warning------ get your tissues

[NMDemDist2]

Marbles

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 apprising a basket of freshly picked green peas.My five grandchildren live out of town, and I don't see them on a daily or weekly basis. In fact, since their parents have busy careers and whirligig lives like I do, I'm lucky if I get to see my grandchildren once or twice a month.
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 away.

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.

Sent to me by e-mail, maybe an urban legend, but we all need to remember to practice random acts of kindness.

[jonnyblitz]

1. I think everybody has had their tissues out all week, AZDEM

not a good week for DUers.. :hi:

[NMDemDist2]

2. so true, which is why I posted it. I usually don't post the smarmy mail

but this week it seemed right

[jonnyblitz]

5. i know..i feel the same way..

smarmy becomes geniune when it applies.

[Bozita]

3. The title of your post is too damned accurate

Having some trouble seeing the keyboard. Must be my allergies.

Thanks.

[Paradise]

4. you weren't kidding! thanks. n/t

[Rowdyboy]

6. I was already wiped out...then I read this thread

[NMDemDist2]

7. sorry sweetie

:hug:

[Rowdyboy]

9. Hey, I was warned and read it anyway, knowing what to expect

Guess today I'm just a glutton for punishment.

It is a truly beautiful story.

[wolfgirl]

8. thank you

[cmkramer]

10. Here's another three-hanky job:

This one's about a Depression-era orphanage where a rather sullen nasty ugly little girl lived. She definitely was not one of those cute adorable orphans from "Annie" or Shirley Temple movies. Anyway, the staff at the orphanage disliked her intensely and wanted to get rid of her. One day, they thought they had their chance. One of the other orphans had seen her put an envelope in the hollow of a tree. Since the children were strictly forbidden from contact with the outside world without prior permission, this was an outright defiance of the rules. The head of the orphanage asked her assistant to retrieve the envelope and bring it to her, feeling very happy over the prospect of getting rid of this girl. Then she opened it and read it and hung her head. The assistant picked up what was in the envelope. The letter read: "Whoever finds this, I love you."

Incidentally, this is not a true story and Bennett Cerf, who included it in one of his books, said he always put that information out front. However, he said, he still got letters and phone calls from people wanting to adopt the child and "give her the love and attention she so desperately needs".