San Joaquin Valley, Lancer Ranch
“If you take care of the small things, the big things take care of themselves.” - E. Dickerson
Lately, I’ve felt disconnected from my family. This is understandable regarding Grandfather and my ties with Boston. There are three thousand miles separating us. Distance. At least that’s my justification for being disengaged. I know there’s more to it, but during this time of the year, it’s easier to blame the miles.
However, to witness the disconnection happen with the persons I see every day in a place I call home - people I love - continues to be frustrating. Each of us is traveling a different road and none of our paths intersect. No excuse for it, yet, the solution to resolve the situation escapes me...
It was one of those rare late afternoons. Caught up with the ranch’s demands, an overdue game of chess with his younger brother seemed appropriate. Scott briefly glanced past the chessboard at Johnny’s expression of intense focus. ‘Rare, indeed. I have missed this.’
Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, chin resting on his thumbs and index fingers together pursed at his lips, Scott assumed his own posture of concentration. With patience, he would have Johnny in three moves. ‘I predict an insistence for a rematch with a snifter of brandy required.’ An excellent agenda to end this first week of December.
“Scott!” The female voice came from one of the many distant rooms of the hacienda.
The brothers’ glances met across the chessboard. Neither moved or spoke for fear of detection. After a moment or two of silence, the chess game reclaimed its status of precedence.
“Scott!” The voice possessed slight urgency with a hint of frustration.
Whispering, Johnny offered a reflective inquiry. “Do you remember when your name wasn’t bouncin’ off the walls around here?”
Not taking his eyes off the chess pieces, Scott pondered for a moment before offering a hushed reply. “I have a vague recollection of such a time, little brother.”
“Scott!” His possible locations were being eliminated as the voice grew closer.
“What do you think the chances are of not being discovered?” Johnny moved his queen to rook five.
Scott studied the new location of his brother’s game piece. “I'd say the chances are rather poor.”
A prairie dust devil blew into the great room. “There you are! Honestly, Scott, didn't you hear me calling you?”
“Correction, Johnny.” Not moving, Scott continued to scrutinize the chessboard. “The chances are nonexistent.”
Kinsey perched herself on the arm of Scott’s chair. “I need to talk to you.”
“Half-pint.” A scowl crossed his brother's face. “Can't you see you're interruptin’ something important here?”
“What I’m observing, John, are two boys playing a game. Jumping to the conclusion it’s important would take a bit more imagination on my part.”
“Boston, your cousin has a strong streak of sarcasm runnin’ through her.”
Undaunted, Scott contemplated his chess pieces. “Can't be helped. Sarcasm has been deeply rooted in the Garrett lineage for generations.”
His cousin rolled her eyes. “Please. This will only take a moment.”
Seizing the opportunity to further educate his brother on the Garrett genes, Scott continued. “However, patience remains a shaky branch in our family tree. I’ve tried pruning - I'm hoping to see results soon.”
Johnny’s hand attempted to wipe away his grin.
“Fine.” Kinsey folded her hands but didn’t budge. “I will wait.”
“You will quietly wait.” Scott directed a sideways glance at his armchair occupant. “Not a word until this game is finished. Agreed?”
“Of course. Please, resume your important game. I’ll be as quiet as a mouse. You won’t know I’m here.”
His brother’s abrupt snorted laugh indicated Scott had not been successful in masking his skepticism regarding Kinsey’s silence. Regaining his concentration he reached for his knight and -
Kinsey adjusted her position on the armchair and leaned in over his shoulder.
Scott stopped and raised an eyebrow to his cousin. “Am I in your way?”
“Sorry.”
Wiping his hand on his pants, he rethought his move and instead chose his bishop.
Kinsey’s swinging legs produced a rhythmic thump against the chair.
“All right.” Scott replaced the piece and sat back with a sweeping arm gesture. “Let’s have it.”
Kinsey beamed. “This won’t take long.”
Johnny crossed his arms, closed his eyes and snored.
The brothers’ afternoon invader stood and proudly announced, “Popcorn.”
“Popcorn.” As Scott reaffirmed what had just heard, Johnny’s nap quickly ended.
“Yes! Popcorn!” His little cousin clapped her hands together while expressing the enthusiasm fit for a take-all winning poker hand. “I must begin popping large amounts of popcorn.”
Half a grin claimed a spot on Scott’s face. ‘She wants popcorn garlands for the Christmas tree.’ His annoyance began to dissolve.
However, it appeared Johnny had yet to connect the dots. “Darlin’, that’s right thoughtful of you, but a large amount won’t be necessary. A man can only eat so much popcorn while playin’ chess.”
Scott’s half grin evolved into a full-fledged smile as he spied the sly smirk dancing across Johnny’s face. ‘My brother can’t resist an easy target.’
“No, Johnny.” Kinsey assumed the role of a mother explaining a disappointing outcome to a small child. “The popcorn is not for you even though I’m certain you deserve to have some. The popcorn is for our Christmas tree. After the corn is popped, it’s strung and used as garland. And…” Kinsey placed her hand on her hips. “You and your brother will help me pop and string the corn. Won’t that be fun?”
“Whoa. Wait a minute.” Johnny held up his hand. “Stop right there, kid. You need to be having this conversation with Teresa.”
“I did. She’s far too busy with baking the rum cakes and cookies plus donating her time at the parish’s orphanage -”
“All right. Enough.” Hiding his enjoyment at the prospect of a fond childhood activity, Scott returned to his attention to the chess game. “We’ll help.”
“You call that pruning?” With a shake of his head and a smile, Johnny stated his opinion. “Spoiling is more like it. Getting your own way again, darlin’. Boston, remind me to add a few lumps of coal to my gift-givin’ list.”
“Come on, little brother. Don’t be a Scrooge.” Raising his eyebrows Scott pointed a finger at his cousin. “And he’s right. You got your own way, but only if you leave us alone to finish this very important game.”
“Of course.” Kinsey viewed the chessboard. “However, I’m uncertain why this game is so important. You’ll have Johnny in three moves.”
Sighing, Scott sat back once again to watch Johnny’s furrowed brow take shape.
“Brandy?
...The solution had been simple. Popcorn.
It took some convincing on our part for Maria to give up her kitchen for the popping. She finally let go of the reins after taking a moment to ask Saint Christopher for his protection of her pots and pans.
This evening, Teresa provided mugs of steaming, rich hot chocolate as the four of us sat around the kitchen table stringing the garlands. We were children again - laughing - tossing popcorn in the air to catch with our mouths - singing carols off-key. We were creating a time from our childhood that never took place due to past circumstances beyond our control. It was an unassuming kernel of popcorn which merged our separate paths back to the well-traveled road we had strayed from. We were reconnected. We were a family.
Dickerson was correct when she wrote about taking care of the small things - the things that matter. The big things will take care of themselves.
~ S.
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