Labored wordplay

Aren't. (4 minutes pass)
Wasn't. (4 minutes pass)
Can't. (4 minutes pass)
Isn't. (4 minutes pass)
You're. (4 minutes pass)
I'll. (4 minutes pass)

Sometimes, four minutes between contractions is not so exciting.
Sometimes, it is the start of something really great.

Good luck to my friend tomorrow.

The Man Behind the Number

I was looking for a client's telephone number on my cell phone on my way to lunch today. The client's name is Tim. As I was scrolling through the T's, I saw Tom Stone.

Tom Stone was a kindly, retired minister that I got to know in December 2004. In the role of Elder at our church, we take Communion to our members that are unable to leave their homes. I had never talked to Tom Stone before my visit to him that day and I had no idea what to expect. The ritual for Communion to Shut-ins is as follows... we visit for a short while, read a short communion-based passage of scripture, give them Communion (a wafer and grape juice) and then say a short prayer. We did these steps, but after I finished saying the prayer, he took our hands and prayed. I mean really prayed.

After he said Amen, I asked him how he was doing -- why aren't you in church? He said that he had 10% usage of his heart and that his Doctor told him he would not live to see Christmas. That was December 19, so six days left. Wow. I was leaning toward a sprained ankle. If you get to know me, you'll realize that this kind of gaffe is a frequent occurrence. I asked if there was anything I could do and he said he just wanted a few grocery items. I said I'd be back with some groceries and to visit in the next few days and then we begrudgingly went on to our next 'shut-in'.

I don't run in to death that often in my daily routine. The odd thing about this was that he seemed more alive and at peace than I felt.

I took him some groceries the next day and stayed and visited for awhile. I did that a couple of times and he was always so thankful. I called him on New Year's Eve and wished him a Happy New Year and we had a nice visit. I was sitting on a stack of pallets in front of our unfinished home and he was in his small, little, too-warm apartment.

Then, our daughter was born and we moved in to our house. My life happened. I didn't talk to him again for several weeks. He broke his hip in early-March and was moved to a rehabilitation center. And then to a Hospice. I saw him one more time for Communion to Shut-ins, but he was so asleep that I couldn't wake him. Or I didn't want to wake him. I wasn't sure after I left.

It was announced in church on Sunday that Tom Stone died this week. He didn't have any close family and a distant nephew decided not to do a memorial service.

When I went to clear Tom's name from my cell phone, the message popped up that said, "Erase Tom Stone?". I was hit with a profound sadness and I decided to keep him around for awhile -- if even on my phone.

I'll miss you, Tom, and I'm sorry I didn't do more to keep you company in your last months.

Size is Important

Okay. Admittedly, I'm new at this blogging thing and feel that if the story is going to be longer than it should be (which my stories invariably are) you, the reader, should be able to see it on one screen -- above the fold, as we say in the publishing industry. No, I'm not in the publishing industry.

So, I use small fonts. Really small fonts. So small that my good friend coined the phrase "Short Story Made Tiny". Funny.

So, please be patient as I find the fine line between length and size.

Mrs. Bock and the M&Ms

Two events in the past two days have brought this story to mind, so I really must share.

In eighth grade, I was selected to go to an Iowa regional math bee. Yes, Math Bee. As in dork. Please move on. At that time, I was a smart lad with a bright future slide-ruling in front of me. I had won fourth place in the sixth grade math bee so expectations were high and my dream job was to be a corporate accountant (yawn -- oh, wait, what do I do now?).

But wait! You need the back-story.

Mrs. Bock was a delightful woman. She was 50 inches tall, had a super-tight-curly/beehivey hairstyle, and wore glasses that made her look like the orphanage headmaster in Stuart Little -- although I didn't have this clever comparison at the time. (Did you know that that person is the same person as SNL's "Pat" ?) Mrs. Bock occasionally had trouble getting our attention in class and so would send up a shrill whistle and pound on the chalkboard with a piece of chalk until we were quiet or the chalk broke. So, maybe delightful wasn't the right word for her, but I'm sure she was nice outside of the classroom. To adults. Adults that were good at math. Maybe.

So, we (four math scholars and Mrs. Bock) were on our way to Fort Dodge, Iowa. Did I mention that she drove a Dodge Omni? Looking back, that seems like a very small car for five people to use as a mode of transportation. I was in the back of the Dodge Omni and had -- minutes before -- become the proud owner of a pounder bag of M&Ms. I tugged at the corner of the package. I tugged at the side. I tried to pry the bag apart by pulling the sides outward. I flipped it over and made similar attempts from the other end. I finally got some purchase on the slippery packaging and pulled with all my might.

BAM!! The original M&M blizzard. There were M&Ms flying through the air -- like an edible abacus treat -- out the window, between the seats, gumming up our calculators and sticking to our story-problem worksheets. It was devastating. And then I noticed that M&Ms were falling from the back of Mrs. Bock's head. There seemed to be hundreds of them caught in that little beehivey "Home for Unbagged-Candy". Every time she turned her head at a crossroad, M&Ms fell out. I'm not kidding.

I don't have any idea how my team did at that Math Bee. I do know that we didn't place in the top 10. I don't think we even really made a showing. You just can't do difficult math problems once you've been through trauma like that.

I haven't seen Mrs. Bock in 20 years. I hope she is doing well. I also hope she never uses a hair dryer, because you know...M&Ms melt in your mouth, not in your hair.