Pink-Haired Girl (details15) wrote,
Pink-Haired Girl
details15

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A nice story, to go with the last entry


> >
> > During the waning years of the depression in a small southeastern 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 particular day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. 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 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. Hmmmm, 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
> > 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 viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to
> > go, I agreed to accompany them. Upon our 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
> > ... very professional looking.
> >
> > They approached Mrs. Miller, standing smiling and composed, 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. 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.
> >
> >
> > A wish for you!
> >
> > 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 or shop.
> >
> > I wish you a day of little things to rejoice in... The fastest line at
> > the grocery store.
> > A good sing along song on the radio. Your keys right where you look
> >
> > I wish you a day of happiness and perfection-little bite-size pieces
> > of perfection that give you the funny feeling that the Lord is smiling
> > on you, holding you so gently because you are someone special and rare.
> >
> > I wish you a day of Peace, Happiness and Joy. They say it takes a
> > minute to find a special person, an hour to appreciate them, a day to
> > love them, but then an entire life to forget them.
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