The Sculptress
"Gram'ma, can I ask you a question?"
"Certainly, Casey, what is it?"
"I gotta' get a gift for a classmate for the Christmas party at school, and I'm not supposed to spend more'n five dollars. Do you know you can hardly buy anything for five dollars?"
The elderly Grandmother threw back her head and laughed aloud: "how right you are, child, how well I know!"
"Then what can I do? I want to give the person whose name I drew a nice gift." The child fell silent, hoping her Grandmother would have an idea to help with her plight.
"Have you thought of making a gift for your schoolmate? Seems to me your money'd go a lot further that way."
"Super idea, Gram'ma," Casey McIntyre enthused, as she scampered off on a mission.
Eleanor McIntyre smiled to herself and went back to her household chores. As she worked, she mused to herself: "you know, Eleanor, you might want to heed your own counsel. Remember how your high school art teacher had encouraged you to `pursue your talent.' Instead you studied Botany in college, got married, raised a family, and now,..." she smiled, "now you have the time to indulge your former interest in art. You can make gifts that will be more appreciated than the stuff you get in stores; because you have given something of yourself to others!"
"Hello, Rochester Art Center."
"Hello, this is Eleanor McIntyre, and I'm calling to see if you offer a course in sculpture?" Eleanor held her breath; part of her hoping they would have a course, part of her fearing they would!
"Oh, yes, Ms. McIntyre, an eight week course starts a week from Monday. The instructor is great and it only costs..."
Eleanor showed up for class early. She hadn't told anyone, not even her close personal friend Naomi Ramer, that she was taking the course. Her hands were clammy. "Oh, Eleanor, what have you done?" she asked herself, resisting the temptation to just leave.
In a flash the course was over. Eleanor couldn't believe it. Her hands hadn't been as flexible as the younger students, but she had carefully, lovelingly created a small wax of two figures--an elderly lady and a young girl holding hands crossed over one another, as if bridging some mythical gap.
Her art instructor had remarked: "Eleanor, that really is quite lovely! You ought to think of having it cast."
"Already have, I'm sending it to the Modern Art Foundry on Long Island to be cast in bronze."
"Oh, Eleanor, that's thrilling!"
"I know," Eleanor replied, not even trying to stifle an involuntary shudder.
Faithfully Christmas arrived, complete with a softening mantle of snow upon the supine earth. Gifts were exchanged among all the family members. Casey gave her grandmother a pair of hot pan holders that she had weaved herself. At last there was only one small package which remained unopened. The wrapping paper fell away from the two small bronze figures. Casey's eyes flew open in surprise.
"Gram'ma you...you made this yourself, didn't you?"
"Yes, child, I thought maybe I ought to practice what I preach." Two generations, hands clasped as in the sculpture, threw back their heads and laughed as one!
It was a memorable Christmas; one destined to stand in defiance of the ravages of time, and the vagaries of all things which would dare to divide us.