Category: Charlie’s Room

Charlie’s Room: Secret Ingredient

There was an oatmeal raisin cookie on a brightly-colored plate waiting on the counter when Isaac returned from his walk. Just one cookie? How odd. Where did the cookie come from?

Charlie hurried into the kitchen. “Dad! You’re home! We saved you one of the cookies from Miss Marta. Mom ate most of them.”

Marianne joined them. “They taste just like the cookies my grandma used to make. It was like I was sitting at her kitchen table again. I have to get the recipe! Charlie, do you want to come?”

They left, and Isaac picked up the cookie. He wasn’t an expert, but the cookie looked normal. He tasted it. It was a nice cookie, but not as good as his grandmother’s gingersnaps. Of course, few things were.

The empty plate sat on the counter looking brightly colored and empty. Isaac sighed. It would have been nice to eat a second one. Maybe Marianne would bake some after she returned with the recipe.

She did. After taking a bite of one of the cookies, still warm from the oven, she made a face. “It’s not the same. Did I so something wrong?”

Charlie picked up a cookie and took a bite. “Mmmmm. Cookies.” He wandered out of the room.

Marianne dumped the cooled cookies onto the empty plate and started baking again. She tasted the first cookie from the batch and scowled. The second batch of cookies joined the first batch. Three more batches and the plate was overflowing.

She picked a cookie off the oatmeal raisin mountain and handed it to Isaac. “Taste it,” she ordered.

Isaac bit into the cookie. “It’s not quite as good.”

Marianne began to pace. “It’s missing something. But what? I followed the recipe, and even took into account different techniques and possible variations.” She stopped and looked at Isaac. “There’s only one possibility.”

Charlie dashed into the kitchen and took two cookies, stuck them back-to-back and began eating them like a sandwich. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I just happened to notice you had a few extra cookies and decided to help.”

Marianne looked at him. “How many cookies have you eaten today?”

Charlie began counting on his fingers and paused. “A lot.”

“No more cookies.”

Charlie frowned. “But you have so many. Are you saving them for something special?”

Marianne shrugged. “I can freeze them and put them in your lunches. I’m sure they’ll freeze well. That’s not the point. If you eat too many cookies, you’ll feel sick. It’s not very healthy.”

Charlie thought for a moment. “Fine.” He stood up and brushed off his shirt. “More for later, right?” He drifted out of the kitchen.

Isaac turned to Marianne. “What’s the one possibility?”

“A secret ingredient! She left something out. Something that makes the cookies extra special. If only I’d asked for grandma’s recipe before she was gone.” Marianne turned an looked at Isaac. “I need to know the secret ingredient. Offer to rake Miss Marta’s leaves or mow her lawn all spring or fix her roof or something.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Isaac could see that this was important to Marianne. Even if oatmeal raisin cookies really weren’t as good as gingersnaps.

So, he went next door and knocked. Miss Marta came to the door. Isaac smiled. “Thanks for the cookies! Marianne loved them. She was so excited to get the recipe and came home and baked them right away.”

Miss Marta nodded. “I’m glad she likes them. They’re an old family recipe.”

A black cat slipped out of Miss Marta’s house and rubbed against Isaac’s ankles. Isaac leaned down to pet it. “I think Marianne’s family used to make them just like yours. Marianne said that when she tried to make them they didn’t taste the same. Is there a secret ingredient?”

“Love.” Miss Marta shrugged. “The secret ingredient is love, but tell her it’s cinnamon.”

“Hmmm. Love tastes like cinnamon?” Isaac shivered as a cold wind tore across the yard. The cat darted back inside.

“Sometimes it does.” Miss Marta gathered her shawl around her. “It depends on the memories.”

“Oh, I’m keeping you, and it’s letting in all the cold air. I’ll let her know. Thank you.” Isaac waved, and Miss Marta closed the door.

Marianne was waiting just inside the door when Isaac arrived home. “Well? What did she say?”

“Cinnamon,” Isaac said, hanging up his coat. “Also think happy thoughts about the people you love.”

“Cinnamon! I should have known.” Marianne hurried away.

“Don’t forget the happy thoughts,” Isaac called after her. “I think it’ll help.”

“I’ll think the happy thoughts,” Marianne called back. “It couldn’t hurt.”

Marianne made another batch of cookies. She taste the first cookie and smiled happily. Then she reached for a second cookie. “Love and cinnamon. I’ll add it to the recipe card.”

Charlie came in. “Are those for my lunches, too?”

“No, these are mine. You have all of those other cookies.” Marianne pointed to the overflowing plate of cookies.

Charlie looked back and forth between the batch of cookies cooling on the rack and the mountain of cookies on the counter. “I guess that’s fair,” he said, and wandered back out.

Charlie’s Room: No Power

It was the night before Christmas, and the power was out. The whole neighborhood was cold and dark. Marianne packed a bag with supplies and they bundled up to check on the neighbors.

Miss Marta answered the door dressed in a parka. She had a shawl draped over her shoulders and a scarf wound around her hood until only her eyes were showing.

Charlie smiled and pointed to the bag. “We have sandwiches and candy canes and oranges and flashlights and extra blankets.”

“I think I’ll be okay,” Miss Marta said. “But I won’t say no to a candy cane if you have extras. If you run out of blankets, let me know. I have a few extra in the closet.”

Mr. Jones took a few sandwiches and oranges. Miss Kathryn needed a flashlight. The Smith family were grateful for the extra blankets.

After an hour of checking on neighbors, the bag was empty and they were ready to go home and warm up as much as they could. They pulled the sheets and comforters off the beds and made a fort out of couch and chair cushions and sheets next to the Christmas tree, with a nest of pillows and comforters inside. Still wearing their coats, they crawled inside and curled up.

Marianne sighed. “This is warmer than I thought it would be, but it’s not very comfortable.”

“I think it’s fun,” Charlie retorted. “Let’s read the Christmas story. It’s not Christmas without it. Not really.”

Isaac crawled out of the fort and returned with a Bible. “I’ll start reading. Do we want to pass it around every few verses?”

“Every three verses. Three is a lucky number for our family. There are three of us,” Charlie said.

They read the Christmas story by candlelight, huddled together in a fort by the Christmas tree. Then they said prayers, brushed their teeth, and went to bed. It wasn’t very comfortable sleeping on the floor in their coats, but they all managed to fall asleep just the same.

Isaac woke up in the middle of the night. He wasn’t sure at first what woke him. He was much too warm and someone nearby was snoring. He sat up stiffly and unzipped his coat.

The soft glow of multicolored Christmas lights shone through the sheet walls of the fort. It was strangely magical. Isaac crawled out of the fort and hung up his coat in the closet.

He crawled back into the fort and gently shook Marianne’s shoulder. She sat up, looking confused. “Where are we, and why is it so warm?”

“The power’s back on,” Isaac explained. “I thought it might be more comfortable sleeping in the bed now that there’s heat again.”

“Good thinking.” Marianne stretched. “Ouch. My back is already a little sore. I’m too old to sleep on the floor. Well, lead the way. I want to get this coat off before I melt.”

Isaac looked over at Charlie. He was snoring softly, curled up in the nest of pillows and blankets. “Should we wake him up?”

Marianne shook her head. “I think he’ll enjoy waking up right next to the tree. But we should take his coat off so that he doesn’t overheat. Here, I’ll do it.”

Charlie didn’t wake up as they took his coat off and turned him on his side. He did stop snoring. Then they took their comforter and pillows and left Charlie with his.

They hung up the coats and went to bed. On the way past Charlie’s room, Isaac paused to look through the window. He could see a light fall of snow lit by the light of the streetlamp. It was good to have the power back on.

They all slept in the next morning. Charlie woke them up at seven, but that was late for Christmas morning. They put the cushions back on the chairs and couch so that they’d have somewhere to sit, and Charlie wrapped himself up in his comforter. It trailed behind him as he handed out the presents.

They opened all the little presents from friends and family, and Marianne got up to make breakfast. Isaac looked around the living room at the wrappings decorating the floor like a strangely colored fall of leaves. And then he noticed another package under the tree. How had they missed that?

“Charlie, there’s one more,” he said, pointing to the package.

Charlie looked under the tree. “That wasn’t there before. Did you just put it there?”

Isaac frowned. “No, I didn’t. Let’s see what it is. Who’s it from?”

Charlie picked up the package and turned it over in his hands. “There’s no tag.”

Marianne held out her hand. “Let me see.” She turned the package over a few times. “It looks like they wrapped it in a brown paper bag. Let’s see what’s inside.”

She tore open the paper, and an electric blue blanket tumbled out. A few white snowflakes were stitched on one corner. She picked it up and shook it out. “There was no note inside, either.”

“It looks warm and soft.” Charlie held out his arms and Marianne dropped the blanket into his hands. He stroked the fabric. “It is soft. We should put this in the reading chair in my room.”

“Sounds good to me.” Marianne stood up. “I’ll start breakfast while you both clean up in here.”

She left and Isaac followed her, returning moments later with a trash bag. They cleaned the room up rather quickly. Isaac picked up the blanket and held it out to Charlie. “I like your idea of leaving it on the reading chair.”

Charlie smiled. “Yeah. It will remind me of the best Christmas ever. We got to visit our neighbors, and read the Christmas story together by flashlight, and sleep in a fort by the tree. It was so much fun!”

They never did find where the blanket came from. The power stayed on for the rest of the holidays. The blanket stayed on the reading chair, and every time Isaac saw it, he remembered that the best Christmas ever was the one that they spent together, in the cold, with the power out.

Charlie’s Room: Pixie Dust

It was Saturday, and Marianne and Charlie were going to the bug museum. They left, chattering excitedly about the new dragonfly exhibit. “There were dragonflies at the time of the dinosaurs,” Charlie said as they walked out the door. “Do you think they were friends?” The door closed.

Isaac sighed and coughed and turned onto his left side. He was stuck at home trying to sleep off his cold so that he didn’t miss the caroling in the evening. Was it possible for extra sleep to heal a cold? Marianne said it was. So, here he was, stuck in bed on a perfectly good Saturday morning.

He rolled back onto his back. This wasn’t working. Maybe if he drank a nice warm cup of cocoa, it would help. He sat up and coughed for a bit. Then he trudged into the kitchen.

He filled up the kettle at the sink. While waiting for it to fill, he looked out the kitchen window. The backyard looked small and empty. With all the leaves and flowers gone, it should have looked bigger, but it didn’t. Even the plants in the windowsill had gone dormant and quiet.

Isaac coughed and shut off the water, feeling glum. Just then, something fluttered at the edge of his vision. He turned and leaned closer to the window. Something was flapping around frantically at the neighbor’s bird feeder. Was it an injured bird?

Setting the kettle on the counter, Isaac raced outside to the rescue. The cold air hit him like a slap to the face. He could hardly breathe through the coughing as he hurried across the yard, blinking the tears from his eyes. He was sure he would scare the poor bird away before he reached the feeder.

But the fluttering wings were still there and just as frantic. However, it wasn’t a bird in distress. It was a pixie. It had somehow been trapped in the wire mesh meant to keep squirrels out of the bird feeder.

“It’s okay,” Isaac said in a calm voice. “I’m here to help.” And then he coughed for a bit.

The pixie calmed down and stopped the panicked fluttering. Instead, it watched him closely. Isaac assessed the situation. The wires were separated and bent the wrong way, making a sort of monkey trap for the pixie’s foot.

Isaac made soothing murmuring noises as he reached in and bent the wires further apart. The pixie wiggled free and darted away. It paused five feet away, and fluttered in place, watching Isaac. “Go on,” he said. “Or did you want some bird seed to take with you? I imagine you were hungry, and that’s why you were here.”

He looked over at his neighbor’s windows. Miss Marta wasn’t looking out. He tipped the bird feeder over, pouring out a tablespoon-sized heap of birdseed into his hand. Then he held it out to the pixie, flat-palmed.

The pixie swooped down and gathered the birdseed into its skirt. Then it flew around his head, shaking pixie dust onto him like a rainbow fall of snow. The pixie flew away over the treetops, but Isaac didn’t watch it go.

He was too busy trying to think unhappy thoughts. He managed to get to the back door by imagining floating away like a balloon at the mercy of the strong winter wind. But, the moment he touched the doorknob, his relief was enough to take his feet off the ground.

His hands clutched at the doorknob in fear, and his feet hit the ground again. He hurried into the house. Inside, it was warm and smelled like pine trees and cinnamon. Within seconds, he was floating up by the ceiling.

There wasn’t any danger of floating away, so he decided to just enjoy feeling weightless and happy. He swam through the air, looking down at the tree in the living room. The top of the bookshelf needed to be dusted. Too bad regular dust didn’t work like pixie dust. Then everyone would want to dust.

He swam into Charlie’s room and reached for his book. He couldn’t reach. It was too low. How sad. He floated lower, feeling sad. Until finally, he could reach the book. He snatched it up, feeling happy, and floated higher.

Drifting from room to room, Isaac spent the rest of the morning reading. At lunch time, feeling hungry, he swam to the kitchen sinking lower and lower. He made himself a sandwich and sat at the table. He closed his eyes in bliss at the first bite. When he opened his eyes, he was still sitting at the table.

The pixie dust had worn off. He smiled and finished his sandwich. Then he realized that he hadn’t coughed once since the pixie had dusted him. Pixies could cure colds? Amazing! Now he didn’t need to take a nap.

Isaac started planning out the rest of his day, feeling thankful to the little pixie. That evening, he sang with Marianne and Charlie and felt happy and peaceful and thankful. It was a perfectly good Saturday, after all. He needed to add a bird feeder to the back yard. One without wire mesh.