Annette Lost Her Marbles
by Andrea Rennick
There was a knock at my mother’s front door, the one she never uses, and she opened it to find a little old lady and a middle-aged woman standing on her doorstep.
“This is my house,” the lady said. Since my mother lives in an old and notable home, she did the only thing she felt she could—she invited the lady and her grown-up daughter in for a tour and some tea.
The group went through all the rooms of my mother’s house, with the old lady leading the way, giving my mom fresh insight to what was, and what had gone on before. When they reached the bedroom at the top of the stairs, the old lady sighed. “Annette here,” and she indicated the daughter with her, “Annette was born, right here. Right here in this room. The only one of my five children born in this house.”
If only the walls could talk, we always wonder, and that day, they did. Later, after the tour and some tea, the company got up to leave. As my mother showed them out the door, she remembered something. “Wait right here,” she said, and ran into the kitchen, collecting from the window ledge some of the old marbles she’d found digging in the garden.
“Here,” she said, placing them in an outstretched hand and making a joke, “In case you’ve lost your marbles, I found them.”
Imagine my mother’s surprise when they didn’t laugh. Instead, the lady looked shocked, and tears started to form in Annette’s eyes. “They’re mine,” she whispered. Tears welled up in everyone’s eyes as Annette explained how she often played marbles by herself, out in the yard, down in the back garden. As they turned to go, the old lady held out her hand. “Thank you,” she said.
“No,” said my mother, drawing them both into a hug, “Thank you.”
Andrea Rennick is a homeschooling mom of four children, ranging in age from 4 to 18. A sense of humour is a big part of dealing with the ins and outs of her day. She can also be found at her website, www.atypicalife.net Reach her at email@example.com.