During the waning years of the depression in a small Idaho community, I used
to stop by Mr. Miller's roadside stand for farm fresh produce as the season
made it available. Food and money were still extremely scarce an bartering was
One day Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me. I noticed a small
boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean, hungrily appraising a
basket of freshly picked green peas. I paid for my potatoes but was also drawn
to the display of fresh green peas. I am a pushover for creamed peas and new
potatoes. Pondering the peas, I couldn't help over-hearing the conversation
between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me. "Hello Barry, how are you
today?" "H'lo, Mr. Miller. Fine, thank ya. Jus' admirin' them peas ... sure
look good." "They are good, Barry. How's your Ma?" "Fine. Gittin' stronger
alla' time." "Good. Anything I can help you with?" "No, Sir. Jus' admirin'
them peas." "Would you like to take some home?" "No, Sir. Got nuthin' to pay
for 'em with." "Well, what have you to trade me for some of those peas?" "All
I got's my prize marble here." "Is that right? Let me see it." "Here 'tis.
She's a dandy." "I can see that. Hmmmmm, only thing is this one is blue and I
sort of go for red. Do you have a red one like this at home?" "Not zackley ...
but almost." "Tell you what. Take this sack of peas home with you and next
trip this way let me look at that red marble." "Sure will. Thanks Mr. Miller."
Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby, came over to help me. With a smile
she said, "There are two other boys like him in our community, all three are
in very poor circumstances. Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas,
apples, tomatoes, or whatever.
When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, he decides he
doesn't like red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a
green marble or an orange one, perhaps."
I left the stand smiling to myself, impressed with this man. A short time
later I moved to Colorado but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys,
and their bartering. Several years went by, each more rapid that the previous
one. Just recently I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho
community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died. They were
having his viewing that evening and knowing my friends wanted to go, I agreed
to accompany them. Upon arrival at the mortuary we fell into line to meet the
relatives of the deceased and to offer whatever words of comfort we could.
Ahead of us in line were three young men. One was in an army uniform and the
other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts ... all very
They approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed and smiling by her husband's
casket. Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke
briefly with her and moved on to the casket. Her misty light blue eyes
followed them as, one by one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his
own warm hand over the cold pale hand in the casket. Each left the mortuary
awkwardly, wiping his eyes. Our turn came to meet Mrs. Miller. I told her who
I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles. With her eyes
glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket. "Those three young men
who just left were the boys I told you about. They just told me how they
appreciated the things Jim "traded" them. Now, at last, when Jim could not
change his mind about color or size ... they came to pay! their debt." "We've
never had a great deal of the wealth of this world," she confided, "but right
now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho." With loving
gentleness she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband. Resting
underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.
Moral: We will not be remembered by our words, but by our kind deeds.
Life is not measured by the breaths we take, but by the moments that take our
Today ... I wish you a day of ordinary miracles ...
......... A fresh pot of coffee you didn't make yourself
......... An unexpected phone call from an old friend
......... Green stoplights on your way to work
......... The fastest line at the grocery store
......... A good sing-along song on the radio
......... Your keys right where you left them
They say it takes a minute to find a special person,
An hour to appreciate them, a day to love them, but an entire life to forget
Send this to the people you'll never forget.
If you don't send it to anyone, it means you are in too much of a hurry, and
that you've probably forgotten your friends
Submitted by R. L. Fitzgerald
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