Category: Chartrand, Diane

Delia’s Special Gift (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

The meeting began under a tall umbrella of rust-colored leaves high up in the middle of Peachview State Park.

“First to Mrs. Blackbear,” Delia said to the group gathered. “Can you update us on the humans causing trouble around your winter cave?”

Shaking her head to flick off a bee, Mrs. Blackbear addressed the large group.  “It was terrible, so, so terrible.  They woke up the children, and Marvin and I had to try and find food for them from the slim pickings this time of year.”

With Mrs. Blackbear not able to go on, Delia turned to the rabbit family and inquired about the damage to their holes.  It seemed the humans entering the forest illegally brought shovels and filled in the top of the rabbit’s homes.

They had to dig for a long time to get them cleared again.  The elders reported they were glad to have found all their family and friends.

“Miss Delia, why is it that you can hear what we say to you?”

Looking at the young fox, she told him it was a special gift she was born with, just like the one he is born with to search for food.

Delia looked out over the series of woodland creatures before her. They had stopped running away from her once they realized she could hear them as they spoke.  Over the past year, she visits every morning as the sun is coming up.  She has conversations with the birds flying by on their way to find food for their young.

When she was very young, her mother would take her for long walks in the woods that were on the edge of their farm.  They would sit in the very spot where the meeting is being held today and just remained still when the animals went by.  At first, she was afraid, and then it became a game to see if any of them would sit next to them.

“Okay, everyone.  Back to the problems at hand so I can get them taken care of.  Who is next?”

“Me,” said the beautiful doe with her twins at her side.  “I want to tell you about how those bad humans tried to steal one of the twins.  If it wasn’t for my husband showing up in time, Pascal would be gone, and who knows what they would have done to him.”

“Oh, that is not a good thing.  I’m so sorry that happened to you.  I’m sure all of you were very frightened.  I’m going to have another meeting this afternoon with the park ranger to see if we can find out who these bad people are and make it stop.”

“Miss Delia, Miss Delia, I have a question,” a red-headed woodpecker called out.

“What is your question?”

“How do I stop those bad ones from raiding my nest?  Every time I lay new eggs the next day when I get back from finding food, they’re gone.”

“Have you ever seen anyone around when you fly off?  It could be one of the bad woodland creatures, like some squirrels, we know about who also steal eggs from nests to eat.”

The woodpecker didn’t know and has never seen anyone around as she flew up into the sky.  Delia knew about a few creatures who would steal eggs to eat or just to break open.  She did speak with them, but it is difficult to change old habits.

“I hope there is no one here guilty of doing that to Mrs. Woodpecker.  I will have the ranger put a protection cage around your nest until you are ready to sit on the eggs.”

Delia assured her that the hole to get in and out of the cage is too small for even a small squirrel to get into, and besides, the eggs would be too big to pull them out.

Having written down all the complaints, Delia said goodbye to all her woodland friends and went to her meeting with the ranger.  He indicated putting the cage over the woodpecker’s hole in the tree would be done before dark.  As for the humans causing chaos to the animal world, he had no news yet.

The following day on her way to go sit in the woods, Delia heard something happening a few yards in front of her.   She slowed down her pace and approached as quietly as possible.

In the clearing, she saw two teenagers carrying backpacks that had small folding shovels attached.  Hiding behind a tree, she listened as they carried on a conversation while sitting on a log.

“Mistie, we sure got those foxes this time.  I bet they will never get back out of their tunnels for hours.”

“Henry, that was so much fun, but it is getting later than usual, and we don’t want anyone to see us here, so we best head for home and not miss breakfast.”

Delia watched as the two got up and walked down the path that went back to the village. She followed them from a distance.  She had never seen the two before, having lived here all her life.

When they got to the visitors’ parking lot, the two climbed into a dark green jeep and drove away.  Delia memorized the license plate and headed for the ranger station to write it down and have him find out who the jeep belonged to.

When Delia got to the ranger station, no one was there.  On the door, there was a note, ‘Will be back at 3 p.m.’  There was a notepad nearby for people to leave messages.  She quickly wrote down MITE-394 and tore off the page putting it into her jean pocket.

She was desperate to find out who the jeep belonged to but how.  Maybe she could ask around town at the coffee shop and see if anyone has seen the teenagers named Mistie and Henry or might have seen the dark green jeep.

First, though, Delia went back to her house, got a shovel, and headed for the closest fox den to see if she could dig them out before the babies died without enough air.  Once she got one cleared, she could ask where all the other dens were located.

As the mother fox came out of the den, she just sat for a minute, appearing exhausted.  “How are your babies doing, Daisy?”

“They will be better now that they can get some air.  Thank you.”

“Do you know where all the other dens are located?  I heard the teens say they cover several of them with dirt and branches.”

After checking the babies first, Daisy took her to the other three locations, and she freed them.  Putting down her shovel she Delia sat on the ground next to it to regain her strength and then headed back to the ranger station.

She walked and pulled out the paper she wrote the license number on and placed it on the counter in front of the ranger.

“Can you check this plate number out and see who it belongs to.  I saw the teenagers very early this morning and listened to a conversation between the two of them.  Afterward, I followed them to a Dark Green Jeep in the parking lot, and this is the plate number from it.”

He looked at her intently when she mentioned the two teenagers’ names and then glanced down at what she had written on the paper.

“It will take me a little while for them to do a search on this, so I will let you know later today by phone once I have a result.”

Delia thanked him and went back to check that all the animals were okay.

After Delia left, the ranger took a deep breath, knowing who this Mistie and Henry were and who the jeep belonged to.  He needed to go home for a bit and speak with his sister about what her children have been up to and the damage they may have done to the animals.

His sister was visiting him and his wife and had brought along her son and daughter so they could take classes on conservation in the forest.  Well, he guessed they have decided to do more before attending those such classes at the high school.

“Martha, are you home?  I need to speak with you about Mistie and Henry.”

“What’s up, Mark?  You sound so official.”

“The kids have been wreaking havoc on the animals in the woodland areas.  Before breakfast, they went out there and buried the fox entrances with dirt so they couldn’t get out.  Luckily, a special friend of the animals heard them talking and undid the damage.”

“What?  How do you know it was my children?”

The ranger handed his sister the paper with the license plate number on it.  “Does this look familiar?”

“My jeep has this plate number.  So you’re saying that my two have also been driving the jeep without a driver’s license?”

He told her it looked that way and wanted to know where they were right now.  He did see the jeep parked in the driveway when he pulled up.

“Mark, I promise you this will be handled by me as soon as they get home from class.”

Satisfied, he went back to the ranger station.  He now needed to decide how to explain to Delia who those teenagers are and what was being done to keep them from never terrorized the animals again.

Smoke, Fog and Haze (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

As I look forward, all I see is thick smoke, heavy fog, and a glaring haze blocking my view.  My life has been turned upside down over the past five months, and my sense of direction has disappeared.

Each night before going to bed, I plan what my next day will be like, but after getting up in the morning, the plan disappears.  Instead, I seem to wander through an array of things blocking my intentions.  It’s like my mind is just walking through a thick layer of smoke, and there appears to be no way out, so I just sit.

I need to find a way to clear my mind from the things that consume me and return to life.  I set goals and break them.  I set deadlines, and they seem to create a haze on my intentions, and I change them.

It is so uncomfortable not to be able to navigate just one day as planned.  I believe that maybe the sorrow of what is taking place has a hold on me.  It is like I am living in a fog that keeps rolling at me minute by minute.

I need to deal with the feelings creating the pause but have no way of knowing how to accomplish that feat.  The thick smoke billows over my head, the heavy fog makes my eyes water, and the glaring haze is like a bright light telling me to stop.

I will try once more tomorrow to start small and try to progress from there.  No looking at bank accounts or spreadsheets about budgets every morning and set that task to a specific date and time during the week.  

No more watching television from the time I get up until bedtime.  I am going to set a few simple goals.

  1. Get dressed and go for a walk before breakfast to get the muscles moving.
  2. Listen to stimulating music while eating breakfast.
  3. Set up my computer for the day to write for at least two hours about anything.
  4. Go out after lunch again and walk the two blocks to the main intersection.
  5. Work on creative things like videos and animations for book releases.

I hope the above is not too difficult.  By going out of the apartment, even though we are in lockdown with a stay at home order, the fresh air will help clear some of the fog or clouds or maybe at least the haze in the beginning.

Also, times need to be established for going to bed and getting up.  Anyway, to try and dissolve the fog during the night in my dreams that wake me.  They create extreme stress regarding what to do about this or that.  I need to let go of things and let others involved takeover and be responsible.

Before five months ago happened, I would enjoy each day working on my writing and spending time outside or riding a bus just to be around other people.  That life is gone, maybe for good.  I had been so used to getting up at four in the morning and working until late in the evening for three full months.

That pattern became my routine, and life at home didn’t exist.  Once when coming home for a few days, I forgot which key opened the building door.  That, I think, is what created the heavy clouds, thick fog, and glaring haze in my day.  Everything just kept repeating day after day and each day blended into the next until I had to stop.So, here I am now with no way to see how to go forward and reclaim at least a bit of my life from before.  Maybe, that is not the answer.  Just perhaps, I need to start from the beginning and leave the past behind.  Just go forward and create a new normal that will make me happy and allow me to not be blocked by obstacles.

A Letter to my 14-year old Self (Diane Chartrand

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

Dear Younger Me,

As I reflect on all the things that went on when we were fourteen, the now seventy-six-year-old me still has trouble reconciling all of it.

At that time, we were confused, angry, and became a rebel doing everything in our power to do the opposite of what was asked.  To try and show the grownups they were wrong, at one point, we walked over twenty-five miles to visit the boy, we believed to be our boyfriend and though we were madly in love with him.

We both know that didn’t work out well.  Getting there in the late evening, what was believed would happen didn’t.  The boy’s father immediately put us in his car and drove us home.  After that, the boy was instructed to stay away from us.  I remember how painful that was and think it led to all the following disruptive actions that followed.

Often during the years before we turned fourteen, we defended Dad even though he was an alcoholic and most times was violent when drunk.  For years he would take put us in the back seat of the car.  He would drive to the bar, leave us alone in the car all day, and then drive home once his money ran out.  Everyone called us “Daddy’s Girl,” but we both know that really wasn’t the case.

I know that being a teenager is a difficult time in life. For us, it was even more challenging to compete with six other siblings for attention.  This, I believe, was our way of getting attention.  Even the time we ran away just down the street to stay at a friend’s house.  When the police arrived, our mother made it clear to put us in a cell for the night and not let anyone bail us out.

I have a vivid remembrance of that night.  We were scared but not remorseful.  Once our friends knew the situation, they would come, one by one, and sit by the bars at the window, being the jail was on the ground floor, and talk.  It was supposed to be a lesson to behave.  Guess that didn’t work.

Okay, enough of the remembering.  I want you to know that after several years of even worse mistakes, we turned out okay.  It took a long time to get it right, but I have no fear because we are okay today.

Life is calm for the most part.  We found that writing has soothed the rebel in our soul, or maybe utilizes it because all of that can be expressed through the characters in the books we write.  It has been a great way to live adventures as someone else and find redemption in the end.  

We had many challenges at fourteen, but I believe that may be the case for the majority of teenagers trying to navigate all the changes happening with our bodies and in our life.  Going to High School, liking boys, and not knowing what to do with all that.

Life can be a challenge for many unforeseen reasons, so I want you to know that we turned out okay even though we made many mistakes along the way.

The Smells of Christmas (Diane Chartrand) 2020

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

Jody walked into her mother’s house on December 24th and was hit with so many memories from her past.

The crisp citrus scent coming from the living room where the decorating was beginning to happen.  Jody pulled a needle to her nose and inhaled the sweet, spicy smell taking her back ten years to the last time she came home.

“Mom, do you remember when we went out to the lot to get this?”

“You mean when you got knocked over after trying your luck with the saw?”

Jody laughed and admitted it was a lot of fun, but now realized it could also be dangerous if you weren’t careful.

The scent of sage drew her away from the decorating and into the kitchen to check it out.  Jody’s sister was draped in a red apron with a picture of a reindeer with a shiny red nose sprinkling flour into a bowl.

“What ja making, Sue?”

“Close your eyes and tell me what you smell, and then you will know.”

Jody closed her eyes as she held her nose close to where her sister was standing.

“There is a strong smell of cinnamon and fresh, crisp apples.  I know, you’re making my favorite pie.”

Jody put on a kettle of water and began to set several cups on the counter.  This was her favorite of all time.  Coloured Candy Canes melting in a sea of swirling, hot milk mixed with a packet of divine chocolate for each one, leaving off the mild scent of peppermint.

After preparing the drinks, Jody put them on a tray and carried it out to the living room for everyone to enjoy.  The children were having such a fun time.  Mom pressed the white button when the decorating stopped, and the lights came on, flashing back and forth in sequence.

At noon, everyone sat at the dining room table, and Jody’s Dad carved the turkey, and the passing began.  As each plate or bowl came to Jody, she inhaled the wonderful smells emitting from them.

Melted butter mixed with celery, sage, pork, and bread crumbs all rolled into a ball.  Special drinks covered in nutmeg’s scent. The smell of mandarin oranges, clove, and cinnamon mixed as the wick flickered lightly in the background. 

Overstuffed from all the delicious food, Jody went into the den to recover and make room for dessert.  The aroma of hickory filled the room as she sat in her father’s recliner and closed her eyes.

The smells of Christmas can be overwhelming and, at the same time, pleasant.  Sometimes we are always in a hurry and never take the time to enjoy what is right there in front of us.

Jody spent the last ten years working and not even putting up a tree because she couldn’t be bothered.  She promised her mother that from now on, she would come home every year for Christmas.  The smells were divine.  A hint of nutmeg.  A stronger one of ginger from her sister’s cookies.

Although they spent several hours wrapping presents, Jody could never figure out what the smell was coming from the paper even with her eyes closed.  Guess paper is just paper and has no scent unless someone adds it in.

Christmas is a time to re-connect with family and friends. Still, most of all, we need to re-connect with the wonderful smells associated with the holiday.  So try and be like Jody.  Close your eyes and take in the wonders given to you from your sense of smell.

This year see what smells of Christmas you discover.  Maybe some will become your favorites or those you don’t even want to be close to.  

Missing You – July 11, 2020

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

I think about you several times a day.  You are missed.  When I get up and make my coffee, you are there beside me, waiting for your cup to be ready.  I see your smile and hear your laugh.

One year ago today, I learned from your sister that you were finally awake, off of oxygen, and talking.  She and I had discussed earlier in the week about the e-cards the hospital had on their website to send to patients.  When they got them, they would be printed off and taken to the patient.

I sent two that very night—one from me and one from our writers’ group telling her to get better soon.  I have no idea if you ever did get to see them, especially the one from me with a cute dog on it.

That was on a Tuesday, and your sister said she wasn’t able to see you again until Thursday as her husband would be out of town.  I so wanted to go visit you, but we decided no one would like to be seen that way, so I didn’t push it.

I regret now that we didn’t’ arrange for me to visit you on Wednesday when your sister couldn’t.  I waited for another e-mail from her on Thursday to see if you had seen the e-cards, but no answer.  That day was Thursday, July 11, 2019.

The next morning I found an e-mail your sister had written during the early morning hours.  It said that on Thursday, July 11, 2019, while she was there, you had taken a turn for the worse and left this earth for a better place.

I have so many things in my house that remind me of you as I come upon them.  I have lost many people in my life, but for some reason, this time was different.  I missed our meeting every Tuesday in the food court downtown for lunch before we worked at the library for a couple of hours.

I missed our bus rides all over town just to end up at Westmount Mall to have coffee from the Tim Horton’s there.  For many months after that, I was unable to even take the bus to that area because the ride home would always go by your house.

Today is July 9, 2020, and in a few days, it will mark the first anniversary of your passing.  I find this week you are in my thoughts and I miss you even more than I did then.  I know you are watching down on all of us from wherever you are enjoying your coffee and writing.

There is a bit of good news.  I have what I was able to get of your writing.  Most of it, your sister had thrown out before I got to your house. The group did a tribute to you on our website and posted one of your short stories.  The good news is that story is now a published work.

When I was writing the third book of my trilogy, your story came to mind.  As my characters were getting their lives in order, I thought yours should also be.  After I reached the end of my story, I told my readers a bit about you and then put your story up for them to read.  Yes, I did put the copyright as yours and the year 2019.

Congratulations, my friend, on being able to have one accomplishment done even though you are not here.  We use to discuss what you were writing in the critic group from the London Writer’s Society, and I do have some of those to be another reminder of your words and wit.

I have had many friends, and still do, but you were special.  You were the sister who understood me and helped me to deal with things from my past.  I learned so much from you, but most of all, I learned a lot about you afterward.

I am missing you now as I write this and wish there could be just one more day.  The day you woke up in the hospital might have been that one.  I will remember to wear the shawl you gave me whenever I’m on the bus and get cold.  It stays in the side pocket of my backpack.

When I bake something in the oven, you are there with the oven mitts you gave me, so I would be able to pick up the hot things more easily.  I’m sure you have seen that I finally wrote that book about Buzby after you generously gave me a stuffed one after I admired the one on display at Tim’s.

We are now having a bad time in this world, and with your cancer, you may not have survived this, so I am glad you left when you did.  I do miss you every day, especially on Tuesday’s when my mind goes to making a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and going downtown to meet you.

One day, we will be back together again and maybe can pickup spending some time together.  My thoughts are your thoughts, my friend, and I am missing you so much on this day.

My First Boyfriend and My Father (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

It was 1958, I was thirteen, and had just started high school where I met a boy that I really liked, his name was Walter Dudek.

We started spending time together at school then progressed to the movie theatre so that we could kiss in the dark, and no one would object.

When my father found out who I was spending time with, he was furious, telling me he was no good and came from the wrong side of town.

One night Walter came to pick me up at the house. It wasn’t funny at the time but amuses me now.

All I remember is my father chasing Walter through back yards, over fences, and down several hills.  As they kept running, my father was yelling, “You  stay away from my daughter, you stay far, far away from her, or it will be hell to pay.”

This is the picture I still see in my head.  My father was four foot, eleven inches tall, and Walter was five foot, six inches in height.  I never realized my father could run so far or jump so high.

I didn’t stop seeing Walter for several months afterward, but he never did he come to pick me up at home again.

Slip Up: Making Mistakes

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

In life, we all make mistakes.  Sometimes small ones, but at times they are huge and can never be taken back.  My mother always told us that we should learn from our mistakes.

Over the years, I have learned many lessons from my mistakes.  First, never speak before thinking about what you are going to say.  Choosing your words may make it less painful for the person you intend it for.

Being an average teenager, believing I knew better than her, words between my mother and myself were painful and can never be taken back.  I did learn a great lesson many years later about mothers and daughters. I apologized to her once becoming a mother myself with all the same challenges.  Think before you speak is now my motto.

Second,  we should all learn to check out the facts before accusing someone of doing something we didn’t approve of.  Maybe that person never committed the crime accused of, be it little or big.

When I was with my last partner, days became stressful at times when I would be home alone night after night until very late.  At that time, I was very timid and would never ask questions, but my mind went to all kinds of reasons.

One day this person came home with a friend who was very drunk and put her up in our spare room.  I accused him of all kinds of things that day.  Later on, it became clear that I was wrong.  This person had a problem, and he was just keeping her from getting into her car and driving away.  So, facts first prevent less hurt and humiliation.

Third, remember that you are not always the one who has made a mistake.  People come in all spaces.  Some are very upfront and say whatever they are thinking, and then there are the ones like me.   I am an introvert and hold everything inside, always believing it was me who did something wrong.

Making mistakes is part of life, who we are, and what we do.  If we don’t find a suitable way to learn from what we do, the pattern will be to do it over and over again.  We should not be so troubled by small mistakes as they usually work themselves out, but the bigger ones could have consequences for the rest of our lives.

What we do and what we say is important.  How we do it or say it, could become a mistake.  An example of a mistake could be thinking you are crazy in love with someone and then find out that person has no idea who you even are.  Oops!  Now all your friends are calling you names like stupid, idiot, you are not in his league.

I have made many small mistakes, the number too large to count, over my seventy-five years, and am sorry for all of them.  I have learned to not repeat anything that was done previously.

I have made a few very enormous mistakes that have impacted my entire life, including now.  I can not take them back, I have not been forgiven for doing them, and it has changed who I have become.

One day I hope that some parts of my biggest ones will resolve at least so that the parties involved will forgive me.  One of them did many years ago, but I don’t believe the rest will get to that recognition of the actual facts and that it was a mistake on my part only, not theirs.

Tread carefully in life and be aware of everything you do, think, say, and there will not be so much pain in your heart or the heart of others.  I know sometimes we are not aware it is a mistake, and for those, hopefully, we are forgiven.

Life is hard.  Mistakes are even harder.  Everyone does it and probably will still continue on this path.  Now, after hearing my words, you might be able to refrain from being so liberal with all of yours.

A Lost Animal Story (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

On the day Smudge went missing.  Calls went out, “Smudge, Sweetie, please come out from your hiding place.  Your Mummy misses you.”  

Nothing, no meow, no feeling of snuggling on a leg.  Sheer sadness ensued.  Where could that silly catbe? Smudge never went outside, never crossed the doorway, but today she bolted out the open back door.

Smudge, when I look at her, sports attitude.  She is independent and sassy in the way she moves or snuggles.  All will be lost if Smudge isn’t found.  Who will there be to pet, or talk to, or share innermostthoughts with?  Life will never be the same.

“Think positive thoughts, never give up.”  That’s what Mrs. Calm always says.

How does a person do that in a time of so much stress? Must try and follow her words while looking for the one who keeps my world level most days.

The search was widened to include the nearby farms and especially the barns. Maybe Smudge heard the cry of a friend who was in danger and went to help.  Is that even possible? Of course, it is. Animals listen tothings that humans do not.

After two long days, scouring more than five miles of land and buildings, I laid eyes on her.  Smudge was in Mr. Tub’s hayloft lying next to an injured kitten who had been bullied by the others.

Mr. Tub finally was able to put both into a nearby kennel, and they were taken home.  Two cats now live in this house. Smudge and her adopted son Trigger, who today, are bonding with this pitiful specimen of a human.  

Christmas Memory 1999 (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ Leave a comment

I stood freezing in the long line, at the Toronto Greyhound Terminal, for over two hours at Bay 6 with my bag beside me.  The bays were outside, and the wind and snow were blowing directly into us.

Being just a few days before Christmas, everyone appeared tired and ready to board their bus and sleep.  The time was closing in on midnight, but I was wide awake and anxious to see my six grandchildren in Ohio and their beautiful mother, my first-born daughter.

Finally, the bus had arrived.   I won’t have to change buses until we cross the border in about two hours and enter at the Buffalo Terminal.  I’m excited, and sleep doesn’t come.  I look out as the night has changed to a bright full moon and millions of stars.  As we go south, the snow is left behind us.

I envision the scene, I’ll hopefully see, in the next few days.  Getting to watch the kids open the presents I shipped down.  There will be joy on their faces along with a lot of noise as the children range in age from two to thirteen.

 As we arrive at customs, the driver says, “Make sure you take all your belongings off the bus.  Pick up your bags from under the bus and take them with you through that door to the left.  Make sure you have all your identification ready.”

I grab my backpack and a small bag from under the bus and make my way into line.  A customs agent calls up one person every twenty minutes.  At this rate, I’ll never make my connection in Buffalo.  After about forty minutes it’s finally my turn.

“ID please.  Where are you going and for how long?”

“To visit my daughter and six Grandchildren in Dayton, Ohio and will be there for five days.”

“Are you declaring anything into the country?”

“No.  I already sent my gifts to their house a couple of weeks ago.”

“Okay move on to the other officers to get your bags checked.”

Customs hadn’t started using screening machines yet, so our bags were checked manually.  This process always left a mess inside.

“Okay, you’re good to move on.  Take your bags and go back to the bus and wait with the driver.”

I was overjoyed that was over.  There were others, though, who didn’t get through as quickly.  One lady had packed sliced meat and oranges, both items not allowed to cross the border.  This caused a delay for over an hour while one of the customs agents searched for an interpreter because this lady, nor anyone in her family, spoke English.

After several more transfers along the way, I finally arrived in downtown Dayton.  I was so relieved to see my daughter and son-in-law sitting in the waiting room.  After a short drive, we arrived at the house.   All the children came up and gave me a big hug.

My Christmas in 1999 was the first I had spent with my family in many, many years.  It will always be the one I treasure the most.  It was the beginning of many more years of special occasions with them.

The Young Girl and The Math Teacher (Diane Chartrand)

~ Diane Chartrand ~ 1 Comment

Please tell me that isn’t my high school math teacher who played the piano for the young girl? It was a horrible rendition.  I think he should stick to what he knows best. That would be Math. Someone should give him piano lessons.  Then maybe, just maybe, it would not make my ears hurt when he plays.

I know a way they could help each other. The young girl is having a challenging time understanding math, so he could tutor her. Knowing that the math teacher isn’t any good on the piano, and seeing the young girl perform once before, she could teach him how to play at least this one song correctly and in tune.

Today the young girl will be entering her first Math Competition after several months of being tutored. We all wish her well, and Mr. Brand will be sitting in the front row watching.

Principal Davis asks the young girl, “What is five times five?”

She promptly answers with a smile, “That would be twenty-five.”

When it was all done, the young girl had won Second Prize.  Mr. Brand was so proud of her that he took her and her parents out for a treat at the local coffee shop.

One month later, Mr. Brand was scheduled to play a piece on the piano for the same local Community Group. The young girl had taught him to correctly play ‘Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star, the song he tried and failed to do last time. The young girl was so happy that Mr. Brand did it correctly and in tune. Everyone clapped afterward. The young girl was scheduled to perform next.

She sat down on the bench, all of ten years old, flexed her long fingers and began to play Claude Debussy’s Arabesque No. 1 with conviction.  Mr. Brand, having never heard her play, was mesmerized by her talent.  Had he known she was so accomplished, he would never have tried to shield her from the embarrassment that day. Him believing that someone so young would never be able to play the piano well.

Always stick to what you know best and never assume anyone is less accomplished in what they are attempting to do. The young girl will never become a wiz at math, but that is okay. Mr. Brand will never become a great pianist, but that too is okay. We all have our own unique skills and age should never be seen as a barrier.