Emptying my Baskets

The plot for this story is meant to be simple and Plain, we'll see what happens, I'm known to introduce a little twist!

Gathering the day's fruit from the vines, Gary hummed a soft tune, "Berry picking is my delight, I do not want to fight," and then he would shift to the next row of grapes, and collect more! His system was almost a hysterical delirium, until all the crates were full, and he plopped down on the little cart seat that was pulled by horses, back to the ranch, then sat at the table and began to sup on some soup.

His sister came in and antagonized him, "When are you gonna get those crates full?" She pulled his hair. "You know Daddy needs to have full crates by tomorrow morning to bring to market!"

"Go check and see," Gary said with a grin, and she sneered and stormed off.

Later, Gary's mom came into the kitchen to see him sleeping, and poked him, and said, "Hey, can you help me with the bags," he started, then dutifully put away all the vegetables and fruit and meat and dairy, with his mother, til they were all done, and she slapped him five. "Ok, off to your schoolwork," Gary's work was never done, and it looked like he was going to crash soon.

In fact, his dad found him face first in the dirt when he was supposed to be watering the garden, and he was not happy about it. But what was Gary to do? He was having work piled up on him til he would just fall asleep in odd places. Do you think he got sleep at night? You better think again. He was bringing in the barley and the coal, and feeding the horses til 4, then if he could make it up to his hot attic room where there was a pile of hay, he could get some shut-eye, but not without being woken up again at 8, to feed the pigs and collect the chicken eggs.

Yes, let me tell you, Gary's life was hell. He didn't complain but was about ready for a breakdown. His sister and parents just chuckled. There was not a thing they could do, since he was the most able-bodied male, he would have to do the work.

Across the plains, (the family lived in Northern Italy,) there was another family, called the Fiorelli's, who had a similar problem, but in reverse. The children in this family refused to do any work. They would not lift a finger if they were paid a million dollars! The father would load the cart every day, feed the animals and collect the eggs. He was so tired and getting older, but the children seemed not to care.

"Why don't you help your dad, he could use it," the mother urged. But they would just laugh. Merriment would ensue.

The mother would toil away in the kitchen, and ask her kids for help, but to no avail. No one lived nearby that would help them balance the chores. Nobody even noticed, or knew.

Life continued for each family, and one day, there was an announcement that came from afar.

"Come one, come all, join us at the mall, bring your goods, don't let them fall!"

Came the voice over the loudspeaker.

The two families started. In a rush, they gathered together their farm goods for sale, and rushed to the town, where everyone set up their stands. The sale was on. The first family watched their son heap piles of grapes into the sale bins, and then watched him carefully place fragile eggs into little cup holders. The horse standing by

Mr. and Mrs. Fionelli rushed to get set up, too, while their brats cried and whined. Each family was eager to bring in money. The mayor of the small town was walking by, with his cane flying this way and that.

Gary reached out to shake his hand, and said, "Hello, Mr. Mayor, so good to finally meet you!" The mayor gladly shook, and exclaimed. "What a friendly lad, why don't you come to the party we're having next week at the mayor's mansion." Yes, yes, he was saying to himself, walking off. The kids at the next booth were not so lucky, though. Gnarly hair from being unkempt and mussed, dirty faces from playing in the dirt, they were scratching and clawing each other when the diplomat arrived.

"And what is the meaning of this?" asked the mayor of the parents, who could just stammer. They both looked overworked. The mayor thought he'd relieve them of an extra burden of unruly kids and send them to a boarding school. "On Monday, your children will be brought to the town school and taught there, to behave and help out." The father, Mr. Fionelli nodded and smiled at the mayor. He was grateful and relieved.

The kids let it pass from one ear through to the other, but they would see.

The goods were sold, and the revenue was brought in, the boy Gary married the mayor's daughter. The children were taught manners, and to pitch in.

This is the story, and we will return to the grapevine, they are desolate now. But at least the work load is now balanced.

The End

Epilogue:

If your child is blue and he doesn't know what to do, tell him, walk the dog!

If your dog is racing from here to there,

Bring her outside!

If the moon is in the sky and it pleases your eye,

Walk the dog!

If you need some time alone,

Away from everyone at home,

Walk the dog!

If you need a friend,

No one else to contend,

Get a dog!

Wondering what you should write about?

How bout a dog!

-S.A.

Finding grace in your place is an elegant thing, it could be from a tan or a dish or a ring. It could from a one night stand that was just a fling, or it could be from the song you're about to sing. Whatever the case may be, your place is alright with me.

Quips that take up space by Summer ,

Forever lost in this race, only to find my place again, my friend , looking back, was it better to be lost and wondering, than found and blundering, though we have the key, we are not quite free. Our mind urges us on, go, go, go, sleep so deprived that we don't know our own name, if only I could die without going to the grave!

I'm sure the morning will be bright, but for now, good night.