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Home Education Magazine
January-February 1997 - Columns
Reflections - Kathleen Creech
A Basket Full of Sunshine
The sun finally broke through the coastal fog and warmed the surrounding dunes. In my hands I held a lop-sided reed basket no bigger than a doll's teacup. The green reeds yielded to the tight curves and gleamed roundly back at me. Seven year old Becky rushed up to me, breathless from exploring the beach.
"Can I hold it, Mom?" she asked.
I nodded and she reached out her hands, carefully cradling the tiny basket. She held it up to the sun and smiled at the light that shone through the cracks.
"Would you like to have that basket, Becky?" I asked her as I flopped backwards on the sand to escape the ever-present onshore wind.
"Yes!" she said, putting the basket into the hand warmer pocket of her sweatshirt, patting it in place. Then she scrambled up and was gone adventuring again. I smiled and closed my eyes. Someday, I promised myself, I will take a course in basket weaving and learn how to make a real basket.
But life is not always filled with green pliable reeds, nor is there always time to learn how to weave. We just have to take what is at hand and make what we can of it.
Last summer I happened on a garage sale late in the day. Amidst the books and garments and dishes, I found two cardboard boxes full of baskets. I fished through them, and finally chose one I liked very much. I held it up to the light, admired it and read the "Made in Taiwan" sticker on the bottom. An elderly man walked up to me.
"So, you like baskets?" he said, coming to the point.
"How much is this basket?" I asked, feigning indifference, unwilling to confess my basket passion until I knew how much it would cost me.
The man ignored me. He rummaged around in the baskets. He squinted at me and looked at the basket I held. "Well. I thought if you liked baskets I would give you a good deal on all of them."
Oh. I smiled and slid my eyes covetously sideways. Three minutes and three dollars later, his teen-age grandson helped carry them to my car.
"What are you going to do with all of these baskets?" he asked. I shrugged. I really had not thought of doing anything with them. However, forty baskets for three dollars exceeded my sales resistance.
Later that day, Becky rode her bike into the garage and found me with baskets spread all around. Overwhelmed by the sight of so many baskets, Becky, also blurted, "What are you going to do with all of them?"
Undaunted, I replied, "Do? Do I have to do something with them?"
Becky looked at me for a long moment before saying carefully, "Only if you want to do something with them. They're your baskets, Mom!"
By nightfall, I had found something to do with five of the baskets. One held books and magazines in the living room. A smaller basket held hand lotion and soap in the bathroom. A big whitewashed basket held an armful of dried purple and pink stattice flowers from a huge bouquet I had gotten last Spring. Another one I set aside for fruit; one more became a bread basket.
I smiled at that last one. I remembered the time I led a group of urban homeschoolers through the process of turning raw ingredients into flour, then into dough and finally into bread. I showed them the old-fashioned Five-Finger, Two-Hand method. Bread has five ingredients, one for each finger: flour, water, salt, oil and yeast.
A sweetener is usually added to hasten the rising process and to make a lighter bread.
With two hands they kneaded the dough, and put it in the pans. What wonder-filled lumpy loaves they made! Too bad I didn't have these baskets then. I could have sent a basket home with each baker. I laughed at this. It reminded me a little of the mother who gave kittens as party favors at her daughter's birthday party.
With five of the baskets resettled, that left thirty-five more baskets waiting to have something to do. Several of the baskets would be just right for Easter, their pastel weave twining promises of candy and springtime. If I leaned close, I could almost hear the excited cries of children as eggs were found and dumped into beds of plastic grass. Not long ago, I had wished for a basket or ten to give to a family who would have no Easter. Basketless at the time, I had settled for sending a box of treats and toys. How these baskets would have come in handy then!
Today as I finished typing this column, Becky, wet hair wrapped in a towel, wandered past. She has always proof-read and edited my column, but today when she read the first paragraph, she stopped short and looked up at me from where she sat cross-legged on the floor. "Mom! I still have that basket!"
"Really?" I asked incredulously.
"Yes! It is in my treasure box!" she said with a smile, and reached out for my hand as she often does, now that she is 18 and feeling the strings of attachment separating further. "The basket is kind of lumpy, and still sort of green, but it is hard and dry now."
For a moment we did that "mother-daughter-thing" as we stared into each other's hearts, meeting in the middle, the young and the old and feeling the woven bond of continuity.
The remaining baskets I boxed and stored in the garage--just in case I needed one someday. I did find a use for one more basket, though. To paraphrase a John Denver tune, "If I had a basket I could give you...." my readers, I would fill it with wishes for your homeschool for this new year. Here in my real world, your basket sits atop my refrigerator. Inside I put one shiny penny for good fortune. I dropped in one clove of garlic for good health. Finally, I placed one of my purple stattice flowers gently on top. The flower is my wish that you will find goodness and beauty in your life wherever you are, and that hope will weave you a life-basket filled with sunshine.
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