friends and at Cindy, her eyes wide, “what, what do you mean?” Lara waves her hand and exclaims delighted “Oooh, you know John, Mrs. Payton’s son the football quarterback? Well!” she leaned in to share some gossip, “a couple of the ladies in the parish overheard him bragging to a couple of the other football players that his mom won because she bought the cupcakes from a bakery out of town, near the city where her older daughter lives.” Ella gasped, Cindy covered her mouth with her hand, “Ella do you know what this means!?” Ella began to jump up and down excitedly, “Yes, yes, yes!”

The contest officiants made a unanimous decision to honor Ella and her grandma’s cookies as the winner since Mrs. Payton cheated with her entry. Ella slept easy that night, the next day she would stop by the bank to deposit her winning check into her account. She pressed her lips thinly together and raised her eyebrows briefly while passing Mrs. Needle, “turns out I don’t need that loan, I just landed a cookie deal that will help pay for the renovation, oh, and by the way, I’m turning the farmhouse into a bed and breakfast. I’m not going to sell it.” Mrs. Needle tilted her head gently and watched silently as Ella left through the front doors of the bank and hopped in her little bug and left. Ella was smiling as she drove down the road to Pizza Plaza, Marco cheered as she entered the doors, “Ella! Congrats, I heard you won the baking contest!” She laughed and nodded, “Don’t worry Marco, I won’t leave the shop, I know ya need me.” Ella winked and picked up the food parcels, as she was heading out the door she laughed, “good riddance to that meat slicer though, that thing scares the hell out of me.”

Alex Lily Camarda - Creative Non Fiction

The Fair

For as long as I can remember, the Suffolk County Fair would come around every spring. As soon as the grass was green again and buds were popping out of naked tree branches, flyers all around town would show up. Especially at our local grocery store, King Kullen, it had a bulletin board where you could see the town events and classified ads. It was my brother Tony, he’s the middle child between the three boys, and just me, I’m the only girl and the youngest. Tony took on the father role in my family when my oldest brother, John, left and went to California with his girlfriend to start his family. My dad wasn’t in the picture in a positive light, so Tony took on the responsibility of helping my mom raise me. We have the same face; we both look like our mom. When we moved from Copiague in Nassau County to Suffolk County when I was nine years old, some of my brother’s friends, other teenagers, were going on and on about the fair. All the rides and special ticket sales. They would have car sales, where everyone you could pile into one car or truck, would get in for one price to cover all entry fees. The rides were amazing, the food was always a treat, but what I loved were the game booths that gave away prizes.

The fair was held in an open lot, which was considered the fairgrounds; it was where the old racetrack was on Long Island. Pulling up to the entry booth, you could see cars lined up for miles and fairgoers walking from their parked cars to the entrance. Carrying lawn chairs and coolers, they were ready to stay for a while. After you pay the entrance fee, you are guided by a parking lot attendant on where to park. Closer to the fair, we could hear people having a good time, buzzing and bustling.

As you walk into the fairgrounds and show the entry attendant your parking permit, you are allowed to pass the gates into the kingdom of childhood memories. I can still hear the booming voice of booth attendants trying to lure game players to lay down their well-earned cash. Some of the game attendants were good at baiting people to play. They would keep offering to upgrade whatever prize you had won, keeping you playing and spending money for more turns and chances to win big. My favorite game was the balloon and darts game. You were given a certain number of darts depending on how much you paid, and each dart gave you a chance to win a prize.

Walking up to the balloon and dart booth, I could see the sun reflecting off glass frames that held collector portraits like famous baseball players and movie stars. My eyes grew wide as I bellied up to the bar and looked up to see great big bananas, giant stuffed bananas! I wanted one so bad. My brother Tony always babied me, he’s eight years older than me. He laid down three dollars for the attendant and waited for his darts. Looking at the back wall panel of the booth, you could see shriveled-up pieces of latex where others had made their mark, popping balloons. I remember you had to pop at least three to win the lowest-tier prize. I was pretty good at this. I lined up my target, looking for a juicy balloon. I aimed for the ones that were the largest because that extra air made the latex tight and easier to pierce with my dart. Tony handed me the darts one at a time, I always miss the first shot; sometimes the darts even bounce off the balloons instead of popping them. “Winner, winner, chicken dinner! Here’s your prize!” The booth attendant picked off a tiny little banana compared to the ginormous one hanging from the top beams of what made the booth hold together. I was a little deflated, but still felt proud that I had won any prize at all. It was easy to get caught up in taking turns and buying more darts or chances to win. Game attendants were there to encourage you to lose money on frivolous things like stuffed animals.

Walking through the booth alleyways, I was mesmerized by giant stuffed animals bigger than me. Hanging on display at the corners of each rooftop in the booths. Smelling popcorn and sausage, and peppers. My mouth waters thinking about the sweet and savory smell of caramelized onions and peppers that topped the sausage subs. The sweetness of cotton candy always drew my attention, and the fried dough with confectioner's powder was a high demand too. The fried dough was probably the number one reason we even went to the fair! I know it was my mom’s favorite. We always brought home a bag of fried dough. The food servers would dump a whole cup of confection sugar into the bottom of a paper bag and then throw in half or a dozen zeppole, that’s what we called them back home. After that, they would roll the top of the bag closed and give it a good shake so the sugar would stick all over the zeppole. There was no way to avoid licking your fingers after eating them.

The goldfish game was always fun. Inside a large square booth, there was a raised table filled with small empty fishbowls. Paying the fee to play, you were given 10 golf balls. The objective of the game was to land a golf ball into one of the fishbowls. Certain fishbowls were marked off with different colored tape, and they were harder to land. The harder fishbowls granted bigger prizes. This booth had a giant stuffed teddy bear who was powder blue and had the softest, plushest fur. I don’t think in all my years going to the fair, I have always gone home with at least one goldfish in a plastic bag filled with water. I was good at that game, too!

Time for some cotton candy, I loved watching the food server swirling the paper cone around the cotton candy wheel. Twirling up threads of fine sugar and wrapping the fluff around a flimsy paper cone. I was more than happy to let the cotton sugary fibers melt on my tongue. I’m not sure there was a distinct flavor to cotton candy, even though it came in blue, yellow, and pink. My favorite part would be how it disappeared as soon as it hit your mouth. Sticky fingers again, sticking all my fingertips in my mouth, sucking the sugar and stickiness off one at a time, rubbing my hands down my pants to dry them off.

Woohoo! Feeling that sugar rush! We all run to the Gravitron and get our tickets out for the ride attendant. The Gravitron looked like a giant spaceship with all the flashing-colored lights. Once you board the ship and see the inside, you will see a pilot in the center of the ship and padded panels around the inside of the ship on the outermost walls. Children and teenagers rushed in to grab a spot in a group with their friends. The pilot was also the DJ and would blast energizing music as soon as the ship started to revolve. The Gravitron could keep spinning, picking up speeds above 20 mph, creating a centrifugal force pressing bodies against the padded panels. Once the Gravitron hit top speed, the panels would slide on tracks going up to the top of the ceiling, where you were held in place by physics alone. I remember some kids getting risky and would stand on the panels while the ride was in motion; it was nuts!

Dizzy from that ride, it was time to get lost on another adventure. One of the hardest games there was at the fair was getting a Wiffle ball to hit the back panel of a target and roll into a basket below, just right. It’s amazing how much precision this took to accomplish. Suffice it to say, I never won a prize in that game, and their booth had the best prizes! Towards the back of the lot, there was a petting zoo and pony rides. If you walked under the white tent, you would see different farm animals in small corrals. Cows, camels, ducks, rabbits, the rabbits were so cute. If you paid a quarter, you could get some grain to feed the sheep and alpacas.

 Can’t forget about the Ferris wheel. I liked to do that after eating, it was a quiet time to settle and recharge for the next walk. The lights were bright, and it was getting darker in the day, from late afternoon to early evening. Sometimes I would be scared when my carriage was stopped at the tippy top. I liked being able to see the land all around from that high perspective, you could see so much of our home. Things are starting to settle down once I get off the Ferris wheel. Me and my brother part ways for a bit as I stop to relax and watch the magician's show. Folding chairs on the lawn and a stage built onto a trailer were in front of the audience. The magician came out dressed in a black suit with a black button-down shirt and a very loud, red tie. His assistant was very pretty; she was thin, had long blonde hair, and a brilliant smile. She did a really good job of distracting the audience. I could tell because everyone was impressed and clapping. What I enjoyed most was trying to figure out how he pulled off those tricks.

There is so much I remember about the Suffolk County Fair; what I remember the most is that it was a tradition for me and my brother Tony to go together every year. As we both got older, it became harder and harder to keep this tradition. I think the last time we went together, I was about 17 years old. The world seemed to shift at that age. I was gaining a different perspective on life, and Tony was starting his own family with Eve, my sister-in-law. There was a time when years had passed, and we no longer kept our tradition. Luckily, while I was still healthy, I had the opportunity to start a new tradition with my nieces and nephews. I took my nephews, Steven and Anthony, to the fair, and I showed them my favorite games and rides. I know my love for fair booth games has passed down to my younger kin, and they can carry on the Lima tradition in their way, in their way. If the family is sticking together, that’s what’s important.

Alex Lily Camarda - Creative Non Fiction

I love you; I love myself more.

“But what about the food stamps? How is that going to work?” There was a nervous tone in his voice. I felt like that was all he cared about, how he was going to get his next meal. In hindsight, I remember the pained look of confusion in his blue eyes when I told him I was moving out. This was the fourth or fifth time I tried to separate from Pat. The expression of bewilderment on his pale face made me think he was not taking me seriously. That was the last conversation we had before I left Pat and moved upstate New York with my best friend at that time, around August in 2018. I was going to start my new life. In that moment, I thought I had it all figured out.  It was not all it was cracked up to be, now that I am older and wiser. At the beginning of my second marriage with Pat, everything was great. For the first two years, we were getting along, there was passion in the relationship, and we were truly best friends. We had talked about having children, and it became something we both agreed on, at least I thought it was what he wanted as well. In preparation, like most couples, I started calculating my fertile days when I was ovulating. I would put pressure on him to be intimate with me so we could have a chance at being pregnant. Between the exhaustion from his work as a medical taxi driver and the pressure of my being matter-of-fact and persistent, he threw off the idea altogether. I’ll never forget that day. It was the moment of truth in our relationship. We were in the bedroom, it was the afternoon, and he was not working that day. I do not remember what I said to him to get him upset. He flailed his arms in the air and burst into anxiety-ridden speech, telling me he did not want to “do this anymore!”

After that, I spent the next eight years crying myself to sleep, hoping my husband would come to bed with me. I missed him. We never truly shared our bed equally again. It was one-sided and incomplete. Around the fifth or sixth year, Pat stopped giving me attention altogether. We lived together but had our own separate lives. It was a ghost of a marriage. My mental health began to degrade from the lack of love and support. I wondered what was wrong with me and why he did not want to be with me. I was suicidal for a prolonged period and attempted to take my life three times by swallowing pharmaceutical narcotics. I remember the loneliness and rejection, which deteriorated my mind and self-esteem. I was in actual physical pain from the emotional stress.

My best friend Diane was easy to trust; I felt like she could understand me. I want to believe Diane was looking out for me. I had been very depressed and not managing my hygiene. My hair was a rat’s nest the day she finally convinced me to leave my bed and visit. I showed up at her doorstep looking like a homeless person. My shirt had dried food and a bit of snot on it. Diane took me under her wing and brought me inside. She sat me down in front of her favorite old, beat-up, orange chair. She took the time to brush through my tangled knots and was gentle about it. I remember the conversation vaguely. Diane asked if things were getting better with Pat. For her reasons, she encouraged me to leave. Now looking back, I feel like Diane was projecting her life choices on me since she did not dare to leave her partner and vicariously felt liberated when I left my husband.

 Living with Diane and her partner Tommy was difficult and destructive. They both were chain smokers, and I live on oxygen therapy 24/7, which made it hard for me to resist smoking. I’m addicted to cigarettes and cannabis, and when I could smell and see them smoking constantly, I joined in as well. It was a ritual; we would smoke and maintain our high from morning till night. We had designated smoking times, morning coffee, before lunch, after lunch, before dinner, and after dinner. I was consuming heavy doses of marijuana in concentrated forms. However, the hardest part of living with Diane and Tommy was the emotional abuse from that manipulative, arrogant, narcissistic ass. How degraded I felt, the way he treated me. Tommy would spit in my food, dip cigarettes in my coffee. I caught him red-handed on several occasions. Makes me wonder how much I unknowingly ingested his disgusting sputum. Diane would not reprimand him. She let him do whatever he wanted because “He has brain damage, Lily; he can’t help it.” You know, I have met plenty of people with brain damage who aren’t despicable examples of a human being. I feel like that nastiness was his core personality, and it existed before his motorcycle accident. I was lucky to be removed from that situation. I wound up in Cooperstown Hospital's Psych Ward. After living with Diane and Tommy for over three years, and sustained the abuse and degradation. I had no sense of privacy; they would come in and out of my bedroom without warning. This was a serendipitous turning point, though. I met my best friend Dean; we were in the hospital together. Dean is a Biker and a retired dairy farmer. He has lived up here his whole life. He has got a great, long white beard and kind hazel eyes. He’s a big bear of a man with a barrel chest. Despite his claim as a Biker, he is not rough, he is very gentle and compassionate towards me. He has proven himself to me repeatedly, and we have still together for four years now.

I have struggled for years with mental health issues that affect my life in drastic ways, psychotic episodes will turn your whole life around and leave you in a place of vulnerability. In the past, I have made many rash decisions and hurt people I loved. I can acknowledge logically, I have to let go of the past and stop concerning myself with Pat’s well-being. I still get worried about him. He finally gave up on our friendship. I do not blame him; I admit I can be toxic. Emotions are so intense and overwhelming, I hardly ever let them quite reach the surface and shed tears. I can feel my eyes burning as I suppress the salty waters of remorse. Wondering if my marriage to Pat could have lasted if I did not do this, or did not do that, what could I have done better to make a difference?

Things have improved in my life; it seems black and white from then to now. My medication regimen has been consistent and working very well with my coping skills. I feel like I have my mind in the right place and a head on my shoulders. I made the Dean’s List last semester. I have since removed Diane and Tommy altogether from my life and have been living a happier and healthier life I deserve. I have developed a relationship with my brother John and his daughter Margaret, Sometimes, I help them with office work for my brother’s construction business. I am enjoying my free time with my guitar and favorite songs to sing; I favor Tom Petty. I’ve come a long way in two decades. There have been some scary rides at sometimes, but I am grateful I am safe and well now. I am at peace and blessed with hope, looking toward my future. I can confidently say I love myself more.