13. Clean Plates in Chinese

Eula May still couldn’t believe she was actually in China.  It seemed about as exotic as anyplace could be.  Crowds of people rushing through the streets speaking very fast and very loud in languages she couldn’t understand.  Duh, China had more than 290 living languages, although the official business language was Mandarin.  The only words she knew were “ni hao” or “hello” in English.

She especially loved the old, charming buildings faced with colorful, blue, red, yellow, and green tile and Pagoda style roofs.  Bending backwards to look up at the tippy top of the buildings she searched for demons flying through the air.  The guide, Jack, told her the upturned roof ends were to prevent evil spirits from landing and bedeviling the people working or living  in side.

It was a lot different from the little country town of Karnak, Kentucky, where she grew up.  And, of course about as far away as it could be, really on the other side of world.  As childhood friends, she and Wanda dug holes in their back yards not really believing they could dig to China, but it was fun pretending.

The only other time she remembered hearing about China as a little girl  had to do with food.  Or rather the lack of food.  She was a ‘picky’ eater and drove her Mother crazy by wanting to play instead of to sit forever at the green formica kitchen table trying to force down another bite.  Oh, if only that was still true she thought as she ran her hands over her slightly jiggly hips.

She had been worried about having to eat weird things in China, like eels and grasshoppers, but also had hoped that the anticipated strange food would help her lose weight.  That hadn’t happened.  Most of the food was very tasty, especially at the great hotel breakfast buffets.  She had never thought about adding chopped tomatoes and onions to scrambled eggs but they were delicious.

Back in her childhood she was encouraged to clean her plate with the warning, “Children starving in China would love to have this food.”  She never understood why her eating more would help those other kids.   

She now knew that China, in the past, like a lot of other under developed countries had a problem with producing and distributing enough food to its people.  Fortunately, everyone she saw on this trip seemed to be in good health and not especially skinny.  Her mother would be glad to hear that Chinese children were no longer starving.

          That first evening in Beijing there was a Welcome to China dinner at a large restaurant.  Eula May and her tour group were greeted at the moon shaped doorway by two young girls, probably the owner’s daughters, who smiled and shyly waved them in side. 

After everyone was seated, the youngest little girl, named Mai Ling, about 4 years old, went around giving each diner a sweet smile and several dried pumpkin seeds to eat.  Eula May and the other tour members thought she was just as cute as a button and thanked her profusely.

There were at 10 at each round table with a large Lazy Susan in the center and a small plate at each setting.  Throughout the meal, dishes of incredible variety were added to the revolving server as empty ones were removed.  Each diner also had a small side dish divided to hold garnishes: pickled cucumbers, spicy diced peppers, sliced radishes, and sesame seeds.

Eula May didn’t know what to do with all these condiments so still had a lot left in her garnish plate when Mai Ling came around again, her shiny black bob bouncing with each step.  She was distributing more pumpkin seeds but also checking the contents of the little side dishes.  She pointed to Eula May’s remaining food, then to Eula May, and finally to her own mouth.  Mai Ling successfully used sign language to give Eula May a message.  Jack said, “She has heard about all the children starving in America, so is urging you to clean your plate.”  Everyone at the table laughed. 

                                                                               #

Labels:  China, Eula May, humor

12. The Apple Lady

I heard a crashing sound of breaking plates over my head and then a child sobbing as a woman started screaming.  I cringed wondering what we had moved into.  Jim and I, recently retired, had sold our big suburban house and moved to a small condo where we could be nearer our daughter, Lisa, and her family.

It had been hard moving from the older Colonial home where we had raised our two children but Jim wanted the freedom to travel and I, of course, wanted to be as near as possible to our grandchildren. 

            It was a good solution all around.  We still hadn’t met any of our neighbors who lived in the two story, stucco covered complex.  There must have been 50 separate condos, varying in size with studios and one to two bedroom units.  We had a two bedroom so stacked above our head was another just like it.  I knew a young mother and father lived there with a little boy about three who was cute as the dickens, and I guess he also was a dickens of a hand full.  Both parents worked—I saw them leave in the morning and come home in the evening.  They seemed to take turns taking Andy to day care.  I didn’t know the parents’ names but I certainly knew Andy’s.  When they were home it was a constant litany of “Andy, no.”  “Andy, don’t do that.”  “Oh, Andy, what have you done now?” 

            He seemed to be a perfect little boy with reddish brown hair, green eyes, and a sprinkle of freckles across his chubby cheeks.  And as most perfect boys, mischievous.  The parents were probably good parents, just overstressed as most young people seemed to be nowadays.  I know, I know. I sound like an old fogy. 

            When the noise above started, I was concerned.  “Oh, dear, I wonder if I should go up and see if there is something I can do.”

 Jim looked up from his paper and just shook his head. “Now Martha, it’s none of our business and I haven’t seen any bruises on the kid, so it’s probably OK up there.”  Jim tended to be more laid back than I was.

I didn’t do anything and the noises eventually stopped.  But I worried about it.  I read all the stories about child abuse and my heart ached for the little ones who were hurt.  I didn’t think Andy was being abused.  It was more like an overworked mother forgetting to smell the roses and enjoy her young son as much as she could.  If there was just something I could do to help--without interfering of course.

The next day, a beautiful, October Sunday, Lisa and her husband Mark with their two daughters picked me up to go apple picking out in the country.  Sophia, our older granddaughter bustled in, herding younger Susan over to Grandpa Jim.  They both begged him to go with them.  He pretend scowled and said he had enough apple-picking for a life time and he was going to stay home and enjoy a better fall activity, watching his beloved Chicago Cubs.  I knew it would be best if I wasn’t around to hear his comments on their usual style of playing. The girls laughed and each pulled on one of my hands to urge me out the door.  I think Mark might have enjoyed watching the game, too, but he knew he still had family responsibilities.  So he played good daddy, maybe thinking of the day when he too would be retired.

We had a wonderful outing and they insisted I take home a bushel of red, sweet smelling apples.  “What on earth are your father and I going to do with all these apples?” I protested.  Lisa just smiled, her brown eyes sparkling, and said, “I know you love to make pies so here’s a great opportunity.”  Mark seemed to perk up a bit at that thought.

While Lisa and the kids waited in their SUV, he carried the basket into the condo and set the apples on the kitchen floor near the oven.  I guess he thought that would be a good hint.   He muttered a “Hi, Bye” to Jim as he rushed back to his girls.   I know he was looking forward to watching the Cubs game on tape.  He didn’t even want Jim to tell him how the game had turned out.

I looked at the apples, sitting there so innocently.  “Oh, Jim, I don’t want to make all these pies.”  I ran my fingers thru my short, salt and pepper hair.  “I’m sort of sick of making pies.  Does that make me a bad grandma?”“

You’re a great pie baker, but you don’t have to bake if you don’t want to.”  Jim was in a good mood.  The Cubs had won and he really didn’t care what I did or didn’t do.

I knew there was no way we could eat all those apples ourselves.  As I got into bed that night and flipped the calendar over to the next day, and saw the date I could never forget, I also got an idea of how to get rid of the apples.

The next day, I drafted Jim to help me wash and polish those apples until they shone.  And then we hustled them outside next to our building’s front door.  Of course I made sure to tell him how big and strong he was to help me carry all those apples.  But I stopped short of telling him he “looked like he’d been working out,” which I understand is a phrase young women use now days to flatter men.

I unfolded a green and white lawn chair so I could sit next to the apples with a big cardboard sign saying “Free Apples”.  It’s amazing what a free offer will do to some people.  Some were suspicious, “Did management say you could do this?”  “What do you really want, if I take an apple?”  But many people, especially with children, were happily surprised.  Some even chatted with me for a few minutes, so I got to meet some neighbors.  Of course, I was really hoping to see Andy and his mom. 

They finally came home.  The little boy was red faced and tear stained.  His mother’s hair was mussed up and her clothes twisted around as if she might have been wrestling with him.  Andy’s face lit up when he saw the bushel of apples.  He started to run over to them, but his mother jerked him back.  “Mind your manners, Andy.”  She started to apologize to me, but I laughed and said, “Boys will be boys, and I am giving them away.  We got too many at the apple picking place yesterday and I thought my neighbors might like them.”

“This is so nice of you to do this.  My husband, Justin, loves pie but it seems like I never have time to do any baking.”

“It’s tough doing as much as moms have to do nowadays.” I agreed.  “Andy, if it’s OK with your Mom why you don’t pick out three perfect apples for her and your dad and yourself.” 

He glanced up at her and she said, “Sure, Andy.  Just be careful and don’t knock them out of the basket.”   She looked like him with her freckles and reddish hair and seemed more like his older sister than his mother.  She held out her hand to shake mine.  “I’m Linda Cornell.  It’s nice to meet you Mrs.….”

I smiled.  “I guess I’m so busy giving away apples, I forgot my own manners.  I’m Mrs. Lewis but just call me Martha.”

As Andy carefully rooted around in the still half-filled basket, I chatted with Linda.  I hoped to make her feel better about her darling, but rambunctious son.

“He’s such a cute little boy.  I bet he’s smart, too.”

She smiled, “He is smart.  He was talking in sentences when he was only 18 months old.  But he’s so active.   It seems he never walked.  He runs everywhere and climbs anything he can.”

“But he’s a good boy.  He looked at you for approval when I said he could pick out some apples.”

She agreed, “Yes, most of the time he is a good boy.  It’s just that sometimes I’m a little tired and can’t be as patient as I’d like.”

“It’s hard being a parent, but they grow up so quick.  One day they’re in diapers and before you know it they’re walking down the aisle.”

“I know, I know,” she laughed.  “When toilet training seemed to go on forever, everyone told me that no one walked down the aisle wearing diapers.”   She paused, thinking.  “You seem to know a lot about kids, do you have some?”

“We raised two, a boy and a girl.  Lisa and her family live nearby which is why we moved here.”

“And where does your son live?”

I couldn’t help the tears that came automatically to my eyes.  “Luke died many years ago overseas.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, what happened, if you don’t mind talking about it?”  She put her hand to her mouth and glanced quickly over at Andy.

“It was during Desert Storm in 1991 and he was 19 years old.”  I had told the story so many times, I could do it without sobbing but it still was a painful memory.  “He and 27 other American soldiers were killed when their barracks in Dhahran was destroyed by an Iraqi Scud missile.”

She looked at me, her own tears starting.  “That must be the most horrible thing in the world.  A child dying.”

“Yes, it is.” I nodded, thinking of the sorrow that had never completely left me.  “Luke would have been 40 years old today.  Not a day goes by that I don’t think of him.  But I try to remember the good times.  How thrilled I was the day he was born.  His hee-haw kind of laugh and his crazy antics and I thank God I had him in my life for 20 blessed years.”

Linda looked over at Andy and whispered, “I think I know what you mean.”  

Andy turned to us with a big grin, his hands together, carefully holding three beautiful apples. “Hey, apple lady, are these OK to take?”

“Of course, they are, dear.  And you know what, that’s what my son called me too.  The apple lady, because he loved to eat my apple pies and I loved to make them for him.”


 

11. A Case of Medical Ethics

[This story is in honor of my many friends who work in cancer registries around the world.  National Cancer Registrars Week is celebrated the second week of April every year.  Yeah, registrars!]
           
           “Guess what!  Angelina is in the hospital!”   
            I looked up bleary eyed from the data entry I was doing on patient survival records and asked, “What hospital?”
            “Our hospital, silly.  It’s supposed to be a secret, but the word is out that she’s here.”  Sue’s voice vibrated with excitement.
            “You mean Angelina the movie star?”  I didn’t want to mention her last name, because all patient information is confidential and you could get in big trouble if you breach it.
            “Yes, Donna, I mean her.  I don’t know why she’s here, but one of the parking valets at the celebrity entrance told his girlfriend he was sure it was her getting out of a Town Car early this morning.”
               The celebrity entrance is at the back of the main hospital, you have to drive past the trash bin storage area to get to it.  Once you do get to it, it’s pretty nice and there’s no odor, of course.  The public relations people thought the press wouldn’t be looking for celebrity patients at the garbage door.
              We’re one of the largest and top rated hospitals in the entertainment capital of the world so we get lots of patients who don’t want the world to know their medical problems.  Of course, all patients have their privacy protected by federal and state laws and hospital regulations, but the media is only interested in big names.  And Angelina was a big name.
             “That valet and his girlfriend better be careful,” I cautioned.  “Or they’re not only going to be out of a job, they could even go to jail if they leak patient information.”
           “Yeah, I know.  I told Tracy, the valet’s girlfriend, to warn him.  I thought all hospital employees had to go through training and sign confidential agreements. But maybe that’s not true for the parking valets.  They’re just part time and they don’t even come into the hospital.” 
           “Huh, as you just pointed out they do see who goes into the hospital.”
           I’ve heard that most celebrities are disguised and use fake names when they need medical attention.  But even so, it seems tabloids have methods for finding out about celebrity health problems.
           Well, they wouldn’t be getting any information from our cancer registry.  We take our professional responsibilities as seriously as physicians, nurses and other medical staff.  Of course, we never see any patients.  And we only get information on oncology patients.  Most of them don’t even know information concerning their diagnosis, treatment, and follow up is legally mandated to be sent to the state cancer registry and then pooled anonymously into a national cancer data base to provide information that helps in future research and treatment plans. 
            “We’d best be getting back to our own concerns right now.  All these records have to be up to date and accurate for the Commission on Cancer survey next month.”
            “I know, I know.  The earth revolves around the survey.”  Sue twirled her finger around as if it was a revolving planet.  “Don’t worry my files will be perfect.”
            “If we don’t get a good report, heads will roll.  So let’s keep our heads securely fastened to our body.”  I laughed.
            Later, I had a quick lunch in the cafeteria and stopped in the rest room down the hall from the cancer registry.  I was surprised to see a stranger washing her hands at the white porcelain sink.   At first I thought could it be…but I just shook my head and asked, “Are you in the right place?  This floor is not for patients or visitors.”
           The beautiful dark haired woman looked up and stared with huge brown eyes.  “I’m…I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.  I just had to get away.”
          “Are you really who I think you are?” I couldn’t believe I was this close to a world famous actress.
         “No, no, I’m really not.”  She was wiping her hands over and over with a paper towel.  “I just look like her.  And I’m sick of it.”
         “I’m sorry if I offended or bothered you.” I apologized.
          “No, it’s not your fault.  I just have to talk to someone.”  She breathed a deep sigh.  “I’m just a decoy.  There I’ve said it.  So be it.”
         “A decoy?  What do you mean?”  I was bewildered.
         She sat down heavily on one of the orange plastic chairs in the room.  “Because I look like a famous person, I’m hired to act as a decoy when the real person wants to do something without the press finding out about it.  But I’m really just plain Marcie Berta.”
        “OK, but what’s so hard about that.” 
          “It’s not hard.  Like today for instance.  I just had to dress like my ‘double’ would if she was trying to escape notice and be picked up at the ‘double’s” home and then look like I’m trying to sneak into this hospital without being seen.”
             “I don’t understand.  What good is that?”
            “If I act suspicious enough, the press will follow me, and the real person is free to do what she wants.”
           “But what are you doing here in the hospital?”
           “Nothing really.  I just acted like I was sneaking into the hospital, then went up to a patient floor and walked around as if I was looking for someone and finally just took the elevator down here to get away from all the people who were gawking at me.” 
          “So, Marcie, you’re not here for a doctor’s appointment or treatment or anything like that?”  I ran my fingers through my short, rumpled brown hair.
          “Oh, no.  It’s usually a lot more fun doing these gigs. I like acting and that’s what I’m doing.  I’ve never even met the person I’m supposed to be impersonating.  Someone on her staff gives me the appropriate clothes and tells me what to do.”
“Ok, since you’re not a patient, if a staff person did let slip they saw you coming into the hospital it wouldn’t be a breach of medical ethics.”  I felt relieved not having to worry about the valet and his girlfriend.
           “I wouldn’t want anyone to get in trouble for what I did.”  Marcie frowned, wrinkling up her perfect face.  “Usually I go to upscale hotels and restaurants.  That’s sort of exciting.  Places I couldn’t afford to go on my own.” 
           “It sounds like an interesting job.”  I thought of myself stuck in a basement all day compiling patient information.  “So why did you come down here to our underground world?”
         “I just felt awkward, trying to pretend in a place where people have serious problems.  I was trying to find a place where I wouldn’t be in the way or cause any trouble.”
          “Yes, a hospital’s a serious place.  But most of the time there’re happy endings.  Healthy babies are born, people get lifesaving treatment and go home to their friends and families.”
          “What do you do?”  She seemed to calm down as we talked.
          “I’m a cancer registrar.  I keep track of cancer patients’ medical information.  The next time you read any kind of cancer statistics just remember it all starts with someone like me entering information into a computer.  And there are thousands of other registrars doing the same thing.  Our work is the basis of all cancer research and treatment.”  I laughed.  “Even if no one ever knows about us or what we do.”
          Marcie seemed impressed.  “Wow.  That sounds important.”
         “I guess it really is, but not as much fun as what you’re doing.”
         “Yeah, right.  Well, I know one thing I'm going to do now that I've talked to you.”  She declared.
         I was starting to pat myself on the back, thinking I had recruited another person to become a cancer registrar.  “What is that?”
          She stood up showing off her Angelina like figure, raised her chin firmly and said, “I’m going to tell them I’m not going to sneak into any more hospitals.  I just don’t think it’s very ethical.”
                                                      The End

10. The Baby Raffle

“Hey, Charlie!  Did you hear?  They’re gonna raffle off a baby!”  Josh came runnin’ up to me, out of breath, and red of face.

            “Are you crazy?  You can’t raffle off a baby.”  I was disgusted.  Josh was always spoutin’ off stories that he got only half right.

“Well, my mom and Mrs. Schneider are talkin’ all about it.”  He pulled up his denim shorts that were threatenin’ to slide off his skinny hips and down over his scuffed up knees

 I looked at him with scorn.  “Even your mother knows you can’t do that.”  I tried not to emphasize the words, your mother, cause criticizin’ someone’s mom’s a good way to get in a real fight. And as loopy as Charlie could be, he had a strong, fast punch that I didn’t want to meet.

“Yeah, well you don’t know nothin’, Charlie.”  He sneered back at me.

“OK, OK, just whose baby are they gonna raffle?”

“This baby doesn’t belong to anyone.  It’s the one they found outside St. Casmir’s.”

“Wait a minute.  I thought they was gonna try and find its parents.  The newspaper has a story about it every day, with pictures and everything.”  I hated to admit it, but the little sucker had a cute face.  And I did feel sorry for it.  My parents drive me crazy but they try their best.  Everybody needs at least a mom.

“Mrs. Schneider says no one says it’s their baby, but lots of people want it.”  Josh screwed up his face, thinkin’.  “So I guess they decided the fairest thing was to offer the baby to the highest bidder.”

“Something is seriously wrong here.”  I shook my head.  I may only be in the 4th grade, but I know wrong from wrong.  “I gotta check this out.  Catch you later.”  I pushed and glided my scooter home, tryin’ to hit all the bumps in the road.

I shot the scooter into the back yard before I clambered up the steps into the mud room and kitchen.  Mom was takin’ something good smellin’, cinnamon, I hope, out’a the oven.

“Hey Mom, are they really goin’ to raffle off that found baby.”

“Good gravy, Charles.  Where are on earth did you hear that story?”

“Oh, that dumb Josh, he’s always makin’ up the craziest things.  I didn’t believe him.  I just wanted to know for sure.”  I started sliding my hand across the counter to where she had some oatmeal cookies cooling off.

“Stop sneaking cookies.”  She gave my hand a little slap.  They’re for my coffee group tomorrow.  “He must’ve just heard it wrong.  They aren’t raffling off the baby.  They’re raffling off chances to name the baby.”

I thought about this.  “Why?  Doesn’t the baby have a name?”

“I’m sure the baby has a perfectly nice name, but no one knows what it is.  And the baby’s folks haven’t stepped forward to claim it yet.  Too bad they didn’t pin a note to the pink blanket it was wrapped in.”

“Yuck.  A pink blanket?  Does that mean what I think it means?”  I’d been thinkin’ it might be fun to have a little brother if we’d won the raffle, but no way did I want a baby girl in the family.  Of course, it looked like there wasn’t going to be a baby raffle anyway.

“Yes, the baby’s a darling little girl, with dark brown hair and bright blue eyes.  Of course lots of babies have blue eyes and then they change as they get older.  Anyway a girl means you have to come up with a girl’s name to win.”

“Hey, I don’t want to win thinking up a girl’s name,” I muttered.

“Well, the prize is $100.”  She knew money always moved me.

“Hmm, I guess I could always use $100.” I thought of the computer games I still didn’t have. “What are the rules?”

“The name, of course, is just a temporary one until we find her real parents, or until she is placed permanently in a new home.  Auntie Rosie is taking care of the baby until then.  And she hates to call it Baby No Name.  The emergency baby care committee needs some new equipment and baby clothes and thought this could be a fund raiser.”

“What could be a fund raiser?”  I didn’t get the connection.

“Everyone who wants to suggest a temporary name for baby girl unknown has to pay $5 to have an entry considered.  All the names’ll be put in a big bowl, Auntie Rose will pull out a name and that person will win $100 and the rest of the money will go to the fund and…”

“And the poor sucker of a baby may be stuck with the worst name on earth!”  I was horrified.  Good gravy!  At least I was blessed with a fairly decent name, Charlie, but what about my friend Mortimer.  Nobody called a little baby or even a grown man that anymore.

“The baby’s name won’t be written in stone.  It’s something to call her until a more permanent arrangement can be made.”

The wheels were churning in my brain.  I didn’t even know the little sucker, but I had to at least give it a try.  And winning $100 was a pretty good incentive, too.

All day and all night and all the next day whenever I had a moments’ peace I worked on the perfect little girl name.  I thought of something frilly like a flower name, Daisy, Rose, Violet.  Nah, too fussy.  Then a more common name like Mary, Anne, Jane, or Nancy.  I didn’t like any a'them either.

Finally, the absolutely perfect name came to me as I was walkin’ home from school.  When I did my usual burstin’ into the kitchen lookin’ for somethun’ good to eat, I asked Mom for more contest details.

She said I just had to go over to the Public Library, pay my $5, fill out a name suggestion card, add my own name and phone number, and put it in the box.  She had already put in a name--wouldn’t tell me what it was ‘cause she didn’t want to influence my choice.

Up in my room, I pried out the rubber plug from the bottom of my stupid, silver metal, piggy bank.  I keep it hidden under my dirty clothes in the bottom of my closet.  I didn’t want any of my friends to ever see it.   I counted out two dollar bills and the rest in change.  I told Mom where I was goin’ and scooted over to the library.

I paid my $5 and filled out the suggestion card. I was afraid someone might stop me as being too young to gamble.  But no one paid attention to what I was doing.  The librarians and volunteers were busy babysittin’ all the little kids who had workin’ parents and had to walk over to the library after school.  I grinned to myself as I filled out the card, gave it a little crumble—I heard someplace that a little crumbling helped a card get picked—and dropped it in the bowl.

The raffle drawing was bein’ held Sunday afternoon at the library.  They had such a crowd, they had to move it out to the front steps.  I stood there with my mom waiting to see what name had won.

Auntie Rose made a little speech about how they’d collected $645 and after they gave the $100 prize, it still left a nice sum to buy equipment for the emergency care program.

Someone else was holdin’ the baby.  Poor little sucker.  I hope she likes her new name.  Auntie Rose slowly moved her hand around in the large glass fishbowl, clutched a card, drew it out and squinted as she tried to read the name.  I was too far back to see if it was crumbled, but I kept my fingers crossed.  I sure wanted a new computer game.

“The winning name is Heather!”  The crowd applauded again.  I held my breath.

 “And the person who submitted that name is Charlie Johnson.”

  I grinned showin’ all my teeth, which I really hated to do, but I was so happy I couldn’t help myself.

My mom looked at me in surprise, “Why on earth did you pick that name?”

“I thought a long time about what was the best girl’s name, ‘cause I really wanted that money.  And, a’course I wanted her to have a decent name.  I finally realized I already knew the perfect girls’ name.  Your name, Mom.”…

And whatever happened to baby girl Heather?  Well, that’s another story.

                                                               The End

9. The Proposal (Another surprise ending)

“Will you marry me?”  Aren’t those the words every young woman longs to hear?  Especially when the man asking is tall, dark, handsome, and rich.  But the man in this case was not tall, dark, etc., etc.  He was just Kevin, the man I first met over the copy machine at work.  He didn’t know how to work it.  And he was short, with sandy colored hair and even a sandy colored complexion.

It was not the question I was longing to hear from Kevin.  It was the question I was longing to hear from Steve, manager of our department and a real go-getter.  All the girls in the company, unmarried and married alike, perked up whenever he was around.  He really was a charmer.  Steve was just the kind of guy mothers warned their daughters about.  Probably had a girl on every floor of the building.  Still it had been fun for me to fantasize about going out with him, but that never happened.

Anyway, I was out on a date with Kevin.  We sat next to each other on a red leather banquette in a dark back booth in the crowded Russian Latke Restaurant.   He had ordered Merlot which made my head a little woozy.  I preferred Chardonnay but hadn’t wanted to sound critical or bossy.  One glass wouldn’t hurt me, I decided.  As we waited for our dinners to arrive, Kevin grabbed my hand almost knocking over my wine glass.

“I was going to wait until dessert but I can’t bear waiting another minute.” 

My hand was beginning to perspire in his warm grasp.  But I didn’t see how I could pull it away.

“Heather, you are the most wonderful girl I’ve ever met.  I want you in my life forever.  Will you marry me?” His brown eyes stared intently at me reminding me of my child hood dog begging for a walk.

This was not what I wanted.  I did not want a marriage proposal from Kevin.  Plain, ordinary Kevin.  I wanted a man who would sweep me off my feet as I presumed someone like Steve would do.

             Kevin began fumbling in the pocket of his windbreaker, lying next to him on the banquette.
             Oh, please, I prayed silently.  Don’t let him pull out a ring.  I will just die.

“Stop!  Please stop right now.”  I finally got my brain and my mouth working together.

I pulled my hand out of his grasp as if pulling out a wad of taffy when candy making. Kevin crumbled before my eyes.  Oh what have I done to this poor man, I worried.

“Heather, what’s the matter?  I thought you liked me.  You were the only one at the office who would talk to me and laugh at my jokes.”

What is that old saying, ‘No good deed will ever go unpunished’? 

“Kevin you are a very nice man and I do enjoy talking with you and kidding around, but we hardly know each other.”  And I only went out on an actual date with him because I was just trying to be nice to him.  I couldn’t tell him that.  Oh, what could I do to get out of this difficult situation?

He pouted.  “I can’t really afford to take you to such an expensive restaurant, but I thought it would be worth it.  I thought you would say yes and we would always remember this night.”

Oh, yes, I will always remember this night but not for the reasons he had been planning.

I slid across the banquette and stood up next to the booth.  “Kevin, I am honored that you like me enough to propose marriage to me, but it’s just too soon.”  I took out my wallet and placed three twenty dollar bills on the table.  I thought that should cover the cost of my meal.  I just couldn’t sit there for the rest of the evening and share Kevin’s embarrassment and misery.

Kevin’s face turned red, he snarled at me, “You think that’s OK.  Just break my heart in half, toss me some money and leave.”  Other diners were starting to stare at us.  I didn’t know what to do.

Suddenly, I heard a sweet voice say behind me.  “Oh dear, I’m so glad we ran in to you tonight.  Why don’t you join us for dinner?”

Was I hearing things? I turned and saw a darling little woman with curly white hair and twinkling blue eyes smiling at me.  Who was this stranger and why was she talking to me?  Kevin looked abashed and said, “I have to go.”  He added some money to mine, grabbed his windbreaker and slid out the other side of the booth, not looking at me or anyone else.  I didn’t try to stop him. 

My life saver said, “I hope I didn’t interrupt anything but you looked like you could use some help.” 

I blushed.  “It was sort of difficult.  Thank you for coming to my rescue.  Do you always do this sort of thing?”  Chicago is friendly but this was a little friendlier than I was used to.

“Well I always try to be a Good Samaritan but this time you’ll have to thank my grandson for realizing you needed help.”  Right on cue who should walk up but Steve. 

“I…I…don’t understand.”

“Heather I hope we didn’t mess anything up for you.”  He apologized.  “I’m taking my grandmother out for a birthday dinner.  She was concerned when she saw Kevin—she didn’t know his name, of course—getting angry and starting to yell.  He has a reputation around the office for being a little unstable so I was worried too."

I couldn’t believe what was happening.  “But…but…why did she come over.”

Steve laughed.  “My grandmother never leaves a good deed undone and wanted to help.  I explained that I actually knew the two of you and didn’t feel I could do anything, so we came up with this plan.  She would come over by herself to calm down the situation.  I’d be the muscle in the background, just in case.”

“Thank you so much.  I was embarrassed and starting to worry.”  I sure wasn’t going to tell them that Kevin had just proposed.  “Now that all the drama is over, I’ll just be on my way and leave you to your birthday dinner.”

His grandma interrupted, “No, no. I insist you join us.   Steve’s so boring you know.  I’d like to have someone else to add spice to our dinner.  He takes me out once a month and I’d really like to have someone else to talk to.”

I looked quickly at Steve.  His handsome face looked suitably chagrined.  Joining in her requests to join them, he added, “I think I’m going to remember this night for the rest of my life.” 

A chill went down my spine.  Where had I heard those words before?

I calmed myself.  Any man who takes his grandmother out to dinner once a month can’t be all bad.

            I thought of another old saying, ‘You can’t judge a book by its jacket’.  We had a great dinner and the following year we had a great wedding.

                                                                                The End

8. Sharing a Cat’s Nine Lives (Medical Marvel?)

Not many people have the privilege of being chosen as a bed partner by a cat who survived being hit by a car twice, not to mention numerous other minor scrapes during his nine lives.   I’m not especially fond of felines but I was happy to be the recipient of his friendship.   I hoped the cat’s good luck might rub off on me as I underwent treatment for a rare cancer.

            I had already been through testing and diagnosis in Chicago but the tumor in my eye (ocular melanoma) was too large for their radiation equipment.  I made plans to go to a world famous ophthalmologist in Boston who would oversee my treatment at one of the only two proton beam radiation facilities then available.  After an earlier preliminary visit and minor surgery, I was back on a Boston bound plane to start the curative therapy.  I had waiting for me a custom made hockey mask to hold my head while the radiation hit the right spot.  It reminded me of the monster in “Friday the 13^th.”

Flying to Boston for medical treatment was unnerving.  Sitting on a plane while mechanics fiddled around with a mechanical problem preventing take off did not make me feel better.  And of course it wasn’t at all relaxing to be told the reason for the delay was only one of the three toilets was working.  After 30 minutes of failure to repair, the captain’s calm, authoritative voice announced, “Sorry about the delay.  We’ve decided to get you good people out to Boston as soon as we can.  But since we’re flying on only one toilet, we advise everyone to get off the plane, use the facilities, and please come back on.  You will be able to go through a special security check point to get back on.”  This did not bode well for my future. 

            Our plane eventually took off and arrived, a little late, at Logan airport.  On the flight I tried not to think of needing a bathroom break which I never thought about on flights before.  At the baggage carousel I had another surprise.  My suitcase had not arrived with us.  For some reason it would be on the next flight.  Did my suitcase have a bathroom problem I didn’t know about?

“We’re very sorry Ms. Tippett, you can either wait for your luggage to arrive in the next couple of hours or it will be delivered tomorrow morning to your hotel.” 

Hmm, wait hours so I can schlep it out to a cab and then heft it out of the cab and up to the Maple Inn’s front door or have door to door delivery service.  One of the easiest decisions of the last few weeks.  And not to worry.  My carry on always has a change of underwear and a toothbrush. 

The 10 day treatment plan was a short blast every other morning of proton beam radiation skipping the weekend.  Fortunately, the radiation didn’t make me sick, but the March weather was cold and rainy so there wasn’t much incentive to walk around Cambridge, a nice college town.  There were lots of book stores for browsing that helped pass some time.  Otherwise, it was chatting with the other residents.  Most of us were going through the same treatment so we had lots in common.

            The inn had a resident cat.  Gus, an orange marmalade, barrel of a cat made the rounds of us arranged on various chairs and settees in the sitting room.  Sniffing at our feet and looking up into our faces for what?  The first night after a complete circle, he made a wandering walk back to my feet, meowed and jumped up landing like a bomb in my lap.  “Oof,” I wheezed.

            From that moment, he seemed to belong to me, or more likely, he had staked me out as his possession.  When I came back from treatment he’d run up to greet me, meowing furiously.  As I sat, sipping tea and crunching the oatmeal cookies left out for afternoon snacking, he’d sit by my side, purring peacefully.   When I gathered my belongings to head up to my room, he scampered up the stairs ahead of  me and waited patiently by the door until I opened it.

            The room was small with a double bed covered in a brown and rose colored quit.  A peach club chair next to the bed was just wide enough for me to sit reading while Gus cuddled up to me.  Sometimes if I was feeling tired, I stretched out on the bed to read.  Again Gus stretched out next to me, one paw resting on my hip as if to assure himself that I would not leave without him knowing about it. 

            The second day, Martha the manager had explained his remarkable history.  “Oh, that Gus.  He’s quite a cat.  He’s been hit twice by cars and I think the cars were worse off than he was.”

             I laughed.  “I can believe it.  He’s sure a healthy looking cat.  He must weigh, what, about 20 pounds?” 

She corrected me. “25 ½ pounds at his last checkup.  The owners try to keep him in at nights now.  He’s not happy about it, but when he finds someone he likes, like he seems to have with you, he’s better about staying in.”

“I’ve never been a cat lover, but it is comforting to have him around me.  His purring is very soothing.”

           “Good enough then.  It seems you’re both helping each other.”
            Gus stayed with me when he could until I finished my treatment plan and got ready to fly back to Chicago.  I had been assured that the treatment should completely destroy the malignant tumor but of course I had worries.
           As I checked out of the Inn, Martha was on duty again.  “I hope everything goes well with you now.  We don’t hear too much of what happens to our residents after they go back home.  But usually we always get an update from the ones that Gus chose as a special friend.  They always seem to believe his good luck rubbed off on them as they never had a recurrence of whatever problem they had.”
         “Well, I’ll keep my fingers crossed that it happens to me too.”
          And I guess it did because it’s now been 7 years since I was at the Inn and I’m still in Chicago and Gus is still at the Inn.
                                                       The End

7. Kindness Lasts (another Valentine's Day story)

I was working as a file clerk in a small insurance company in Indio.   The work was fairly easy, once you learned their system, but boring.  However, boring was just what I wanted at that point in my life.  I had just gotten out of a very exciting marriage to Joe, a good looking man who had been a great date but a bad husband.  Exciting is not always good.  A roller coaster is exciting but you don’t want to be riding on one all day, every day.  My external bruises had healed, but my internal bruises would take longer.  I was back living with my Mom and Dad, where I felt safe and comfortable.  My mother had just hugged me and said, “At least you weren’t married in the church.”
           After the highs and lows of my previous life, I was beginning to get my equilibrium back.  I enjoyed going out to lunch with the other women workers, talking about their dates, their clothes, and their problems with their mothers.  Most of the office staff were young--a company policy to keep our salaries barely above minimum wage.   I was just 23 and the only one who had been married.  After the divorce I cut my brown hair really short, stopped adding highlights, and dressed as boring as I could.  I was not interested in being sexy ever again. 
            Diane was a special friend that I got to know really well since we shared the same desk.  Yes, we shared the same desk.  The company was so small no one at our level actually had their own desk.   Fortunately, we got along really well.  Some of the desk partners had problems when one was excessively neat or excessively sloppy.  But Diane and I were like sisters.  She knew about my unhappy marriage, but still would kid me about getting back on the saddle again. I laughed and shook my head, “I’m not interested in men, not now and maybe never.” 
            She would flip her long dark hair and argue back, “Oh, Rita, you wait and see.  Someday some man is going to knock you right off your feet and into his bed.  You just haven’t met him yet.”
            “No man is ever going to do that to me again.  I’ve been vaccinated by Joe.  I’m immune to love and good looking men.”
            Diane’s boyfriend, Max, was in the Marines and had been deployed overseas.  She had a large calendar on our desk where she crossed off the days until he would be home again.  Although she missed him a lot, she kept busy trying to help others be happy.  She also lived at home with her parents and younger brothers and sisters.  She invited me to as many of her family events as I would attend.  I think she just wanted me to get out of the house.
            Most of her after work socializing was with office staff or her cousin, Georgio.  He was from Ecuador but had a student visa to go to Coachella Valley Community College.  He was older, about 30, having worked to save money to come to the states.  He continued to save money by living with Diane’s parents and in return, doing odd jobs for them.  His two year course in air conditioning and heating technology was almost over. 
            I went out with the two of them a few times for beer and pizza.  Although Diane tried to get me interested in other men she knew, she treated Georgio affectionately as an annoying older brother.  She didn’t think he was very good looking.  And he wasn’t.  He was short and stocky and had a swarthy complexion.  His thick black hair wouldn’t stay down and looked like it had never seen a comb.  But he had a sweet smile and shining black eyes like olives.  He was OK, but as I said, I was not looking for romance.
            Although I wasn’t interested in the guy, I couldn’t help but notice how kind he was.  If Diane had forgotten something back in the office, he would always go back and get it for her.  Once a homeless person was yelling and cursing.  Diane and I were cringing and trying to ignore the man.  Georgio walked right up to him, looked him in the eyes and said, “It’s hard man, ain’t it?  I know it’s hard, very hard.”  He reached out to give the man a handshake.  The man was stunned, but then shook his head quietly and walked away.   I thought to myself if all men acted like Georgio, women wouldn’t have any problems.
            A few weeks later, Diane came to work with red, tear stained eyes.  I asked, “What’s the matter, chica?  Can I help you?”
            “Oh, it’s just terrible.  Georgio’s student visa has run out and he has to leave the country or he’ll be arrested as an illegal immigrant.  The visa was only until his two year program was done.  And they won’t extend it any further because of the quotas.  He doesn’t want to go back to Ecuador and we don’t want him to leave.”
            That morning I kept thinking about their problem and how this super nice, super kind guy had to leave.  Finally, on our break I looked at Diane and surprised myself by saying, “You know, I wouldn’t mind marrying him, but just so he can stay in the country.  He’s a nice guy and I think he deserves a break.  But I don’t want any hanky-panky stuff.”
            Well, it may not have been the most romantic wedding in history and there certainly wasn’t any honeymoon.  However, we did have to share an apartment because of the INS.  Georgio had gotten a job at a small HVAC firm, so we could afford to split the costs.  Every day, he was nicer than the day before.  Of course, I knew he was grateful for what I had done for him, but you can tell when actions come from the heart. 
            After 3 months of living like roommates, he hesitantly asked me to go out on a real date, “Miss Rita, I would like to thank you for what you’ve done for me.  If you don’t mind I could take you out to dinner to a nice restaurant I know”. 
            I was worried this might mean a change in our relationship, so I explained, “’I’d like to go with you as long you know, we are going just as friends.”  He said, “Of course, of course.  It’s just a thank you.”
           He was a perfect gentleman and treated me like the most special person in the world.  That dinner led to more outings.  We continued to just date and get to know each other better for several months. I was still worried about opening my heart again.
            Even though living in the same small apartment, I continued to sleep in the bedroom and he on the hide a bed in the living room.  And then one night six months later we were eating tacos.  Sauce was dripping all over my mouth and hands.  He looked at me and said, “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met.” 
            I stopped eating, wiped my hands on a paper napkin and really looked at him.  I no longer saw the awkward young student who wasn’t very handsome.  I felt I could look into his soul and see the beauty that came from his true nature.  After a long conversation, we decided to make our relationship become a  real marriage.  This time it was a church wedding.
            We’ve been married 27 years and have quite a story to tell our grandchildren.  Looks may attract, but kindness lasts.
                                                               The End

6. The Miracle at San Miguel de Allende (A love story for Valentine's Day) a little longer than usual.

The miracle at San Miguel was not a religious miracle.  It wasn’t even a medical miracle.  Perhaps some people may not even consider it a miracle, but I did.  Let me tell you what happened and you decide.

My husband, Jack, and I walked through the flower filled and tiled courtyard to the outside dining room.  We smiled at each other as we smelled the inn’s famous cheese tortillas being prepared for breakfast.  Mexican leather chairs surrounded tables covered with red, green, and yellow flower printed oil cloth.  One large table in the center was set for the six guests that were here this weekend.  It was August and not too many people came at this time of year, but we were celebrating our 5^th anniversary in this ancient, Mexican Colonial town of San Miguel de Allende which we had first happily explored on our honeymoon.

We had been told the other guests were a young honeymoon couple and a much older couple.   The younger guests hadn’t shown for breakfast yet, which was not surprising.  The older couple were already starting in on their fresh-squeezed orange juice and flavorful Mexican coffee.  They seemed to be in their 70s, well dressed, and both wearing glasses which made their eyes look enormous. 

“Hi, I’m Jack.” My husband reached out to shake their hands.   “And this is my wife, Pat.” 

The older man stood, smiled and said, “I’m Tom and my beautiful bride is Andrea.  We’re here to visit this charming little town on a belated honeymoon.”

Andrea, her blue eyes sparkling, cut in to add, “We’ve only been married for 3 months.”

          Tom explained, “We have lots of friends here even though this is our first trip.  People we knew up in the Bay area of California are now living down here full-time.”

Andrea chimed in, “Yes, they like the low prices.  But I’m not so sure the quality of things down here is good enough.”

“Now, now, Andrea, we can’t expect everything to be like it is at home.”  Tom patted her arm.  She pulled it away angrily. “Don’t patronize me, you old fool.”   He flinched and muttered something under his breath.

Oh, Oh, I thought to myself.  It doesn’t look like this honeymoon is boding well for the longevity of this marriage.  The other couple, Kyle and Kay, made their appearance looking tired, but smiling delightedly at each other.  I hoped they would give Tom and Andrea a good example.  The older couple did stop squabbling at breakfast, and being agreeable, we all planned to meet at a well-known and inexpensive restaurant for dinner.

            That day Jack and I had a great time walking over the narrow, cobble stoned streets.  There seemed to be an old stone angel set into a building niche at every corner intersection and I prayed that they would look over us during this trip, and also over the other couples at the inn.  Viewing the town again brought back wonderful memories, and after a quick trip to our room to rest and refresh ourselves, we were looking forward to the evening get-together.

As soon as we got to O'Leary’s Irish Pub—yes it is owned by two Irish brothers who immigrated to Mexico about 20 years ago—we could hear Tom and Andrea fussing at each other.   Andrea had picked a table back near the wall, while Tom had wanted a table further in.  He said her choice was near the bathrooms and would smell.  She said his was too close to the stage and would be noisy.

Jack laughed and said, “Come on you guys.  Let’s compromise and sit in the middle.”  So we did and then we found out that the younger honeymoon couple had decided not to meet with us.  Tom said that Kyle had picked up a stomach bug and he and Kay were staying at the inn for the evening.

I thought to myself, I guess they had enough of Tom and Andrea’s squabbling and didn’t want it to spoil their enjoyment of this once in a lifetime trip.  After all you only have one honeymoon—although I guess with today’s divorce statistics I should say you only have one ‘first’ honeymoon.

In spite of Tom and Andrea’s fussing with each other, Jack and I had a good time.  The older couple actually was very interesting.  He was a retired podiatrist and she a retired librarian and they told lots of funny stories about the patients and patrons they had met during their careers.   He explained that he first saw her when she was volunteering at her library. He was trying to find a book on sailing, which he was thinking about taking up in his retirement.  Andrea was very helpful with pointing him towards appropriate books, but as they talked he lost interest in sailing and became more interested in her.  As he finished this charming story, they smiled at each other and I thought, Good.  Now maybe we can have some peace and quiet with them.

But it was not to be.  When we left the restaurant it had started raining and they both berated each other for forgetting their umbrella.  I always carried one of those ugly plastic hoods and offered it to Andrea, but she refused and said Tom would just have to look at her tonight looking like a drowned rat.

 Back at the inn, Jack and I crept quietly to our room and collapsed on our bed.  “What a night.  I can’t figure out what’s wrong with those two,” Jack groaned. 

“I know.  If this is their honeymoon, what will the marriage be like?”  I quickly pulled off my clothes and got into the new, lacy nightgown I had bought for the trip.  Jack put his arms around me, hugging me gently, murmuring, “It’s for sure they’re not going to have one like us.” 

The next morning at breakfast they were still arguing about the missing umbrella and the table choices.  I couldn’t believe it.  Tom kept trying to shush her and she kept saying she would not be shushed. 

I laughed and trying to make a joke out of it said, “Andrea, if you don’t get off this subject, I’m gong to bop you one.”  I don’t know if she believed me or was just shocked by what I said but she did start talking about how good the breakfast was.

We begged off getting together for dinner with them, but as luck would have it we did see them again during the day.  The American ex-patriots run a wonderful bi-lingual library which has a pleasant courtyard café with several trees shading the tables and chairs.  We remembered it as a delightful place for an afternoon pick me up, and I guess Tom and Andrea had found out about it, too.

They waved us over to join them and we did reluctantly.  But they seemed on their best behavior, telling funny stories and patting each other hands.  Until they got up to leave and Andrea objected to the size of the tip Tom was leaving, complaining, “Do you think we’re made of money?” 

He said abruptly, “Don’t worry about it.  You certainly didn’t worry about it when you bought that expensive silver necklace today.”  And they were off and running.  Fortunately, they kept on walking out of the café as they continued wrangling.

We were left in blissful peace.  Jack commented, “Well, we don’t have to spend any more time with them than we have to.  It’s too bad because they can be interesting and even nice, but sometimes it’s like striking a match in a gas filled room.”

The inn was buzzing when we got back from our long walk.  Staff members were bustling in and out of Tom and Andrea’s room.  We were curious but thought we’d just let it go and went directly to our room.  While we were reading over a list of possible restaurants for that night’s dinner, there was a knock on our door.  It was Tom.  He seemed upset.

“You probably wondered what all the commotion was about.  Andrea wasn’t paying attention and she was knocked down by a bus turning one of those narrow, sharp corners.”

“Oh my gosh,” I exclaimed.  “Was she run over?” 

“No, thank God.  She’s just a little bruised and shaken up.  She’s resting now.  I just felt I had to talk to someone about this.  I hope you don’t mind listening to me.”

“Of course we don’t.  Come on in.”  And then we learned one of the reasons for their strange relationship.  

Tom explained, “I just don’t know what I’d do if I lost Andrea.  I know it sounds like we quarrel a lot, but we’ve really been married for 50 years.  This trip is to celebrate our 50th anniversary.  But we thought it would sound more romantic if we made up that story about being honeymooners.  How we met is the truth but it was more than 50 years ago and I wasn’t thinking about retiring—just looking for a possible hobby.  We’ve really had a great life together but lately Andrea’s personality started changing and her doctor told me privately that she was in an early stage of Alzheimer’s.  I was devastated of course, but I decided not to let her know it until she had to.  So we’ve been muddling along the best we can.  It breaks my heart but after 50 years, she is my heart.”

After that long speech, he just started crying.  Jack and I just looked at each other.  We hadn’t even thought of that as a reason for her behavior. 

I asked, “Would it be all right if I just stepped in to see how she is and if she needs anything?”  I could tell he was exhausted and needed a break.

Jerry said, “Yes, yes.  Go on in.  If she’s not asleep I’m sure she’d like some company.”

When I quietly slipped into their room, I knew she was awake as her bright, blue eyes were looking at me.  It was hard to believe that this alert woman was slowly losing her mind.  What a waste.

“Hi Pat, I guess Tom told you what happened.  Those buses-- they just aren’t careful enough, but I guess I wasn’t paying attention either.”

I sat on the chair next to her.  “How are you doing?” I asked. 

“Oh, I’m fine.  I think Tom’s more upset than I am.  But then, as you probably noticed, he takes things very seriously these days.  I have to admit that we told you a little fib.  He thought it would be more romantic if we pretended to be honeymooners—more interesting he said.  But we’ve really been married 50 years and he has been my sweetheart every day of that time.  I don’t think I could go on without him.  He is the love of my life.  But I noticed that he started getting upset with me a lot, so when he had his last check-up I talked privately with the doctor.  I thought I would faint when I found out Tom is in the early stages of Alzheimer.  I was devastated but I vowed to keep on with our lives as long as possible, keeping the truth from him until he had to know.  You just don’t give up on 50 years of love and devotion.”

And that’s what I call a miracle.  In this age of throw-away marriages, there still exists the miracle of love.

                                      The End