Bubby has a little thimble. Nothing special. A handy
little cap which fits over the fingertip. If, when sewing,
mending or embroidering, her finger aches from the repetitive
shove, then the thimble comes to her rescue. There are
beautiful heirloom silver thimbles and pretty ceramic ones
with Dutch figures painted in Delft blue. Except for the
dated use of keeping time on a washboard [Who remembers
those? Who even knows what they are?], thimbles serve but one
eclectic purpose.
This is the story of a busy little Purim bee. She arrived by
bus after the Megilla reading and hibernated under Bubby's
quilt until emerging Purim morning as a fully grown Bumble
Bee. When the time came for Mommy and Bubby to hear the
morning reading, the bumble bee agreed to come along.
In her hand she held Bubby's little metal thimble.
"Perhaps the thimble should stay home? No? It wants to come
along? Should we slip it into a pocket for safekeeping?" No!
The bumble bee promised to be very quiet at her first Megilla
reading and was determined to guard Bubby's thimble in her
tightly clenched fist.
Although Bubby had already raised one lively daughter and
nearly raised five even livelier sons, she had yet to witness
a three-year-old's ability to guard either the peace and
quiet or small objects.
The bee did not let out a single buzz the whole time. When
they walked home, she showed Bubby that she hadn't let that
thimble out of her hand either. As soon as they arrived,
Bubby got busy with mishloach monos.
She had always set up shop the living room table and
repeatedly been embarrassed to be caught up to her elbows in
home-made bean salad, cake, cookies, clatter, clutter and
glitter by every Purim reveler who rang the doorbell.
Now there's an anomaly. Which popular baalebusta would be
embarrassed to be found in such a predicament? Only a late-
comer to this so blessedly Orthodox Jewish life! Bubby often
wondered whether she had put in enough, or perhaps too much,
oomph into her child raising. One could never know whether
one had gotten the message across in such a way that it would
last to the third or fourth generation. One had to work on
one's attitude constantly, and hope that those other genes
wouldn't get in the way as the generations continued on. You
asked for Heavenly assistance and then trusted in
Hashem.
This year the scene shifted. They had been requested to host
some yeshiva boys just for overnight. Her oldest son, who had
prepared her for this mitzva, had said that any self-
respecting bochur can sleep with any number of
bochurim in any crowded room on Purim night. So Purim
night found two sons with three friends sleeping on
mattresses on the living room floor. She was thus deprived of
her traditional, late night organizational shop set-up. While
the young men were out davening shacharis, she removed
the mattresses and piled them on her bed and upon returning
from the Megilla reading, discovered that this stack was the
perfect height for a countertop and she simply set up shop in
the bedroom. A little more chometz was not going to
make a difference.
The kids manned the door, took some snapshots of the more
original `messengers' while she wo/manned the factory out
back. Many goods and goodies were neatly recycled away from
curious eyes, repacked and distributed, hopefully not to any
original donors. A little Bumble Bee flitted around, watching
costumes come and go, and helping herself to those sweet
things that little bees make beelines for. When things
settled down by afternoon, they all found themselves chatting
comfortably around the living room table, when the Bee
suddenly said, "Bubby, I want Shabbos to come, already."
Oh, little Bee, that's right! You always come to visit for
Shabbos, so you probably think that's why you're here. Bubby
is exhilirated, having been granted the status of a Shabbos
Bubby!
"Don't worry, little Bee. There will be a feast, a Purim
feast!"
The little bee seemed satisfied and ran off to play while the
others began to prepare for the festive meal. Now they could
enjoy Hashem's surprise bonus for their hospitality. The
living room needed little or no redecorating and the kitchen
had also remained quite neat. (We won't mention the rude
intrusion of a mouse -- not in masquerade -- who thought it
had been invited but was speedily routed out on Taanis
Esther, most Providentially before the guests had come.)
Purim or not, they were soon amazed to behold their busy bee
setting up a tiny Shabbos table in the hall. She used a white
napkin for the tablecloth, a small cutting board, a doily
snatched from an elegant m'shloach monos platter, a
bar of sesame candy and a little wine bottle (ditto), and...
a neat little thimble for a Kiddush cup!
Bubby! So far so good! This is the third
generation!
