Tag Archives: friend

Thanks Alice

I sipped the watery coffee and unwrapped my egg biscuit. Hitting the highway early and with another hour ahead of me, I’d pulled off to go through the drive-thru window of a lone fast-food place surrounded by woods. Nice, I thought. I’ve always found eating in my car preferable to the noisy interiors of those restaurants. It was quiet and peaceful with no kids screaming.

“Mommy!” the kid screamed.

It was a little girl. She and two other kids stood with their backs flat against an old beat up car parked a few spaces away.

“Mommy!” she screamed again. A little more panic in her voice this time. All three kids looked around in different directions but never moved from their spots. Puzzled, I stopped eating and watched for a minute as I tried to understand. That’s when Mommy appeared from the woods with a baby on her hip and a long thin stick in her hand.

“But where’s Daddy?” the screaming little girl asked, still in a panic.

Daddy appeared from the woods holding a toddler’s hand. He, too, carried a long thin stick.

When Daddy fumbled around the edges of the driver’s side window I realized they were locked out of their car. Mommy and kids stood by while Daddy tried with first one long stick and then the other to get into the window. The first stick was too thick and the second broke just as he seemed on the verge of success.

They need to find someone with a coat hanger, I thought. I’ve seen people get into locked cars using those. But it was so early in the morning and with no one else in the parking lot I wasn’t sure who might have one.

Oh wait. I did.

I popped my trunk from inside and got out of the car. It only took seconds to go into my luggage and grab the one wire coat hanger I had among several plastic ones. I heard an odd rattle, but in a hurry I paid no attention and shut the trunk. Daddy’s eyes lit up as I approached with the coat hanger and Mommy herded the kids aside so he could try again. The screaming little girl was now crying. Mommy had her hands full with the other four so I squatted down beside the little girl.

“Don’t worry. It will be ok.” I said, patting her on the arm. She seemed to be taking this whole incident very seriously!

“My name is Alice.” she said, voice cracking.

“Well Alice, don’t worry. It will be ok.” Her Daddy contorted himself in attempts to maneuver the coat hanger into the window. I hoped it would work quickly so Alice wouldn’t give up and panic again.

Pop!

“And there you go!” I said to her when we heard the door unlock.

Sighs of relief from Mommy and Daddy who thanked me profusely as they packed the five kids back into the old beat up car. Daddy joked saying the worst thing of all was that his coffee was now cold. We laughed and I waved as they drove off.

Bang! Bang! As they left, their old car backfired twice, maybe in celebration. Heading back to my own car I reached for the keys in my pocket.

They weren’t in my pocket.

They were in the trunk.

I’d dropped them into the trunk while getting the coat hanger. That was the odd rattle I’d heard. I could pop the trunk from inside of the car though, simple enough.

The car was locked.

I looked around. It was still very early, dead quiet, and I was the only car in the lot. Not sure how long it would take to get into my car, or have someone get into my car there in the middle of nowhere, I just leaned against the door with my head in my hands.

Bang! Bang!

From around the fast-food place came the old beat up car. As it turned out, Daddy just couldn’t keep driving with cold coffee and he’d circled back for more. By the look on his face when he saw me standing there I could tell he knew exactly what had happened. He pulled up beside my car, coat hanger in hand, and set to work.

I watched him struggle a bit. It didn’t seem to be working as easily with my car as it had with his. He bent the coat hanger several ways, trying each new bend to see if it was the right one. His family watched eagerly but everyone stayed in the car.

Everyone, apparently, except Alice. I looked down to see what was tugging at my shirt.

“It will be ok.” she said.

I smiled at her but I wasn’t so sure. Daddy seemed to be struggling with the coat hanger and had worked up a slight sweat. He tried to unlock it, I tried to unlock it, and he was trying again when I decided to stop wasting their time and call someone to get into my car. I guessed it was time to give up but Daddy kept at it.

“It will be ok.” Alice said again as she patted my arm.

Pop!

And there you go!

Stuart M. Perkins

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Strangers?

It was early morning when we stepped quietly into the cozy dining area of the bed and breakfast. A quick glance told us we were first, so we took a seat at one of the several small tables arranged intimately throughout the room. Soon other guests trickled in and sat where they liked, usually leaving the empty “buffer” table between themselves and those already seated. A few “good morning” nods were traded but no one spoke. We were, after all, strangers.

Each table solemnly eyeballed the others to see just who chance had decided they spend that particular weekend with. No one in the room knew the other guests, but by luck of the draw and an online reservation we were about to share breakfast. Bad hair, puffy eyes, and all. It’s an awkward silence that wins as strangers size up one another.

That silence was broken when the friendly owners burst from the kitchen. With genuine smiles they floated gracefully from one table to the next informing each of the breakfast menu, asked how we slept, and were sincerely interested in our plans for the day. As they spurred on discussion at one table, another listened in, and then another. In their wake, the owners effortlessly seeded conversations between tables which grew through breakfast.

Though brief and somewhat formal, as conversations between strangers generally are, we all slowly began to open up. Where are you from? Where do you work? What will you do while here? Suggestions from one table spilled over to the next which prompted ideas from another which resulted in recommendations from one more. Conversations dwindled as we began to eat, but cracks had formed in that initial awkwardness. Still, when breakfast was over, we parted ways to go separately into the day. We were, after all, still strangers.

The next morning’s breakfast shaped up a little differently. “Good morning” nods were replaced by the real thing called across the room. People sat beside each other to compare notes on the previous day’s adventures and “buffer” tables ceased to exist. Conversations were lively as common experiences were discussed. Oh you went there too? We must have just missed you! Where are you going today? Several invitations were offered to join in another’s day or perhaps meet for dinner. The awkwardness had vanished.

People who otherwise would have never crossed paths met in that cozy dining room as strangers. Conversations ultimately revealed the cities and states each had traveled from to be there. One woman, I learned, was from my own hometown. We talked about our high schools, how things had changed over the years, and wondered how many times we’d probably crossed paths on the streets around home. Yet, the one and only conversation we were likely to ever have took place miles away from home in that dining room over breakfast. A weekend of relaxation and fun was surprisingly enhanced, for all of us, because of a few chance conversations over breakfast.

In the end, none were strangers.

Stuart M. Perkins

 

 

As a special note: The bed and breakfast was The Hope and Glory Inn in Irvington, Virginia. I couldn’t write a proper review even if that were my intention – so I won’t try here. I enjoy watching what goes on around me, seeing stories unfold, and telling them in my own words. That’s what my blog is about.

In this case I watched unfold the story of a group of strangers who became, through the power of simple conversation, friends for a weekend. Conversations that were often initiated, always encouraged, and certainly made more entertaining by the participation of the owners of The Hope and Glory Inn, Peggy and Dudley Patteson. I’m not sure a friendlier or more down to earth pair exists!

I’m from Virginia and my extended family has ties to the Irvington area that started before I was born, so I’ve spent a lot of time on the Chesapeake Bay. Some of my blog posts center around family time there. The Hope and Glory Inn has a long history. That history, combined with the obvious beauty of the place, first prompted my interest to stay there even though it was just down the road from the family cottage where I’ve spent many happy vacations. So glad I did.

Rather than repeat all that I love about the Inn, the area, and the people, I’m attaching the Inn’s link below. It’s so much more than a bed and breakfast and Peggy and Dudley are happy, and certainly able, to point guests in proper directions so they’ll not miss what that beautiful part of Virginia has to offer.

Or you just might learn all you need to know over breakfast.

http://www.hopeandglory.com/

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Goodbye, Friend

One of my best friends passed away.

Over the years I’ve experienced the passing of people related to me and have attended quite a few funerals. I’m from a large family with an even larger extended family so deaths and funerals are part of that reality. Not until now have I lost a friend. The loss isn’t any more or any less, but it’s different.

With family, you love them all but treat only a few as friends.

With friends, you love them all but treat only a few as family.

Mary Dell Grey was family.

Mary Dell suffered a stroke several months ago and sadly things went steadily downhill. During those awful months she was watched over and cared for by her son Greg Eversole (my friend since fourth grade), her sister Brenda Taylor (my friend for years now), with help from their family and friends. When Mary Dell passed away everyone was understandably devastated.

A small group of friends and I knew Mary Dell for nearly forty years. In all of that time we remained close, bound by the glue of her loyal friendship with each of us. It was an honor when Mary Dell’s family asked if we, along with others, would speak at her service.

There was little prior discussion between those of us asked to speak. There was no planning, coordinating, or comparing notes, yet it was amazing to hear each of us in turn highlight the same great qualities of this remarkable friend of ours. Over the years she moved from being our second mother to being our best friend. She was forever smiling and always laughing – especially at herself. Those and other heartfelt comments were common themes when each of us spoke.

I’d never spoken at a funeral service and it was difficult for many reasons but she would have done the same for me without hesitation. More difficult than speaking was the process of picking just a very few things to say about our many years of friendship. I hope I did her and her family justice as I tried to recognize her loyalty, sense of humor, and devotion to God. I asked Greg and Brenda before writing this blog post about Mary Dell and I thank them for instantly agreeing. Mary Dell pushed me to blog and was a constant source of encouragement. I wanted more people to know what a friend she was. She was an incredible friend to so many.

Below is what I said at the service.

It’s hard to sum up thirty-eight years of friendship in just a few minutes. I’ve known Mary Dell since I was just fifteen. I’ve known Greg and Billy since fourth grade and I still remember Mary Dell’s very first words to me: “Why on earth do you have your feet on my sofa?”

I was at her house because she’d allowed Greg to invite Billy and me to the beach with them for the week. We, and other friends along the way, repeated that beach trip every summer for over a decade. Mary Dell’s generosity provided Greg, Billy, and me with some of the happiest memories we’ll ever have.

During those early years Mary Dell was mother not just to Greg but to me and Billy too. She watched us grow from kids to young adults. She advised us, guided us, laughed and cried with us and soon became the person we called when we needed to work through problems. At a moment’s notice one of us might call her to a “meeting”, which is how we referred to our coffee talks at Aunt Sarah’s. No matter which one of us called her she’d say “Of course I’ll be there!” and in she’d walk, high heels and a smile, “Hello boys!”

Years passed and she morphed from parental figure to friend. Our best friend. She grew older and we grew up and many times it was she who called a meeting about problems of her own and off we three went to meet her. Some of the deepest, silliest, and funniest conversations I’ve ever had were with those three. The four of us were inseparable for a time.

When life got busier we didn’t hang out quite as much but she was only a phone call away. Whether I called her or she called me I could count on a good hour of laughing. She was always smiling and laughing. She loved to laugh, especially at herself, and loved it if you laughed at her too!

One day she called and started the conversation in typical hilarious Mary Dell fashion:

“Save us all, you will not believe the hideousness I have just been through!”

Of course I laughed knowing a good one was coming. “What happened?”

“Well, I was reading in bed when something on the leg of my pants caught my eye!”

“What was it?” I asked.

“Something hideous!”

“What was it?” I asked again.

“I couldn’t tell! I didn’t have my contacts in and I didn’t dare move for fear the loathsome creature would bite me!”

“Was it a spider?” I asked.

“Ohhh Stuart, it appeared to be the mother of all tarantulas so I screamed and jumped out of bed and stomped my feet to dislodge the beast!”

“Did it fall off?” I asked.

“No! I shrieked and flailed and it didn’t budge so I ran outside and stripped off my pants right there on the deck! Call the law!”

“Did you kill it?” I asked.

“Well, I dropped my pants on the deck and stomped them. Stuart, I nearly stomped a hole in the deck making sure I killed the evil thing!”

“So what was it?” I asked again. I’d been laughing hysterically all along.

“Well bless, I’d gotten so out of breath from all of the stomping that it took me a minute before I could shake my pants out.”

“And what was it?” I asked.

“Well, I unfurled my stomped pants and there it was. It fell out right onto the deck!”

“A spider?” I asked.

“Lordddd no, it was one of my false eyelashes that had gotten stuck to the back of my leg.

Mary Dell was always poised, always looked perfect, but never, ever, took herself too seriously.

A few years ago she asked if I would help her make a cottage garden in her yard. I jumped at the chance and we spent an entire summer making it happen. There were days we intended to work but instead sat on her deck talking. It was over the course of those months working outside together that she and I had a lot of deep conversations. She spoke openly, always smiling, about how much her faith and love of God meant to her.

She had watched me grow but I watched her grow too. She confessed regrets about things she had or hadn’t done in life, just like the rest of us. She wondered if she’d been a good person and hoped to become a “decent Christian” as she would say. I saw a calmness come over her that I hadn’t seen before and I think it was directly related to her faith. She credited her sister Brenda with guiding her in the right direction. Mary Dell often mentioned that she knew in the end she was going home to heaven.

One morning during that gardening summer I called to let her know I was on my way. No answer. I tried several times and still no answer. Knowing she lived alone I worried a little and called Greg. No answer. I just thought ok, she’s busy, she’ll call later. And she did. She’d been out of town and laughed at the anxiety in my voice in all of the voicemails I’d left.

It was no big deal. She said she and Greg had gone up home to see Mamaw, that was all. Since I’d worried, she said she’d let me know ahead of time from then on . She kept her word. From then on she left the same voicemail for me before every trip, “Hey kiddo, if you’re looking for me, don’t worry, I’ve gone up home.” After each trip she’d call and we’d catch up and laugh. She was one of those people you could actually hear smile over the telephone.

During all of these past thirty-eight years, when schedules aligned, Mary Dell, Greg, Billy, and I would meet up. Regardless of the amount of time that had passed in the interim, we’d fall right back to where we’d left off, just like we’d done for decades. Just the four of us.

I saw Mary Dell for the last time this past Christmas Eve.

I went to her house and Greg walked with me to her bed to tell her I was there. She had her eyes closed but when Greg said “Hey Mom, look who’s here.” she looked up. In spite of the stroke, in spite of the awful things it had done to her, she looked at me and smiled. She was incredibly weak but she lifted her hand towards me. In all the years I knew Mary Dell I had never held her hand until that night.

Greg and I spent some time with her and soon Billy arrived.  Mary Dell mostly slept but we made sure we joked and laughed and I’m sure she heard us and was glad. Later on that evening at one point she opened her eyes and looked at us. In that quiet room with her was only Greg, Billy, and me, like a thousand evenings before. I’ll never forget that few minutes.

And I will never forget Mary Dell or her influence on me. I will miss her. She was unique, funny, and always one of my best friends.

But Greg and Brenda, when we look for her and can’t find her, we can use her own words for a little comfort:

“Hey kiddo, if you’re looking for me, don’t worry, I’ve gone up home.”

Stuart M. Perkins

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Perspective

Today I logged into Facebook. Or is it Fightback?

Gosh. I was only there to see cat pics.

The routine arguments were still in play: I don’t eat meat so why do you, I send my kid to school so why does yours learn at home, I can have a gun and you can’t make me get rid of it, and everything bad is Obama’s fault, no it isn’t, yes it is, no it isn’t, yes it is.

In that scenario, confrontations between “friends” seem to have escalated this week due to current events. Motivated by the latest issues, good people who usually post pizza recipes or the price of a new muffler were battling other good people over opposing views on flags and court rulings in addition to the usual topics. Some attacked the issue and others attacked the person. No one safe. Every view declared wrong. Perspective.

Seriously. I was only there to see cat pics.

In that scenario, opinions flew. Those same good people on both sides labeled, condemned, and expressed disgust with anyone who opposed them. Venom spewing, name calling, and downright hateful comments were made over and over to anyone who disagreed with stated views. Some hated so they preached, some felt preached to so they hated. No one correct. Every view ridiculous. Perspective.

How about a different scenario? These days, when nastiness and evil seem to hit closer to home than ever, it’s not but so far-fetched to imagine that any one of us might suddenly find ourselves in a very unexpected and dangerous situation. What if one found the only source of help in such a case to be a member of the perceived opposition?

In that scenario, I think any of those arguing today would be happy to see help arrive on time and would still be ok whether he were eating turkey or tofu, toting a Bible or a gun, flying rebels or rainbows, or had his husband with him. Perspective.

I guess I could have stated my opinion while I was logged in today, but it didn’t occur to me at the time.

Truly. I was only there to see cat pics. Perspective.

Stuart M. Perkins

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A Simple Hello

The evening commute home was a scramble as people rushed and crushed onto the train fighting for a place to sit or stand.  A last-minute couple pushed through the door dropping tourist maps in their haste. Forced by the crowd to split up, the man went one way and the woman another.

The woman sat down in the last vacant seat next to where I stood and began to refold maps. Beside her sat a well-dressed business woman who appeared to read something work-related even after a day at the office. The two glanced briefly at each other, said nothing, and went back to their tasks of reading and map folding.

Things calmed as the train doors shut and people settled into seats or places to stand. As we waited for the train to depart, only the rustling of newspapers or the occasional ring of a cell phone could be heard. The two women beside me were silent.

Finished with her reading, the business woman put papers back into a briefcase. The tourist woman fumbled with one last map and slipped it into a tote bag. Each woman stared straight ahead.

The train slowly moved.

Ms. Tourist turned towards Ms. Business.

“Hello.” Ms. Tourist said. That simple sound caught me off guard.

For the most part people say little or nothing on these commutes. Less a function of being unfriendly and more a symptom of preoccupied minds, people say nothing. Me included, but I’ve often wondered how funny, smart, or maybe obnoxious the person next to me might be during any given commute if we only chatted. Still, silence is the norm.

Not even a simple hello.

That’s why Ms. Tourist’s simple “hello” caught Ms. Business off guard as well. She whirled to face Ms. Tourist, stared at her for a second, and gave a “hello” in return. Each smiled slightly then stared straight ahead once again.

Perhaps shocked by the simple approach, seconds later Ms. Business returned the favor. “I saw your maps. Are you here on vacation?” she asked.

Ms. Tourist shook her head yes.

The train sped up.

Where are you from? Ms. Tourist asked.

Philadelphia originally.

Oh really? My son lives there now!

And you? Where are you visiting from?

Atlanta.

How funny! My daughter lives there now!

The train reached full speed.

And so did conversation between Ms. Tourist and Ms. Business. Questions flew, answers flew, and in the process the women discovered they each had family living within miles of the other, had probably crossed paths at several restaurants, and both had grandfathers from North Carolina.

The train was still going full speed when their conversation became louder. The women agreed on movies they loved, books they hated, what humidity did to their hair, and how they wished their husbands didn’t snore so much. They covered politics, parenting, and pantyhose for the remainder of the trip.

As the train slowed to approach the station, Ms. Business plugged Ms. Tourist’s number into her iPhone. When the train came to a stop the women stood, actually hugged goodbye, and Ms. Business hurried through the door to catch her bus.

As the thick crowd exited the train Ms. Tourist rejoined her husband. I followed them onto the escalator and listened as Ms. Tourist excitedly recounted to her husband all she’d learned from the woman beside her, how nice she was, all they had in common, and how they’d probably meet up in Atlanta the next time the woman came to visit her daughter.

As we stepped from the escalator Mr. Tourist stopped and turned to his wife. He looked sincerely puzzled.

“How did you learn all of that? What’s your secret?” he asked laughing. As I walked past them towards my bus I saw Ms. Tourist shrug her shoulders as she explained her secret.

“I said hello.”

Stuart M. Perkins

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Now I Remember Why

Recently I chatted with Lisa, a dear friend for nearly thirty years. Prompted by news of early snow across the country and our own cold weather, she made one simple comment that unleashed many fond memories.

“This reminds me of the Bamboo day”.

With a smile I recalled enjoying that day too – but, I don’t remember why

Even the date of that winter day years ago escapes me. Snow fell as I drove to work and in spite of accumulation, not a single business closed. I walked into work slowly, waiting, stalling, watching thousands of flaky excuses to stay home fall for nothing. I was sure the security guard would meet me at the door to say we were closed. He didn’t and we weren’t.

Until later.

Memory also fails me as to the exact time later that morning that my boss announced our closing. As I left, swirling snow began to cover my car. While I scraped ice from my windshield I pondered the falling flakes, and then did what anyone else would do when dismissed early from work due to heavy, dangerous snowfall.

I met two friends at a local café.

Where Lisa worked at the time I don’t recall, but she left work early too. I don’t remember where Billy worked either but his office closed also. Filled with the thrill of snow and early closure, the three of us met at Bamboo Café, a cozy little place in our hometown of Richmond, Virginia. The snow kept falling.

We chose a booth towards the back, I think, but I draw a blank. Maybe we talked about mutual friends – which ones, I can’t remember. We probably talked about relatives – though I’m clueless as to what was said. What we ate slips my mind but I think there was coffee. I know there was laughter.

For hours, who knows how many, we watched snow fall and enjoyed our impromptu time together. We drifted from casual comments about work to heavy political discussions, reminisced about past vacations, then around again to whatever our personal dramas were at the time. We most likely shared reflections, bounced ideas, told dirty jokes, and laughed at sporadic flashbacks.

I don’t know why we always remember the Bamboo day. Why is it still so memorable? It was an unremarkable day really. Just three people huddled in a booth watching snow fall as they talked, laughed, and spent a surprise few hours basking in the gladness of old friendship. Oh…

Now I remember why.

Stuart M. Perkins

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The Mule and the One Red Hen

My coworker often discusses drama caused over the years by one of her friends. At lunch she described the latest events to me and several others as she pondered whether she should even continue their friendship.

Knowing she’ll always deal with flare-ups of unpleasantness had my coworker in a quandary. Their friendship is great for the most part, but occasional negatives are difficult to deal with. She asked us for advice. I gave no advice but made a comment to the group.

“Jiggs would have said this is like the mule and the one red hen.”

Puzzled faces awaited my explanation.

As a kid I spent many summer weekends at the farm owned by Dessie and Jiggs, my aunt and uncle. I like to think I helped around the place but the reality is I played in the creek and ate Dessie’s good cooking. Often we’d ride over to see Bud and Cherry, friends who owned a nearby farm. We would pass woods, creeks, and in a bend in the road was a small pasture where there always stood a mule.

Next to the pasture was a weathered chicken coop. Not enclosed, but wandering where they chose, was a flock of maybe twenty chickens. The chickens were always in the vicinity of the coop and always together, except for one red hen.

Without fail, the mule and the hen would be together in the small pasture when we drove by. The first time I noticed, I paid little attention. Over time I realized they were always together. Soon I actually began to look for them. Each time, I saw the mule with the one red hen.

As a teenager, I was fascinated by their odd friendship. I never thought to mention it to Dessie and Jiggs until later in the summer when we once again made the drive. We were about to approach the pasture so I brought it up ahead of time to make sure they saw it for themselves.

“Have y’all noticed,” I asked excitedly, “that every time we ride by this pasture up here that instead of with the flock, one chicken hangs out with the mule? It’s cool that they’re friends.”

We rounded the bend in the road and Dessie and Jiggs turned to look at what I had described. Sure enough, the flock of chickens pecked around the coop, but the mule and the one red hen were together in the pasture. Having seen the two together, Dessie and Jiggs turned back around as we passed by.

“Well.” Dessie acknowledged in her genuinely pleasant way.

Jiggs looked at me in the rear view mirror as he drove. I could see him grinning.

“You know why they’re friends, don’t you?” Jiggs asked. I saw Dessie turn to look at him. Seeing the grin on his face, one quickly formed on hers. She was ready for whatever he would say next.

I wasn’t.

“No why?” I asked. Always thinking Jiggs one of the most intelligent people I’d ever met, I was eager to have the highly technical explanation of this complex interspecies relationship explained to me in full, and forthwith.

“Because,” Jiggs began as he formed his erudite response, “when the mule craps the chicken picks stuff out of it.”

I retched.

Dessie laughed hysterically.

Jiggs kept driving.

My stomach settled long enough for me to speak. “That doesn’t seem like a friendship at all then.”

“Sure it does.” Jiggs said, still grinning. “The chicken enjoys being with the mule, she just knows she has to deal with a little crap now and then.”

Well, Jiggs certainly explained that one.

And I explained to my coworkers that we all have friendships with dynamics of good and the occasional bad. If you’re really friends with someone then dealing with crap now and then is just part of the arrangement.

Several coworkers laughed, one actually applauded, but two were suddenly no longer interested in lunch.

My coworker and her mule are still friends, the last I heard.

Stuart M. Perkins

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