The Scout Badge

An elderly couple stops a young scout in the street. They tell the child he’d be perfect for odd jobs around their house. Thinking this would be a great way to earn a badge, the scout agrees.

The following Saturday, the scout rings the bell of the old house the couple live in. The wife takes the child out back to the garage with the promise of milk and fresh cookies when the job is done. The husband explains he would like the mason jars in the boxes along the back of the garage buried in the ground starting at the back of the property. The scout takes a box and the spade to the back fence and begins to dig. There are jars of beans, corn, chili sauce and peaches. It makes sense to bury some of the jars since it would be cooler in the ground, although this isn't the way Mother or Grandmother store the canned goods. A couple of the jars have cash in them; saving for a rainy day.

The scout gets to the fourth or fifth box, and by this time is not paying attention to what is in the jars. And then, by the end of the last box, he notices packed in one jar is the earring belonging to that of a teacher at school. Oddly enough, the earring is still on the teacher’s ear which is now on packed with some pickled eggs.

The Mausoleum

I remember my fiancé and I were spending the day in a local cemetery. We had our picnic and list of headstones of the rich and famous we wanted to find; a couple presidents and a rock star were on the top of the list.

We drove around, found a few interesting stones and a huge shade tree to have our picnic under. When we finished, I bundled our picnic trash to toss in the bin next to a row of mausoleums. Always the snoop, I’d begun to look through the windows. Most of the windows here blackened with decades and sometimes a century, of grime.

I came up to one with beautiful colored lead glass windows. Someone paid attention to them, the sun bounced off them creating a rainbow. I walked around the small building, looking in the windows at the brass name plates. I called over to my fiancé to have him come and take a look. I turned to look through the colored glass in the front. That was when she lunged toward me, pressing her rotting face against the glass. Her finger nails missing from scratching to get out. I could read what was left of her lips.

“I’m trapped in here, help me!”

Prying the narrow doors open, I felt her bony fingers grab my shoulders. I’m sure the screams I heard were mine.

I now sit in that room.  My once copper red hair is snow white. My fingernails are gone. I wonder what happened to my fiancé. 

I’m alone and no one comes to look through the beautiful colored lead glass windows.  

Water Logged

After the ridiculous winter we had, which included two blizzards and copious amounts of smaller storms with accumulations over one hundred twenty inches, Western New York was happy to see spring arrive, late as it was. I can’t honestly say we have seen much of the bright orb in the sky. Someone may want to mention to Mother Nature the correct phrase is, “April showers bring May flowers.” All we have seen has been April showers and May showers. Looking at the long range forecast, June doesn't look too promising either.

Let me start by describing our property. We barely live in the suburbs. The city line of Buffalo is only a block away, but it’s still a different world. The house sits on a dead-end street; eleven houses total if you include the corner houses. They could swing both ways, I suppose. While we really have no front yard to speak of and the back is concrete and garden, we are blessed with a side yard. It’s large enough another house would be built on it, if we were still city dwellers. On the other side of the house is a concrete lot use for tenant parking for the multi-family house. Its owner, Barry , is a story in itself. Because of the spacing, we have the pleasure of not hearing the intimate details of our neighbors’ lives. The sounds of a baby’s cry, the chink of silver being washed or the meow of a pet cat in the window are all comforting sounds.

The yard is also a bit of a bowl. Not much, but enough to notice the water pooling. Once the over one hundred inches of snow melts, it stays there. You may have noticed water does not run up hill. There was enough water in the “pond” it would freeze nightly giving the little woodland creatures of the night a place to play hockey. Now that temperatures are above freezing; ducks have somewhere to play and I’m fairly certain I saw a beaver building a damn.

One day recently, I was told, sternly I might add, I should be wearing boots. My shoes would be ruined. She was right of course, but who enjoys carrying a bag or box with shoes in it? Then all this rain made me wonder why galoshes and overshoes are obsolete. Remember them? When I was little, I wore those cute little red galoshes with my rain slicker. Mom and Grandma wore black ones with fur in the winter and clear ones during spring and summer rains. They were even in the shape of the heel they were wearing! Men wore rubbers than slipped over their shoes. I admit, forty years ago, I mocked. Today, I covet. My shoes would sing my praises if I saved them from slush and puddles.

Now, at the end of May and Memorial Day weekend, I’m planting my small vegetable garden behind the house. I’ve purchased the squash, cukes, and tomatoes from a local nursery. I’ve even brought home an apple tree to plant! Until we meet again, I’m going out to be the happy gardener and play in the sun.

Wait, was that thunder? How hard can maintaining a cranberry bog be?

The Easter Miracle

The doctor had just left the room. As she lay on the cot in her son's ICU room silent tears streamed down her cheeks. She allowed herself only a moment of self pity; only a moment of weakness. In time her anger would surface. Until then, she lay on the cot praying for help.

Three year old Billy lay in the hospital crib with the high bars on each side. At home, he was sleeping in a big boy bed. His daddy was gone and his mommy was just told he had meningitis. Over the next couple weeks, Billy would go from bad to worse. 

Rooms in the ICU began to fill. A 60 year old woman, a cardiac patient, was admitted to intensive care because of the overflow in the cardiac unit. The doctor just left her room. Her daughters were just told here was no medical reason for their Mama to be in a coma. It was a mild heart attack, not much damage to the heart muscle.

There are rules to any intensive care unit. Only immediate family may visit. Visits are only for ten minutes at the beginning of the hour, unless the nurse your decides it is in the patient's best interests to have the patient's family visit a bit longer. Billy's mother had visiting hours at any time. She was also allowed to stay with him. But there are times when even mommies were not able to stay in an ICU room. Sometimes the patient and his nurses had to be alone. And during those times Billy's mommy and the woman's daughters would spend time together in the unit's waiting room. The exchanged to progress of both patients. Christmas was just around the corner and this was not what anyone had planned in way of a celebration. 

Shouting was coming to Billy's room. The sisters thought the worst. Going to the door, the older sister was ready to comfort the child's mother. They heard her saying, "Get out! Stay away from him! I will never give up on him. My God will never give up on him!" As the sister reached the door, she saw a priest slinking by. The sisters took the weary mother out to the waiting room. She told the sisters the doctors had told her Billy had severe bacterial meningitis. If Billy survived, and they were very doubtful he wouldn't, he wouldn't walk, he'd be deaf, dumb and blind. The doctor had suggested a priest come in and speak with Billy's mother. When the priest came in, he'd only told her it was God's will her son die and began last rites.

A week had gone by. The sister's mama was still in a coma. She still had not stirred. Billy was showing signs of improvement. The woman passed the following day. The doctor wanted the cause of death to be, a broken heart. Billy was taken off the ventilator the same day, breathing on his own. 

The older sister stayed close to the young mother. Billy had been released from the hospital. He couldn't walk, talk, ear or speak, but he was home. Billy and his mommy would visit the older sister often. He'd lay on the floor next to the sister's collie. Midge seemed to know there was something special about Billy. He would poke her in the ears, eyes, nose and mouth. Midge would lay there next to him, her paw always touching him. 

A little over a year later, just before Easter, Billy was enrolled in a school for the deaf.  He could see. He could walk. He was talking! He was still deaf, but with all those other Easter miracles, not a soul seemed to mind.

Harold

I recently purchased a book entitled 642 Thing to Write About. Basically, it's a book of 642 writing prompts for young writers. I am not young, but love to write.

I had decided not to do prompts in the order they are given in the book. I let the book fall open, close my eyes and point. Today's writing idea: Write a poem about a bird that is afraid of heights.

Harold was a very special bird.
His song could always be heard.

He spent most of his days by the pond
In the park which he was so fond.

When approached he never took flight
Because poor Harold was afraid of the height.

A Spiritual Teacher Missed

Over the years, you meet thousands of people. Some are only passing acquaintances. Others childhood chums from school days you forget the moment you move the tassel from one side to the other.  You have neighborhood friends you’ll never forget even if you never see them again once you move out of the hood.

And then there are those you meet who leave a mark on your life you never forget. All too often, they leave us before we are ready. Today, the Ides of March, is the birthday of one such person. Tom, happy birthday.

The Marstellers were new to our church back in the 70s, or was it the late 60s? If you were a teenager in our church at the time, they were a breath of fresh air. They became the meaning of fellowship for us. Tom was a father figure to us. Louise, although many called her mom, was more of a best girl friend who could keep your secrets. Tom, Jr. was the teasing big brother I thought I was missing.

In a time when the world’s morality was changing, Tom and Louise taught lessons from the bible that we were able to relate to.  I always pictured Jesus as the ultimate hippie spreading love.

They were also my MYF (Methodist Youth Fellowship) leaders. We’d spend a sleepless night at the Christian young center downtown. Bowling, skating, telling stories and having a huge breakfast in the morning. And the camping trips! I went on my only snipe hunt camping with them. My first horseback ride was on a camping trip. Then there were the spaghetti dinners, the coffee house on Friday nights and Vacation Bible School. Layman Sundays each one of us was given a part to show our elders we knew rhe meaning of fellowship.

Tom and Louise gave to us that meaning of without any of us realizing it. Long after I grew older and had a family of my own did I realize how very lucky I was to have them in my life as a teenager. I also realized that time could never be recaptured. My daughter would never experience it. That spark just wasn’t there.

Not long before Tom passed away, I’d sent him a private message on facebook (how cool is it that Tom had a facebook) telling him how much he and Louise meant to me.

I like to think I’m a better person for having known them.

The Unfulfilled Wish

The year, 1996. The month, August. The date, the eleventh. My Grandmother, more devote than the Pope in my eyes and the woman who taught me how to knit when I was 4, had fallen. She was rushed to the ER, unconscious. Had she been awake, she would not have gone. This was on eleventh. We knew of her aneurysm, abdominal, for years. It was her choice to leave it rather than have the surgery to mend it and die a slow and painful death from a year recovery. Normally, an aneurysm kills you instantly but Grandma's didn't. She stayed with us long enough for us all to say goodbye. She passed on 12th. At that time, here in New York, if you fell, hit your head and expired with in 24 hours of a hospital admission, an autopsy must be performed. 

Before I continue, you must know Grandma's wishes. Wake one day, bury the next. This had been repeated after every, "I'll not live to see you (fill in your event here)." By the way, she lived to see just about all of them. 

As it happened, this was the tail end of a busy homicide weekend here in Buffalo. Homicide autopsies take priority over your common grandma deaths, regardless how uncommon your grandma is. She was bumped to 13th for the autopsy. The same day she arrived at the funeral parlor and was ready for her wake on Wednesday, the 14th. However, the burial was not the next day. Assumption of Mary is the 15th of August. Did you know, Catholics do not bury their dead on Holy days? She was buried on Friday, the 16th. So much for Grandma's wishes. 

Moral of the story: Don't leave the living instructions. We will mess them up every time!