Red Marbles

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 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 (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. 

Send this to the people you'll never forget. I just Did... 

IT'S NOT WHAT YOU GATHER, BUT WHAT YOU SCATTER THAT

TELLS WHAT KIND OF LIFE YOU HAVE LIVED

Arther unknown