Daily Ramblings

Jan 18-Snow 711 words

Janna trudged through the snow drifts as the huge building loomed above her. It looked like a creepy old house, like something you would find in a novel about ghosts and ghouls. The back half of the house was unused, so the hole in the roof and a few broken windows went unnoticed. Sitting just beyond the county limits, the drive was unpaved and her relatives hadn't seen the necessity for indoor plumbing. Electricity had barely made it into the kitchen, but that wouldn't stop the giant woodstove from belching heat into the room.

Janna knew that if she wandered into the closed off part of the house in this weather, her toes would begin feeling numb within a matter of minutes. However, the warmth that excuded from the kitchen more than made up for that. Janna smiled, knowing that as soon as she was done lugging firewood to the porch, she would be met with a steaming mug of cocoa and a plate of cookies (made in that infamous wood stove). Of course, now that she was grown, she would rather a nice Irish coffee replaced the cocoa, but in her great-aunt's mind, she would be forever ten years old.

"Janna!" a voice called across the quiet yard. "Janna, you'll catch your death, get in here, child!"

It didn't matter that her aunt was nearly 90 years old (as close and anyone could tell, that is), and that she barely cleared Janna's waist, and that a stiff breeze might blow her away. Aunt Madeline was from The Old Country, and was determined to live and work on her farm until Death himself came knocking on her door. Even then, she might just have plenty to say to him, in rapid Italian of course, and dissuade him from his task.

"Janna, what are you thinking, plodding through the cold? You come in here right now, and get warm with some cocoa!"

"Auntie, I was just bringing up some firewood for you. I don't want you to fetch it yourself, and I certainly don't want you to catch cold by going out in this!"

Propping her fists on her tiny apron-clad waist, Aunt Madeline proceeded to rain a litany of Italian on Janna. Janna just smiled, sure that the tirade contained various references to long-dead relatives, some anatomical names, and some Anglo-Italian words of dubious origin.

“I didn’t invite you and your parents here to do chores for me, Bella. You are just like them, you know. Last I heard, your father was out at the well, bringing in water. Your mother is down at the garden patch, poking around to see if there are any vegetables left! Like I can’t do those things myself,” the old woman sniffed. “I come on a boat from Italy when I was nothing but a child, and I live by myself for more than half my life, and suddenly people think I can do nothing, that I am a frail old woman. Huh!”

Janna’s grin widened at her aunt’s tirade. “Aw, Auntie, we don’t think that at all. We just like to help you, make it so that some times, you don’t HAVE to work so hard. Besides, Mama just wants to pick veggies so that you will make your amazing stew!”

The old woman reached out, easily mollified by the young face in front of her. “Ah, Bella, you always have the right thing to say, no? Come in and take a break, and enjoy fresh cookies while you wait for your Mama and Papa. I have cocoa for you too.”

Janna hid a grin, as she realized that forever in her aunt’s kitchen, she would eat cookies and drink cocoa. Entering the cozy kitchen, Aunt Madeline climbed up on a stool and reached back into a cupboard. Janna’s grin turned to shock and laughter as she noticed what her aunt held.

“Be sure there is some whiskey left for your Mama and Papa, I believe they will enjoy it in their coffee as well, being out in this cold.” With a wink and a sly smile, Madeline offered the bottle to her. Janna doctored her cocoa with the whiskey, grinned at her aunt’s retreating back, and raised her cup in a silent toast.