The Story of the 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 colour 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.
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