RED MARBLES

content=”text/html; charset=unicode” http-equiv=”Content-Type” />
content=”Microsoft SafeHTML” name=”Generator” />
 
Subject: 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
>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 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 line at the grocery store.
>A good sing-along song on the radio.
>Your keys found right where you left them.
>
>

</