Blunders and Blessings (by Nancy Allen)

Blunders and Blessings

It’s about a five hour drive from Nashville to Cincinnati, Ohio and we wanted to stop in Louisville, Kentucky to see a friend. By leaving at 8:30 a.m. which is 9:30 eastern time we could stop for a quick lunch and be at our friends house by l:30 p.m. At least that was the plan.

            We had driven almost twenty miles when I decided to get something out of our overnight bag.

            “Did you put the bag in the trunk,” I asked.

            “No, I thought you got the bag. You didn’t get the bag? You had me get books and I had them in my hands.”

            “We have to go back,” I said. “Our meds are in the bag.” We could buy other stuff, but we have to have our meds.”

            “Crap,” he said as we circled the loop and headed back home.

            He ran up the stairs, grabbed the apples from the fruit bowl, the bag and hurried back to the car.

            “We’ll be fine,” I said. “We can skip lunch and still make it.” And sure enough with driving over the speed limit and eating our apples we arrived only a few minutes late. It was a fun short visit because our friend had to pick up his grandson from school. That was fine. We needed to be on our way to Cincinnati.

            “We’re going to get caught in the afternoon traffic,” I said.

            “It’s o.k. We’re not on a schedule,” he said. “We know where we’re going. We stay at the same place every six months.”

            The clouds were mounting, getting darker by the minute.

            “I hope the tornados I heard about on the news are not heading this way,” I said.

            The wind blew and rain came down—so hard we would have had to stop had we not been stopped already in the traffic. But then the most beautiful thing happened. Double rainbows arched across the sky ahead of us as if to promise a safe passage. The colors were sharp and wide and the glow shimmered into the trees on the horizon.

            “I wonder if our hotel will have me as the ‘guest of the day,’ I said.

            “I wouldn’t think so. You have already had that honor twice,” he said.

            When we arrived at our hotel my name wasn’t on the marquee as it had been in the past.  That special person gets an upfront parking place and other little amenities such as cookies, etc. I kidded the desk clerk wondering why I wasn’t the special person this time and she said “I’m sorry, but I will make sure you get free breakfast in the morning.” That was really nice and I went to my room feeling special anyway even if my name wasn’t up in lights.

            The next morning while he was in a meeting, I watched the Royal Wedding. That was a blessing because we could have been on the road. However, I guess it wouldn’t have mattered because I did get to see it later over and over again. He was out of his meeting about the time the wedding was over and we headed home.

            “Do you smell rubber?” he asked. “This car is pulling to the left. I have to take it in for an alignment when we get home.”

            “I do smell rubber, you should get over in the right lane just in case,” I said.

            We drove another seventy-five miles, forgot about smelling rubber and staying in the right lane when all of a sudden the wheel began to whop and it was hard to control the steering. He managed to cross traffic and finally bring the car to a halt on the right shoulder. The tire was shredded. Lucky we had a spare. But with traffic coming toward us at eighty miles an hour and limited room for changing a tire it appeared to me he was in extreme danger. I walked up the side of the interstate and began motioning traffic to move over. Can you believe it?—most of them did. One of them even pulled off in front of us to help. Then out of no where the emergency truck came to guard our backside. We were on the road in no time, arriving home safe and sound.  Once again our blunder was turned into a blessing.   

Kindness Repaid (by Nancy Allen)

Kindness Repaid

I recently heard of a kindness that set of an avalanche of kindness. The cars were lined up at the fast food restaurant. The man in front, out of the kindness of his heart, decided to pay for the person’s food behind him. That one act of kindness resulted in 33 other people paying for the next person’s food. It’s unfathomable and impossible to define the perimeters of even one positive action on another person’s life.

            Don Martin was a man known for one particular act of kindness. His wife, Jackie, tells how for more than 20 years her husband made pear preserves and gave them away. He often drove around town surprising friends and brightening their day by leaving a jar of preserves in their cars. 

             Jackie said, “After he retired from the IGA Market in Shelbyville, Tennessee he needed something to do. He was always doing something for other people, especially widows. Sometimes he would mow their yards. Then my mother gave him the idea and the recipe for making the preserves. I would come home and my kitchen would be full of pears. He peeled the pears and made the preserves himself. Sugar was dumped over the pears where they were left overnight before Don cooked them the next day in their own juice.”                                                              Although Don Martin was known as the pear man, he never owned a pear tree. Most of his pears were given to him by the English and Caperton families. 

            Sadly, Mr. Martin died of cancer in September 1998. When the family was making his funeral arrangements, they considered planting a pear tree over his grave. However, they were pleasantly surprised to find the Willow Mount Cemetery had already planted ornamental Bradford pear trees near most of the graves. The Martin family chose a place where a new tree had been planted.

            Five years passed. Don Martin was not forgotten. But, no one could have predicted how he would be remembered. In 2003, the Bradford pear tree bore fruit!  And, it has produced fruit every year since. Dr. Anthony Halterlein, of Middle Tennessee State University’s College of Agribusiness said “it’s not unheard of, but it is rare that a Bradford pear tree produces fruit.”                                                               None of the other trees in the cemetery have produced fruit. Perhaps it’s only fitting that finally Don Martin has his own pear tree, repaying him for his kindness that he showed for so many years to others by giving away his pear preserves.

A Family Dinner (by Nancy Allen)

A Family Dinner

A breeze was blowing; even so, it was warm for March. The large extended family had gathered for their annual Easter dinner. The Smith’s two-bedroom clapboard house was not large enough to hold everyone comfortably; but it was their turn and besides they liked the homey atmosphere brought on by the crowd. The women were busy in the kitchen, chatting, laughing and loving being together as they prepared the enormous feast. The men seemed to be in the way in the house so they meandered to the front porch, spinning tales as the children played ghost in the grave yard, running and squealing alongside the house. They planned to have an egg hunt after dinner. 

            The mid-day meal was something to behold. Sally had baked one of Jim’s finest hams. He raised the best hogs in the country, if she did say so herself. However, best she could remember; not everybody liked ham, so she had also baked a turkey and fried up a couple of chickens. With all the fixings, they would have plenty. There was always enough left over to feed an army.

            The men sat in the white rocking chairs and along the edge of the shaded porch talking.

            “That ole Yorkshire sow had her pigs yesterday,” Jim said.

            “How many did she have?” asked Jim’s nephew, Mike.

            “She had twelve, but she ate two of them.”

            “What makes a hog do that?” Mike asked.

            “She’s just a darn fool, I guess. They sure are pretty, so white and clean, cute little fellows.”

            “Let’s go see them,” Mike said, stepping to the corner of the porch and sticking his head around the corner. “Hey, kids want to go out to the barn to see some baby pigs?”

            Mike’s boys came running. Clay was four years old and Tommy was two.  Since they lived in the city, they had never seen a baby pig. Mike put out his cigarette and took Clay’s hand and swung Tommy on his hip as they walked across the grassy lot to the shed where the pigs were kept. Wide eyed the boys peered into the shadowy pen. 

            “Look daddy, the babies are snuggled up close to their mommy,” Clay said.

            “They’re sucking, getting their dinner,” Mike said.

            Tommy squirmed.  “Let me hold him.”

            “I don’t think the mother pig would take too kindly to that. A sow can get mighty testy when somebody’s fooling with her young,” Jim said.

            The boys were excited as they ran ahead of the men back to the house. Dinner would be ready soon. Everyone was getting hungry. The men settled back on the porch and the children went back to playing in the side yard, or so they thought.  Jim was in the middle of telling about how his bull had jumped the fence and gotten into a fight with his neighbor’s bull when they heard Clay screaming:  

            “The sow’s got Tommy.”

            The talking stopped. Mike was on his feet and running toward the barn. Jim was right behind him. Then they saw him; Tommy was running toward them. His clothes were torn. He was covered in mud and blood. His eyes were set, solid white. 

            The women swarmed out the door to see what the ruckus was about. Tommy’s mother grabbed Tommy and jumped in their car. Mike drove with the lights on and the horn blowing causing vehicles to pull to the side of the road to let them pass. The hospital emergency room was full, but they took Tommy ahead of the others. After examining Tommy the doctor assured his parents; a few stitches and a good bath would make Tommy almost as good as new.

            When the sow saw Tommy standing in the doorway, she ran over him getting back to her piglets causing him to hit his head on a nail on the side of the shed. She stepped on his back leaving a gash while burying his face in the mud. 

            Sows can weigh as much as 600 pounds and are dangerous, especially when they have babies. Tommy was a fortunate little boy. Had he been inside the pen, there may have been a different story to tell.

          Dinner was on the table, cold, and untouched. No one seemed to be hungry.

Welcome

Welcome to my blog. I will be posting short stories and journals that chronicle my progress as a writer. I have a new book coming out called "The White Robe". More information will be posted about this book as it comes in! Thanks for reading.