Reposted from an email that Carrie sent me. I don't normally forward chain emails, but I really liked this one. Enjoy! - D
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 to 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 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, 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.
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 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 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 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.
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 check-out line at the grocery store. A good sing-along song on the radio. Your keys found right where you left them. Someone holds a door open for you. A thank you note that you never expected.
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 in your life.
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Tuesday, February 06, 2007
Framing
I learned the concept of "framing" yesterday, how to capture a snapshot in time based on what you experience (see, hear, feel etc) and describing that feeling. I was supposed to be working but I simply couldn't find it in myself to do any work, so instead, I ended up writing some random stuff that I'm now posting to my blog.
Guy in red sweater with his silvery headphones reaching for a magazine in the top rack
Rustling sound of paper bag as a girl walks by
spacing out and feeling a flush on my cheek from leaning my head on my hands. Amusement.
A girl in white talking to her friend, she reminds me of Christelle. Wistfulness.
An old woman, hunched, blue shawl over her head, walking across the street
Blonde wavy hair hidden beneathe a grey cap walking by... confident stride. I wonder if she's that german girl before I remember that the german girl was a brunette
Some kinda iced coffee drink, white whipped cream topped with chocolate sprinkles and a drizzle of chocolate sauce
A golden hair band tying up her hair in a super-short pony tail
Chuckling, laughter, between two friends. A faint whiff of happiness.
A scrap of cloth on one of the chairs... I wonder if the chair is still taken or if someone forgot it. What is it anyway?!
The familiar buzz of a headache that is just beginning to announce its arrival. Resignation.
The cry of a fire engine in the distance. I wonder where.
A girl browsing the magazine racks, back towards me. Her hair looks - a black waterfall cascading down her back - and I'm wondering how she looks.
Nice shoes. Flats. Gray and white at the tip, some kind of design that I couldn't make out. And sheer black stockings. Sexy. Stockings are sexy.
A guy speaking on the cellphone in a foreign language. I don't recognize it. He looks african, so maybe...?
Two well dressed women - one blonde, one brunette, both dressed in dark (brown?) coats. The brunette is shorter but there's something about the way she walks that makes me think she's the more dominant friend.
The old lady from before (blue shawl) just walked in. I find mysefl curious what's her story. As I watch her more, I feel sad that she is old. I wonder what her life is like - she probably lived a very interesting life. She doesn't look happy. She doesn't look sad either. She looks... a little angry perhaps? Maybe she's lived a hard life. And I feel sad when I look at her and I wonder what mum and dad will be like in the future. What will they be like?
I need to pee... But I'm worried someone will grab my laptop like what happened to Bryan. I look around to find someone to watch the laptop for me. At the same time, I am hoping that "someone" will be a pretty girl. I don't see any pretty girls, so I decide to wait it out. Superficial aren't I? :)
I notice that the more I sit and watch and write, the more easily thoughts are flowing and the more freely the words appear. This is actually kinda cool.
A guy on his computer using photoshop. He has a photoshop CS for digital photographers book. THe photo reminds me of a penis. It's probably something really innocent like a fruit or something. Freud would say I'm imposing my need for sex on what I see.
I really need to pee now. Pretty girl or not, I need to find someone to watch my stuff. I shouldn't have drank so much tea. :(
I'm back at my laptop now, but for whatever reason, the urge to write is over.
Guy in red sweater with his silvery headphones reaching for a magazine in the top rack
Rustling sound of paper bag as a girl walks by
spacing out and feeling a flush on my cheek from leaning my head on my hands. Amusement.
A girl in white talking to her friend, she reminds me of Christelle. Wistfulness.
An old woman, hunched, blue shawl over her head, walking across the street
Blonde wavy hair hidden beneathe a grey cap walking by... confident stride. I wonder if she's that german girl before I remember that the german girl was a brunette
Some kinda iced coffee drink, white whipped cream topped with chocolate sprinkles and a drizzle of chocolate sauce
A golden hair band tying up her hair in a super-short pony tail
Chuckling, laughter, between two friends. A faint whiff of happiness.
A scrap of cloth on one of the chairs... I wonder if the chair is still taken or if someone forgot it. What is it anyway?!
The familiar buzz of a headache that is just beginning to announce its arrival. Resignation.
The cry of a fire engine in the distance. I wonder where.
A girl browsing the magazine racks, back towards me. Her hair looks - a black waterfall cascading down her back - and I'm wondering how she looks.
Nice shoes. Flats. Gray and white at the tip, some kind of design that I couldn't make out. And sheer black stockings. Sexy. Stockings are sexy.
A guy speaking on the cellphone in a foreign language. I don't recognize it. He looks african, so maybe...?
Two well dressed women - one blonde, one brunette, both dressed in dark (brown?) coats. The brunette is shorter but there's something about the way she walks that makes me think she's the more dominant friend.
The old lady from before (blue shawl) just walked in. I find mysefl curious what's her story. As I watch her more, I feel sad that she is old. I wonder what her life is like - she probably lived a very interesting life. She doesn't look happy. She doesn't look sad either. She looks... a little angry perhaps? Maybe she's lived a hard life. And I feel sad when I look at her and I wonder what mum and dad will be like in the future. What will they be like?
I need to pee... But I'm worried someone will grab my laptop like what happened to Bryan. I look around to find someone to watch the laptop for me. At the same time, I am hoping that "someone" will be a pretty girl. I don't see any pretty girls, so I decide to wait it out. Superficial aren't I? :)
I notice that the more I sit and watch and write, the more easily thoughts are flowing and the more freely the words appear. This is actually kinda cool.
A guy on his computer using photoshop. He has a photoshop CS for digital photographers book. THe photo reminds me of a penis. It's probably something really innocent like a fruit or something. Freud would say I'm imposing my need for sex on what I see.
I really need to pee now. Pretty girl or not, I need to find someone to watch my stuff. I shouldn't have drank so much tea. :(
I'm back at my laptop now, but for whatever reason, the urge to write is over.
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