THE CHINESE TULIPS by Janet Cipolli

My six-year-old granddaughter was spending Saturday afternoon with me, as she often did when her mother had many errands to do. Luckily for both of us, we shared a love for flower gardening. Lucky for me because I didn't have to find endless ways to keep her occupied and lucky for her because she was discovering the joy of gardening, something her mother had little time to show her.
     Very quickly, she learned the process of planting seeds, nurturing them with both water and plant food and reaping the rewards of their colorful blooms smiling back at her. In fact, she became so interested in growing flowers that she made it her job to greet the mailman when she visited to check for the arrival of my new seed catalogs. I was very impressed.
     One afternoon we sat looking through the latest catalog together and she became excited over a picture of multi-colored tulips.
     "Grandma, look at these!" she said with excitement, "Can we get some and plant them in our garden?"
     "I don't see why not. I’ve never planted tulips but Joe's Nursery must sell them." I replied.
     So we hopped in my car and drove to the nursery. She and I picked out about half-a-dozen pouches of tulip bulbs--different colors and varieties. We then returned home where she proceeded to introduce them to their new friends.
     "Zinnias and petunias, meet the tulips,” she said, holding up the bulbs for all to see. She dug a small hole with her spoon and buried the bulb with dirt.
     "Oh no honey, that's not deep enough," as I read the label on the pouch, "We need to make holes about this deep." I held one hand above the other to show her the distance.
     Halfway through our digging, she sat back on her heels and asked, "Grandma, if we just kept digging and digging and never stopped, what do you think we'd find?"
     I smiled--remembering when I asked that same question to my mother as a child. "Well we'd end up in China, on the other side of the world." She sat staring at me and then at the holes in the ground.
     "Humph! That's too far for me to dig."
     I agreed with her and we finished planting. She watered the garden, giving an extra gulp to the tulips before we called it a day.
     Three weeks later, neither of us could see any progress in the tulip department. Not one little sprout. She looked up at me as if she had just opened a Christmas present filled with coal.
     “Where’s my tulips?” she pouted.
     I surely didn’t know but I took a guess.
     “Maybe the bulbs were bad. Let’s go back to Joe’s Nursery and buy some new ones.” She happily agreed.
     An hour later, we finished planting our second crop of tulips and crossed our fingers. She also crossed her eyes, which made us both laugh.
     Another three weeks passed and still no sign of our colorful little friends. My granddaughter was beside herself.
     “Well this is a rip-off!” with her hands on her hips. “We need to go back to Joe’s and tell him he has deadbeat bulbs!”
     I stood, pondering what could possibly have gone wrong—we did everything right, so it has to be the bulbs. I let out a deep sigh.
     “Let’s go inside and have lunch sweetie,” I offered. “Let me think about this for a bit.”
     After a quick soup and sandwich, I noticed the mailman pulling up outside. My granddaughter went out to meet him as I stood by the door.
     “Hi there,” greeted the postman, “There’s a new flower catalog for you in here,” handing her a large stack of mail.
     “Big deal,” she replied with a scowl.
     “What’s wrong? I thought you loved those catalogs,” he probed.
     She shrugged and told him about the disappointing experience of planting tulips.
     “Hm,” he scratched his head. “My wife plants tulips every year and she never has a problem. You do know they have a top side and a bottom side, right?”
     She turned to me, looking like a wood plank had just bonked her upside the head.
     “No…” her voice trailed upwards.
     “Well then, maybe that’s the problem—you planted them upside down.”
     As the mailman drove off down the road, a smile returned to her cute little face. I took the pile of mail from her and put on my gardening gloves. We both marched outside to the garden.
     “Well now, let’s dig these all up so we can turn them around.” I announced, much to her surprised dismay.
     “Oh no Grandma, we can’t do that!” she objected.
     “Why not?” I asked.
     “Because,” staring down at the empty flowerbed, “we don’t want the Chinese families to wake up tomorrow and find all their tulips gone!”
     Now, how could I argue with that? So, we drove back to Joe’s Nursery and eventually proved the old saying to be true—third time’s a charm!

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Copyright 2010 by Janet Cipolli. All Rights Reserved.

FAKE, NOT FAKE by Janet Cipolli

Beth and Walter Chester were doing their annual holiday browsing through Home Depot. Beth enjoys looking at the seasonal displays of brightly lit trees and holiday decorations. Walter doesn’t mind as long as he can check out the endless supply of switch plates, indoor thermometers and birdfeeders.
     "What a beautiful tree! Walter, look." Beth pointed to a seven-foot-tall white artificial tree with multi-colored lights.
     "I hate white trees. Especially fake white trees."
     "You paid $150 for the fake tree we bought here two years ago. You love that tree."
     "It's not white sweetie." he debated in his bull-headed way. "And I don't love it. I think we’re going to get a real tree this year.” He stood tall breathing in an imaginary aroma. “A lush pine-smelling eight-footer."
     Beth turned to him, arms crossed, anticipating the imminent battle of dealing with her husband's stubborn nature.
     "Oh no, we're not spending any more money on a new tree. The one we have in the basement is just fine."
     "Nah, I want a real tree. I want to wake up on Christmas morning and smell the outdoors, the Alps, the Rocky Mountains--all those big hills."
     Beth turned away with a huff.
     "I am not dealing with the mess of a real tree," she insisted. "Falling pine needles and spilt water all over the place? Uh, uh.”
     She already knew it would be pointless to continue her argument because of the faraway blank stare on her husband's face. At that very moment, Walter was skiing down the Matterhorn with someone named Jean Philippe amid the fresh scent of pine trees. She could only hope one of those eight-footers was directly in his path—he could use a good reality whack.
     A week later, Walter was getting ready to drive over to Pine Acres, a local purveyor of Xmas trees, and was excited about it. Beth had already made it quite clear that she wanted nothing to do with shopping for his “dream tree” and that was fine with him. 'A few fallen needles and some spilt water, big deal,' he thought to himself. He could handle that. As he reached for the car keys he looked to see if his wife had perhaps emerged from her mood.
     “Do you think we need a tree stand sweetie?”
     Beth’s facial expression was sufficient.
     On his way down the street, Walter noticed all the holiday decorations on his neighbor’s houses. He stopped at the corner of the street.
     “Now that’s a tree!” he said out loud. On the front lawn of the corner house stood a brightly decorated Blue Spruce. He knew an elderly couple lived there but in all the years he could remember this was the first time they had ever decorated that tree. Boy, it looked good.
     As he turned the corner, the station wagon hit something—big enough for Walter to bang the side of his head against the door. From the sound of crunching metal under the car, it wasn’t hard to imagine what had just happened.
     “Mommy!” a little boy shouted. “My bike!”
     Walter got out of the car to see the boy’s mother storming out of her house.
     “I’m sorry kid,” Walter offered, looking under the car. “I didn’t see your bike. What’s it doing in the street anyway?”
     The boys’ angry mother rushed towards him. “I just bought that bike for him now look what you did!”
     “Whoa, lady” Walter leaned back. “Back off! I really didn’t see it. Here,” taking his wallet out of his back pocket “is fifty-dollars enough to replace it?”
     The woman stuck her nose in the air, grabbed the cash and shoved it inside her top. “You’re just lucky my old man isn’t home or it might have cost you more than just your money, mister.”
     “Yeah, okay,” Walter smirked. “You have a nice day too.” He took his time, moseying back to his car to let her know he wasn’t afraid of her, her imaginary old man or starring in an episode of COPS.
     Back on the road, he arrived at Pine Acres to find it crawling with people and their kids fighting over which tree to buy.
     “Daddy, Daddy! Get this one!” one kid shouted as the tree he was holding fell on top of him.
     Walter steered his way through the rambunctious crowd to an area towards the back. There, under a hand-painted sign that read NORTHERN BLUE SPRUCE, he spotted his tree. It was beautiful—just like the luscious eight-footer he had imagined. He shoved his face between the branches and inhaled the fresh aroma.
     “Get your face out of the tree,” said the worker.
     Walter jumped back causing pine needles to stick to his hair, “I’m buying this tree,” pulling out his wallet. “How much is it?”
     “100 dollars.”
     Walter pulled out his cash and counted sixty-five. “Here, I’ll write you a check for the difference,” handing the money to the young man.
     “Cash only mister,” pointing his finger to a sign that read NO CHECKS.
     Perturbed, Walter envisioned the face of the angry mother with the bike and silently cursed her before reaching for his ATM card, “Hold this tree. I’ll be right back.”
     The worker handed Walter back his sixty-five dollars. “Can’t hold trees mister. First come, first served.”
     Walter began to get agitated and flustered. “Well then take my cash as a down-payment. I want this tree.”
     The young man pointed his finger towards another sign that read NO DOWN PAYMENTS ACCEPTED.
     Walter impatiently looked around at the increasing number of tree shoppers headed toward the area of his Northern Blue Spruce.
     “Oh look Marvin, what a beautiful tree!” a woman’s voice caught his attention. “That’s the one I want.” She was pointing right at Walter’s tree.
     “Oh no you can’t buy this one,” Walter told her. “I already bought it. Go away.” Waving them to move on. She looked suspiciously at Walter before taking hold of her husband’s arm and turning away.
     Walter shoved his wallet back into his pant pocket and with both arms outstretched grabbed the Northern Blue Spruce and picked it up. Boy, was it heavy! He put it back down and tried to figure out a way to get it to his car. He thought “if I could just get it to the station wagon, I can tie it to the roof and have Beth bring me the rest of the cash.” He set it down on the ground, picked it up by the stump and began pulling it along towards the parking lot.
     “Hey! Put that back!” a worker yelled.
     Walter picked up his pace and yelled back. “That’s okay, thank you, I got it!”
     Just as he caught site of the station wagon, a strong yank backwards made him lose his footing. He looked up from the gravel to see two men hoisting up his Northern Blue Spruce. Walter jumped up and with the help of his flowing adrenaline, he thrust his arms between the branches and matched the formidable force of the two men. For a minute there he thought he had them and if it weren’t for the distracting sounds of the approaching police sirens—he would have.
     “So, how much has this dream tree cost us so far?” Beth taunted as she and Walter left the police station.
     “Don’t ask,” was his reply.
     After they got home and much to Beth’s chagrin, Walter headed down to the basement and came up carrying their artificial tree. Ten minutes later, Walter walked back into the kitchen and put on his jacket.
     "Where are you going now?" Beth asked.
     "To get our tree."
     "You just brought it up from the basement.”
     "I told you we’re getting a real tree this year, get with the program sweetie."
     "What did you do with our fake tree?”
     "I gave it to the old couple down the street." grabbing the car keys, "Oh and I promised them all our ornaments and lights too so we'll have to pick up some new ones."
     "Why the hell did you do that?" crossing her arms yet again.
     "Because that’s what they wanted for the Blue Spruce on their front lawn.”
     It was now Beth who stood with a blank stare. As Walter began to leave he stopped and turned to his wife.
     "Do we have an axe sweetie?"

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Copyright 2010 by Janet Cipolli. All Rights Reserved.

THE PANTRY RAID by Janet Cipolli

White Flour and Granulated Sugar were in a semi-heated debate when Marissa walked into the pantry. She had just come home from the grocery store.

"I hope she bought vanilla for tonight's chocolate cake,” puffed White Flour.

Granulated Sugar, still boiling over from their argument, "Everything is always about you! Did you ever think she might want peanut brittle?"

"What's with you? Pretty sour attitude you got there."

Marissa placed the grocery bag on the counter just below a shelf of snack foods. She stood staring at the bags of Potato Chips, Cheese Popcorn and Pizza Pretzels. One by one, she gathered them up, clearing the shelf.

"Hey! What's with all the jostling?" popped off Cheese Popcorn. "I was feeling pretty comfy up there."

"Yeah," cracked Pizza Pretzels. "I'm breaking up!"

"Didn't you hear?" White Flour laughed. "She has to cut back on salt and you're all guilty as charged! You're looking at some serious trash time you bunch of no-good artificial losers."

"That's just like you to place your sorry White Flour ass up on a pedestal." poked Granulated Sugar. "I heard she's switching to Stone Ground Whole Wheat Flour. Ha!"

"Yeah right, llike that will ever happen. Look at her. Right now she's thinking about whipping up a huge plate of buttermilk pancakes loaded with butter and maple syrup. Stone Ground Wheat Flour is only good for one thing."

"And what's that?" asked Potato Chips right before she crushed him and threw him in the trash bin. White Flour's answer couldn't be heard above the ear-crackling screams of Pizza Pretzel.

"Guys, help me, please," pleaded Cheese Popcorn. "I'll owe you big time. Help a buddy out!"

White Flour and Granulated Sugar looked at each other.

"Sorry dude." sprinkled Granulated Sugar, "Artificially-colored friends? Uh, I don't think so."

"Not that there's anything wrong with that." said White Flour, sifting out any unintended slur.

Marissa picked up Cheese Popcorn and removed its bag-clip. She uncurled the top and looked inside before reaching in with her right hand.

"It's party time tonight! We'll be mixin' and beatin' and cuttin' in the butter," rapped White Flour.

After two handfuls, Marissa turned Cheese Popcorn upside down into its final resting place, the trashcan. She then reached underneath the cabinet and pulled out a small food scale.

"Uh, oh" White Flour looked over at Granulated Sugar. "This can't be good."

They both watched as Marissa began unpacking the grocery bag. The counter quickly filled up with fresh Fruits and Vegetables, Skinless Chicken Breast and Sugar-Free Frozen Yogurt.

Granulated Sugar screamed while White Flour shimmied behind a giant box of Fiber Rich Cereal.

Marissa grabbed Granulated Sugar and poured it over the stale remains of the discarded snacks.

"Hey look!" snapped Carrot Sticks, "A sack of White Flour, what's up with that?"

Fruit and Vegetables, Skinless Chicken and Sugar-Free Frozen Yogurt looked up just in time to see the edges of White Flour vanish behind the giant box.

"You can run but you can't hide!" they all chimed.

Much to White Flour's relief, Marissa stored away the taunting troublemakers. As she turned off the light, White Flour contemplated his shelf life. Just a few minutes later, Marissa returned to the pantry. She turned on the light and reached for a bowl and spoon.

Fiber Rich Cereal nudged White Flour.

“Look, despite what you’ve heard about me, I consider you family. That's why I'm telling you this...RUN!"

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Copyright 2010 by Janet Cipolli. All Rights Reserved.