Red Marbles

I love stories like this...thanks, Helen!

RED MARBLES

I was at the corner grocery store buying some early potatoes.    I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.  I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.    I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.    Pondering the peas, I couldn't help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller (the store owner) and the ragged boy next to me.

"Hello Barry, how are you today?"

"H'lo, Mr. Miller.  Fine, thank ya.    Jus' admirin' them peas.  They sure look good."

"They are good, Barry.    How's your Ma?"

"Fine. Gittin' stronger alla' time."

"Good.    Anything I can help you with?"

"No, Sir. Jus' admirin' them peas."

"Would you like take some home?" asked Mr. Miller.

"No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay for 'em with."

  

"Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?"

"All I got's my prize marble here."

"Is that right?    Let me see it" said Miller.

"Here 'tis.    She's a dandy."

"I can see that.    Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for red.  Do you have a red one like this at home?" the store owner asked.

"Not zackley but almost."

"Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way let me look at that red marble"     Mr. Miller told the boy.

"Sure will.    Thanks Mr. Miller."

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me.    With a smile she said, "There are two other boys like him in town, all three are in very poor circumstances.    Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes, or whatever.    When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or an orange one, when they come on their next trip to the store."

I left the store smiling to myself, impressed with this man.    A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys, and their bartering for marbles.

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Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.  Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.    They were having his visitation that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.    Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could

Ahead of us in line were three young men.    One was in an army uniform and the other two had nice haircuts, wore dark suits and white shirts...all very professional looking.  They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's casket.  Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved on to the casket.

Her misty light blue eyes followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket.  Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller.  I told her who I was and reminded her of the story from those many years ago and what she had told me about her husband's  bartering for marbles.  With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

"Those three young men who just left were those boys.  They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim "traded" them.   Now, at last, when Jim could not change his mind about color or size....they came to pay their debt."

"We've never had a great deal of the wealth of this world,"  she confided, "but right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho."

With loving gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.    Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

The Moral :   We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.  Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath.

Today I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ~   

A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself.
An unexpected phone call from an old friend.  
Green stoplights on your way to work.
The fastest line at the grocery store.
A good sing-along song on the radio.
Your keys found right where you left them.

Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did...

If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in way too much of a hurry to even notice the ordinary miracles when they occur.

  

The Ghost of Christmas Future...

Christmas at Rock-Away Rest           Twas the night before Christmas at Rock-Away Rest, and all of us seniors were looking our best.  Our glasses, how sparkly, our wrinkles, how merry;  Our punchbowl held prune juice plus three drops of sherry. A bedsock was taped to each walker, in hope That Santa would bring us soft candy and soap.             We surely were lucky to be there with friends, Secure in this residence and in our Depends. Our grandkids had sent us some Christmasy crafts, Like angels in snowsuits and penguins on rafts. The dental assistant had borrowed our teeth, And from them she'd crafted a holiday wreath. The bed pans, so shiny, all stood in a row, Reflecting our candle's magnificent glow. Our supper so festive -- the joy wouldn't stop -- Was creamy warm oatmeal with sprinkles on top. Our salad was Jell-O, so jiggly and great, Then puree of fruitcake was spooned on each plate.             The social director then had us play games, Like "Where Are You Living?" and "What Are Your Names?" Old Grandfather Cooper was feeling his oats, Proclaiming that reindeer were nothing but goats. Our resident wand'rer was tied to her chair, In hopes that at bedtime she still would be there. Security lights on the new fallen snow Made outdoors seem noon to the old folks below. Then out on the porch there arose quite a clatter (But we are so deaf that it just didn't matter).             A strange little fellow flew in through the door, Then tripped on the sill and fell flat on the floor. Twas just our director, all togged out in red. He jiggled and chuckled and patted each head.           We knew from the way that he strutted and jived Our social- security checks had arrived. We sang -- how we sang -- in our monotone croak,       Till the clock tinkled out its soft eight-p.m. stroke. And soon we were snuggling deep in our beds. While nurses distributed nocturnal meds. And so ends our Christmas at Rock-Away Rest. Before long you'll be with us, We wish you the best!