Gift of the Macaroni (With apologies to O. Henry)
The supplies for Friday's craft project were laid out in the middle of the table. Sweaty children sat around the table in the church basement, their hair sticking to their foreheads and the backs of their necks. Oscillating fans perched in the deep window sills moved the air above their bobbing heads.
"Today we are going to make necklaces for your mothers. So, listen carefully to the instructions because you want your necklace to be extra special."
The instructions were fairly straightforward. The macaroni had been painted with gold spray paint, and was arranged by shape on paper plates in the middle of the table. Each child was given a smaller paper plate, and told to select pieces of macaroni for stringing onto a piece of yarn. To make the necklaces even more special, the children could glue on sequins or glitter to the macaroni pieces before stringing them onto pieces of gold colored yarn.
"Do not use the glue without asking for help first."
When the instructions ended, the scene was a dozen or more arms like the tentacles of small octupi thrusting and flailing toward the center of the table. My sister sat at one end of the table, and I at the other. We were ages nine and seven, respectively, and our week at Vacation Bible School was nearly over. The elementary school children attended separate classes for the Bible lesson, but came together for crafts and snacks. On Monday, we had been assigned to separate ends of the table due to a kicking match when cookies were served and I took the last snickerdoodle on the plate. That crumbly cinnamon cookie was not my favorite, but since Sue always chose it when she could, I grabbed it first.
I looked at the gold macaroni on the plate before me. How to string it? Two diatoni and one rigatoni, or alternate diatoni with gomiti? The boy next to me was assisted by a volunteer from the teen class to roll his rigatoni in glue and then in purple glitter. The effect was good texturally, but he overused the glue and it dripped onto his fingers, which he immediately licked and declared it delicious.
I tried to see what Sue was creating at the other end of the table, but between the flailing arms and Johnny G. standing on his chair to get some air from the fan, my view was blocked. When craft time was over, we wrapped our necklaces in tissue paper and lined up to sing one final song.
My necklace was gold diatoni on a green yarn. I used green glitter, but got bored and forwent the sequins. Sue used a gradation of sizes of gomiti, alternating with the pinwheel ruste, through which she threaded her purple yarn to form a little flower. She glued a red sequin in the middle of each pinwheel, and combined red and purple glitter for the gomiti. It was lovely.
"They are both so beautiful," Mom said, "and I'm going to wear them both this Sunday to church." Looking back, I'm sure she realized there would be several other mothers wearing this pasta jewelry, which would surely serve to lessen her embarrassment. Why did she say my necklace was beautiful when I threw it together so I could get away from the table and play the piano? Mine was a mess, but she praised it as much as my sister's masterpiece?
That week, our Sunday School lesson was Cain and Abel.
I recalled the macaroni necklaces my sister and I had given to our long-suffering mother. Mine was not very good, but it was the best I could do considering the heat in the room, the distraction of the piano, and my indifference to crafts generally. God told Cain that his gift was lousy. If Mom had said that my necklace was a mess, I would have been pretty wroth and I know my countenance would have fallen. I probably would have pounded my sister later on. So, why didn’t God praise both Cain and Abel equally, as my mother had so wisely done with my sister and me? (That question is rhetorical.)
I’m certain that my mother is in heaven, if there is one. I hope she talks to God and instructs him that he should have understood that Cain was doing the best he could. Abel was probably a show-off, anyway. I can just hear her telling God, “So you see, if you don’t treat children fairly, someone is sure to get pounded. Remember, sometimes being a good parent means wearing a crappy macaroni necklace.”
Rigatoni (scored tubes)
Ruste (cartwheels)
Diatoni (fat short tubes)
Gomiti (small curved tubes)
Marcia Calhoun Forecki
"Today we are going to make necklaces for your mothers. So, listen carefully to the instructions because you want your necklace to be extra special."
The instructions were fairly straightforward. The macaroni had been painted with gold spray paint, and was arranged by shape on paper plates in the middle of the table. Each child was given a smaller paper plate, and told to select pieces of macaroni for stringing onto a piece of yarn. To make the necklaces even more special, the children could glue on sequins or glitter to the macaroni pieces before stringing them onto pieces of gold colored yarn.
"Do not use the glue without asking for help first."
When the instructions ended, the scene was a dozen or more arms like the tentacles of small octupi thrusting and flailing toward the center of the table. My sister sat at one end of the table, and I at the other. We were ages nine and seven, respectively, and our week at Vacation Bible School was nearly over. The elementary school children attended separate classes for the Bible lesson, but came together for crafts and snacks. On Monday, we had been assigned to separate ends of the table due to a kicking match when cookies were served and I took the last snickerdoodle on the plate. That crumbly cinnamon cookie was not my favorite, but since Sue always chose it when she could, I grabbed it first.
I looked at the gold macaroni on the plate before me. How to string it? Two diatoni and one rigatoni, or alternate diatoni with gomiti? The boy next to me was assisted by a volunteer from the teen class to roll his rigatoni in glue and then in purple glitter. The effect was good texturally, but he overused the glue and it dripped onto his fingers, which he immediately licked and declared it delicious.
I tried to see what Sue was creating at the other end of the table, but between the flailing arms and Johnny G. standing on his chair to get some air from the fan, my view was blocked. When craft time was over, we wrapped our necklaces in tissue paper and lined up to sing one final song.
My necklace was gold diatoni on a green yarn. I used green glitter, but got bored and forwent the sequins. Sue used a gradation of sizes of gomiti, alternating with the pinwheel ruste, through which she threaded her purple yarn to form a little flower. She glued a red sequin in the middle of each pinwheel, and combined red and purple glitter for the gomiti. It was lovely.
"They are both so beautiful," Mom said, "and I'm going to wear them both this Sunday to church." Looking back, I'm sure she realized there would be several other mothers wearing this pasta jewelry, which would surely serve to lessen her embarrassment. Why did she say my necklace was beautiful when I threw it together so I could get away from the table and play the piano? Mine was a mess, but she praised it as much as my sister's masterpiece?
That week, our Sunday School lesson was Cain and Abel.
And Abel was a keeper of sheep, but Cain was a tiller of the ground And in process of time it came to pass, that Cain brought of the fruit of the ground an offering unto the LORD. And Abel, he also brought of the firstlings of his flock and of the fat thereof. And the LORD had respect unto Abel and to his offering: but unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect. And Cain was very wroth, and his countenance fell. Genesis 4:2-5
I recalled the macaroni necklaces my sister and I had given to our long-suffering mother. Mine was not very good, but it was the best I could do considering the heat in the room, the distraction of the piano, and my indifference to crafts generally. God told Cain that his gift was lousy. If Mom had said that my necklace was a mess, I would have been pretty wroth and I know my countenance would have fallen. I probably would have pounded my sister later on. So, why didn’t God praise both Cain and Abel equally, as my mother had so wisely done with my sister and me? (That question is rhetorical.)
I’m certain that my mother is in heaven, if there is one. I hope she talks to God and instructs him that he should have understood that Cain was doing the best he could. Abel was probably a show-off, anyway. I can just hear her telling God, “So you see, if you don’t treat children fairly, someone is sure to get pounded. Remember, sometimes being a good parent means wearing a crappy macaroni necklace.”
Rigatoni (scored tubes)
Ruste (cartwheels)
Diatoni (fat short tubes)
Gomiti (small curved tubes)
Marcia Calhoun Forecki
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