Mr. Miller & The Red MarblesDuring 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.
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 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 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.
Today ... I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ... and even an extraordinary miracle or two!
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.