Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: COUNT (01/27/22)
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TITLE: Count Me Out ! | Previous Challenge Entry
By Mariane Holbrook
02/01/22 -
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It may have begun when I was in utero where from my undeniably unique vantage point, I heard the attending physician say to Mother, "Count with me: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5." Horrors! I thought he was referring to four other siblings who might be sharing this "too-close-for-comfort" closet with me, but feeling my way around in the dark, I was able to confirm that I was the only occupant.
I've never been good with numbers. As a baby, I couldn't count all my toes, even when using the time-honored, "This little piggy went to market." I always came up short by one, usually, the little piggy that cried, "Wee wee wee all the way home." He was no bigger than a small pea, anyway.
I've been confronted with some form of counting my entire life. In Sunday School we sang "The Countdown Song" with lyrics about counting the days until Jesus returns for His own. I never did learn what day that would be. I worried that He'd already come and gone and I was still here, so I always kept my mother within sight.
You can't even get past counting when singing some hymns. So help me, in the hymn, "Count Me," the word "count" appears 27 times if you include the title. And what about "Count Your Blessings?"
When the pastor announced, "Today's twelve-point sermon…", I could feel something pushing hard on my "Good Grief" button. I'd have to count through the entire sermon before I could ever go home.
I wasn't spared from counting even when playing "Hide and Seek." Often I was chosen to be blindfolded, to count to ten, then begin searching for my hidden friends. The boys usually won because they counted by the even numbers like 2 and 4, reaching 10 much faster. That's when the fist-fights began.
In school, we weren't even spared from counting at Christmas time when we sang the tedious and repetitive, "Twelve Days of Christmas." I quit counting when I reached the calling birds because I didn't even know what they were.
When I was a high school junior, I was elected class treasurer. When I announced it at dinner, my family burst into spontaneous and sustained laughter. My siblings had all helped me with math homework, which made them doubt if I could count or keep track of the $2.86 in our class treasury. That was all that was left from our class carwash fundraiser. Many customers had asked for their money back because we left streaks everywhere on their cars. Was it our fault that the school didn't offer a class in car washing?
But my day of infamy came when I was sixteen. I had read every Grace Livingston Hill book in our town library, making me an expert on love. I gave advice about love to everyone who asked me, but frankly, those two clients married early, then divorced, so I probably shouldn't count them as successes.
One afternoon some friends of Mother's showed up at our house unexpectedly so Mother invited them to stay for dinner. She wanted to impress them with her proven culinary abilities but didn't have time to prepare a dessert.
She counted out three one-dollar bills and eight quarters, placed them in my hand, and sent me to the Dairy Store to buy ice cream for dessert. As usual, she cautioned me about not losing the money or forgetting what I was buying.
The store was packed. I found my place in line directly behind a blond, curly-haired, blue-eyed Greek god who appeared to be about 18. He smiled at me, then started a conversation.
He was visiting some relatives in our small town but his home was in Ohio. I laughed as he told of his life on a farm with his hysterically funny account of delivering his first calf.
I was in love.
Finally, he asked, "Do you like to write letters?"
"Oh, yes!" I blurted out, envisioning the flood of letters we'd exchange after he returned home.
Quickly he opened his briefcase and pulled out three boxes of stationery. "Great! I'm a salesman for a greeting card company. I'll bet you'd like to buy one of these. They're only five dollars a box."
Crestfallen, I counted out the money and handed it to him.
During my agonizing walk home, I counted the ways we might serve our guests primrose stationery for dessert.
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This was simply superb!
Loved the ending, that was the absolute best part of all.
Great job!
Blessings~