Melvin is gone

This morning as I got my fifty-cent senior coffee at McDonalds, I saw my friend Donice sitting at a table and reading the Wall Street Journal. A Colorado Springs Gazette lay on the other side of the table by an empty chair. Not a good sign, I thought. "Donice, how are you doing? I asked.

"It has been lonely for the last two months," said the frail octogenarian.

"And Melvin?"

"Melvin is gone, but I know where he is," she said smiling.

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Several years ago, I had befriended Donice and Melvin at McDonalds. As husband and wife, they had long retired from teaching school, but still farmed out land that they owned in western Kansas, where they first met as teachers at a small county school around 1949.

They came to McDonalds most every day. They drank senior coffee and ate dollar Sausage McMuffins, She read the WSJ; he the Gazette. Donice would bring up something from an article she had just read. They would then have a vigerous discussion. Eventually, Melvin would end the discussion with a gesture that swept the subject aside.

Whenever I stopped by, we discussed an endless list of subjects: Kansas dry land farming, old cantankerous tractors, teaching farm kids, how kids have changed, their courtship, the trials of adopting two girls--one from the Sioux reservation, and Melvin's keeping two rattlesnakes in his science classroom.

Over the last couple of years, each time I saw them, Melvin's osteoporosis slowly progressed: his back more hunched, his head bent down a bit more. He had increasing difficulty remembering what had  happened yesterday, but we could endlessly talk about the past.

Over the last few years, the osteoporosis Melvin's shoulders and neck slowly worsened. He had incresed memory problems. Donice patiently would re-explain items they had talked about a few minutes before. However, we could endlessly talk about the past.

The last time I saw them was four months ago and Donice told me, "They brought Melvin back from the dead.

"What happened? I asked.

Donice related: "He was out digging holes for fence posts and had a heart attack. I told him before that at eighty-eight, he was too old for such foolishness. Anyway, I called an ambulance, but his heart stopped on the way to the hospital. In the emergency room, they got his heart going again; it had stopped for fifteen minutes. They didn't have time to check his records and did not know of the 'Do Not Resecitate' form. So, he really came back from the dead."

"How do you feel, Melvin?" I asked.

"Oh, fine--but she won't let me go and finish the post holes," he said smiling toward his wife.

###

As we talked this morning, Donice told me how they had first met as teachers. She said that she first thought that he was a pompous know-it-all, but changed her mind after a six year courtship. They got married when they were older--he 32 and she 27.

She told me that in the end, Melvin had had bladder cancer and was weakened from losing a lot blood. She said that one night she overheard him having a conversation with God in the living room:

"God, thank you for all the blessings in my life.

"God, thank you for our two wonderful daughters.

"God, thank you for my lovely wife Donice.

"God, thank you for fifty-eight wonderful years of marriage."

Donice said, "I must have heard his thanks to God a hundred times."

She then told me: "I am comforted that he is in heaven. I know that he is there...I know that he is there. Our adopted son sent me a sympathy card saying that when I arrive in heaven, that Melvin won't notice me for a while, because he will be too busy talking with all his friends."

"I hope I don't live too much longer," she finished.

I offered my sympathies and went over to drink my coffee and read the paper. Donice went back to reading the WSJ. The Gazette lay unopened in front of the empty chair.

Unexpected guest

We occasionally get a mouse in our crawl space. Until yesterday, I was pretty sure that, after years of work, I had finally plugged the "last" hole. I checked the four traps I had set and saw that all four had been tripped. Looking closer, I saw that two traps were moving and they were clamped onto a hissing and striking foot-and-a-half snake. Successful snake removal and inspection found that it was a Bull snake. Extracting the snake from the traps was interesting. I last saw it crawling toward my neighbors. Steven King could use this material. Back to searching for the "last" hole...

Genna's summer visit

 It is dawn; the temperature is in the fifties. I sit by the fire pit on the deck, reading the paper, drinking coffee and waiting... Genna sneaks up behind me and switches on the garden fountains, then pops out with a grin. I fix hot chocolate and wrap her in Grandma's fleece. We sit by the fire. We have an hour alone to discuss everything that a grandfather and a seven-year-old granddaughter should discuss.

 

Too soon, she will be gone.

The Yogurt Shop

We walked with daughter Rebecca and four grandchildren up to the noisy yogurt shop. Off-key vocals blared from hundred-watt karaoke speakers as teenagers took turns singing pop songs. We stopped, watched and listened.

My tweenage granddaughter Libby, who mouthed the words of every song, shouted in my ear over the noise, somewhat aghast, "Grandpa, the song they are singing has the 'B-word' in it--but it's okay because the guy singing changed it to 'Johnson.'"

Hum... changing "my bitch" to "my Johnson..." 

Sweet innocence.

Fruit pie with that?

When I go to MacDonalds for senior coffee in the morning, I find it a little annoying when the clerk says, "Would you like a fruit pie with that?" All clerks wear a button saying that fruit pies are free if they don't ask you about them.

 

This morning was different, The clerk, a somewhat crusty, likeable woman, said, "Fruit Pie? I can't imagine that anyone would eat a fruit pie for breakfast,"

I advised her in a low voice, "You need to be careful about talking that way; you'll get in trouble."

 

She smiled and whispered, "You're right."

The Blessing

This is a reprise of a previous post with more info:

While in Palm Desert, I asked directions from four strangers in the 108 degree sun. One, named Isaac, asked, “Sir, may I ask how you lost your fingers?


“Sure,” I told him, “Lost ‘em when I was nine from a dynamite cap.”

“Do you mind if I say a prayer for you?” asked Isaac.

“Go ahead,” I said.

Isaac held my hand and prayed, “...that he be healed, and his fingers grow back.”

After the blessing, I couldn’t wait to tell my family about the good news. Natalie looked at my hand, and said, “I don’t see any growth, Daddy.” She then looked at Libby and Genna, “You both can date when Grandpa’s fingers grow back.”

Six-year old Genna was upset, “I thought we could date when we were thirty-two!”

I now receive occasional phone calls regarding the progress of my fingers.

Magic

Grandkids Sarah (4) and Andrew (3) were playing in their backyard sand pile. Sarah had built an elaborate sandcastle. Andrew picked up a bucket of water with the intention of flooding the sandcastle. Alarmed, Sarah said that he was holding the soup that she had made--and he couldn't pour it on the sandcastle.

Andrew held out the soup and said, "Bippity, Boppity, Boo! Now it is water."

Sarah ran into the house, screaming for help from mom.

No Peach Fuzz

While I stood in line at McDonalds at six in the morning, the manager Debbie spoke to the young cashier, a manager in training, who was taking my order, "If I give you the money, will you go to 7-11 and buy a razor?"

The cashier, who had a beard of about 25 long curly hairs on his chin, took the two dollars she gave him and walked to the store next door.

While reading the paper, I have overheard new employees in training. They are instructed on the clean shaven, no piercing, no exposed tatoo policy.

Who's Screaming?

As I waited for my senior coffee at McDonalds, Debbie the Manager shouted, "I'm not screaming. You're the one that's screaming. You should have asked for decaf, and you would have had it!"

 

It sounds stupid, but I relate, having been there myself.

A Sarah Story

Last Sunday was epiphany at church. At St. Pat's the church Rebecca and her family attend, three men dressed as the wise men were "interviewed" as a part of the homily. Sarah looked at them with all the earnestness of a four-year-old and then turned to her mother and said, "Gosh, Mommy, isn't that nice. Instead of going back to see King Herod, they came to Colorado."