Friday, February 10, 2012

a TOUCHING STORy

During the waning years of the
depression in a small Idaho
community, I used to stop by
Mr. Miller's roadside stand for
farm fresh produce as the
season made it available. Food
and money were still extremely
scarce and bartering was used
extensively.
One day Mr. Miller was bagging
some early potatoes for me. I
noticed a small boy, delicate of
bone and feature, ragged but
clean, hungrily appraising 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 and the ragged boy next
to me.
"Hello Barry, how are you
today?" "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine,
thank ya. Jus' admirin' them
peas ... 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 to take some home?"
"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."
"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?" "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." "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 our community,
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, perhaps."
I left the stand 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. Several
years went by, each more rapid
that 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
viewing 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 wore nice
haircuts, 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
mentioned the story she had
told me about the marbles. With
her eyes glistening, she took my
hand and led me to the casket.
"Those three young men who
just left were the boys I told you
about. 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.
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 right where you
left them
They say it takes a minute to
find a special person,
An hour to appreciate them,
A day to love them,
But an entire life to forget them.
Send this to the people you'll
never forget. If you don't send it
to anyone, it means you are in
too much of a hurry, and that
you've probably forgotten your
friends.
Unknown author

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