Ancient Rituals

She sprinkles the salt and then begins the pounding.  Her muscles remember.  The rhythmic beat fills the kitchen.  Her arms won't tire until the second batch.  Even then, she will continue, making her arms strong.

How many such batches of cabbage were beaten into sauerkraut in a kitchen that has seen nine decades?  How many generations of mice have created ceremonies under the skirting board to the drumming of the pounder.  The seemingly-unknowable returns and silences must not be unlike a mysterious force in the universe.  Dances and prayers and fear and trembling when they return, then songs of thanks for the rain of cabbage scraps.

What happened to those tiny traditions when the humans ceased their own homemade traditions for store bought varieties?  Have the new generations scoffed at their ancient marches and thunder dances, praying for a rain of cabbage?  What do these new generations think now, as the pounding has returned after decades of silence?  Do they still scoff, adding scientific explanation and careful study to the frequency and cause?  Do they pause, humbled, and recognize old promises do come true?

If walls could talk....
If mice kept histories...

May we remember our ancient promises.

Notes on Napkins

My Dearest Husband,

Remember that your efforts may not always please Mr. Fitzpatrick.  Know that this is okay because they almost always please Soren, Elliot, Penelope and I.  We know how you strive to provide so well for us.  We are very proud of you.

Remember also that your many good efforts may - occasionally - go unnoticed and unappreciated by even us, your family.  Know that even this is okay because, ultimately, you are only working for your Heavenly Father and no good thing escapes Him.

May He see you today and be pleased.

Love,
Your Wife