The kindness of strangers

Reports GRANDMA PAT, “formerly of rural Roberts, Wisconsin, now of St. Paul”: “One would think that by age 93, things would be mostly uneventful. Not so.

“Case in point: A few days ago, two friends and I decided to go to O’Shaughnessy Auditorium, on the adjacent college campus, for a Kevin Kling performance. We settled into our seats a bit early. My seat was at the end of a row where there is a 1-foot dropoff from the aisle to the seating.

“A woman came to our row carrying a glass of beer. She fell, showering me with beer. (Luckily she was not injured.) She was very apologetic, and hurriedly went off to gather an armful of paper towels. Next she proceeded to energetically wipe me down, all while apologizing. This was almost as traumatizing as the beer shower, but she meant well.

“Then, when the show was over, we realized that the temperature outside had dropped enough to form a slick coating of ice on the sidewalks and parking lots. A whole flock of younger people came to help us walk safely. One couple even drove us to the entrance of our building.

“Perhaps Mr. Kling had set a tone with his uplifting performance, or maybe — despite what we see in the news — people are mostly kind and caring after all.”

Our pets ourselves . . . ’Tis the Season! Division

VERTICALLY CHALLENGED writes: “Can you spot the kitties?

“Our son sent us this pic after he and his girlfriend decided to make the Christmas tree a little more pet-friendly, after previous years of cat destruction and chaos. He weaved some of the branches in there, where they now can go and sit on their little perches and leave the rest of the tree alone. (Or at least they have so far.)

“It looks like one of those hidden-picture puzzles and took me awhile to find them at first!”

BULLETIN BOARD NOTES (in case you’re wondering): Yes, there are three cats in the tree.

Life (and death) as we know it

R.J. of Hammond, Wisconsin, writes: “It’s been a year and a half now since the day my heart was shattered. On a dreary, windy, chilly April day, a sheriff’s deputy and a chaplain showed up at my door to give me the incomprehensible news that my husband of 47 years — the most careful, safety-conscious man I ever knew — had just died from a farm accident. He was my prince, my hero, my rock, my best friend, the love of my life and he was gone, that suddenly. After that first date just before Christmas in 1974, there was no one else for me. It was Love at First Date.

“He retired after 25 years with the U.S.D.A. to farm full-time. He always said when his time came, he would rather be found face down in the barn lot than spend months or years in a nursing home. But it was much, much too soon. He had battled his way through a mean cancer and six months of chemo and emerged victorious as far as anyone could tell. He was so happy to be back full force at his farming operation, always expanding, always trying to improve. I never knew anyone who worked as hard as he did. He was always learning, and he was a fountain of knowledge on an unbelievable number of subjects. I always said I didn’t need a smartphone to look things up; I could just ask my husband. Who remembers all the stuff they learned in high-school geometry or history or college algebra or genetics? My husband did. He was always cool as a cucumber, always decisive in an emergency. He could be counted on to always do the right thing, the ethical thing. In nearly 48 years together, I never once heard him tell a lie. He was a perfectionist with everything he did. And he could do so many things. It always amazed me.

“He wasn’t a perfect human being. His temper sometimes reminded me of The Incredible Hulk, except he didn’t turn green. And he wrote the book on stubborn. But he was the first to apologize after an argument. And he had one of the softest hearts I ever knew. He wouldn’t go to bed until he had found the cat that shouldn’t be outside at night. And when he had a sick calf, he could be counted on to be out in the pasture or the barn in the middle of the night, holding a flashlight in his teeth while he gave the second or third I.V. of the day. The mama cow would often be right there with her head over his shoulder while he worked, trusting him to help the calf. He always said he couldn’t look the cow in the eye unless he had done everything he could to save the baby. And when he couldn’t, he did the right thing then, too. But he said the memory of every animal he had to put down stayed with him forever.

“They say ‘Time heals,’ but I have not found that to be true, and I doubt I have enough years left for it anyway. The pain, the shock, the emptiness are as vivid as they were in the beginning. I miss him far more than I could have ever imagined. I have come to realize, however, how very lucky I was to have had him all those years. If the Lord had said to me 50 years ago, ‘Hey, I have a deal for you. I have a tall, strong, drop-dead-handsome guy who is one of the smartest people you will ever meet. His competence at so many things will astound you. You share the same values — and where you differ, you will influence each other and become closer. He is 100 percent honest, and his integrity is unimpeachable. He will always be faithful to you. You won’t have an easy life together. You will have many challenges and heartaches, more than most couples, but he will be by your side always. He will love you more than anyone else ever has, and you will love him more than anyone else. But you will lose him suddenly and unexpectedly, and your heart will hurt more than you can possibly imagine. Do you want the deal?’ And of course I would have said ‘Yes. I do.’ Was it worth it in retrospect? Absolutely.

“Faith, hope, love abide — these three. But the greatest of these is love. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”

The Permanent Sonly Record

JOHN IN HIGHLAND writes: “Subject: ‘What Are You Doing Here?’

“Oftentimes when I tell of memories from early days in elementary school, my friends scoff at me and tell me that no one has a memory that good. But I distinctly remember one occurrence from kindergarten days:

“St. Luke’s grade school in the early 1950s was rapidly expanding with the influx of ‘baby boomer’ children. My kindergarten class of more than 150 students had to be divided into three two-hour sections: 8 to 10 a.m., 10 a.m. to noon, and 1-3 p.m. All of the classes were taught by a kindly, elderly nun, Sister Kathleen.

“One of the events each day was having us attempt to draw, with crayons, a picture that was posted above the bulletin board. On this day, the picture was an ice cream cone, with the cone having myriad stripes of different colors.

“My young mind was overcome with the complexity of the assignment. I took the only reasonable action and went to the ‘cloak room’ at the back, out the door, and walked the two blocks home.

“To say that my mother was surprised to see me is an understatement. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said. I attempted to explain my predicament, but I did not think that she was impressed.

“The next day she walked me to school. She had a word with Sister. Later mom told me that with all the kids in the class, Sister hadn’t even missed me!”

The darnedest things

WARNING! Cute kid story ahead, from BILL OF THE RIVER LAKE: “The other day, as I was working as a substitute custodian at an elementary school, a kindergarten
girl showed me her drawing on a piece of paper about 8 inches by 2 inches, colored in green with a pair of eyes and a curly red tongue at the top.

“She offered it to me. I asked her what it was, and she said: ‘It is a snake.’

“‘What kind?’ I asked.

“And she said, quite simply: ‘A German shepherd.’

“Wow!

“Her friend next to her said: ‘I thought that a German shepherd was a DOG.’

“Kids!”

Live and learn! . . . Plus: What won’t they think of next!?

RUSTY of St. Paul reports: “For years I’ve been using vegetable peelers that look like the letter ‘Y’ with a blade across the top. In the past week, I have learned two things about them.

“Many of them have a projection off the side that is an ‘eyer,’ to scoop out the eyes in the potatoes. What the? I got one of my peelers out of my kitchen tool drawer, and yessir, there it was. I guess I can’t fault myself for not knowing what it is, as I had never noticed it before.

“Then I read in a cooking magazine that the blade is designed so that when you peel down the carrot, you rotate the carrot just a smidgeon and pull the peeler back up — thus being more peel-efficient. I got a carrot out and tried it. Well, I’ll be!

“What’s next? We’ll hold a device the size of a pack of cards, talk into it AND see the live face of the person we’re talking to?”

This ’n’ that . . . ’Tis the Season! Division

A pair from KATHY S. of St Paul: (1) “St. Nicholas came to my church on December 3 — the Sunday before St. Nicholas’s official feast on December 6. A previous, much-mourned priest of our parish started the tradition. He disappeared during the announcements, after the Mass was officially ended, and changed into a red bishop-type costume. ‘St. Nicholas’ greeted us all and then handed out candy to the kids. It was so much fun, and other men kept the tradition going after we lost that priest.

“This year our St. Nicholas gave out pairs of coins instead of candy. As he handed them out, he asked each child to keep one coin and give its twin to someone who they thought needed it. St. Nicholas would probably approve of this approach, since he is known as someone who looked out for the poor.

“Yay, St. Nicholas! Even though I was brought up on Santa Claus.”

(2) “Subject: Santa is busy.

“This holiday season is the most hectic I remember since before 2016. How busy is it this year? Our favorite neighborhood Santa is developing laryngitis from talking to so many kids.”

’Tis the season! . . . and: The Permanent Paternal Record@@

Here’s R.J. of Hammond, Wis., again: “Subject: Merry Christmas.

“My father, born in 1900, was a small-town newspaper editor and publisher. In December of 1988, he wrote one of his last columns before a devastating stroke silenced his pen. While I was recently moving, I came across it:

“‘The Christmas season brings so many memories — some almost beyond recall — and yet poignant thoughts of days that were. Perhaps the earliest is the admonition that Santa Claus found hanging at the mantel by the stockings of good little boys and girls. “Don’t expect much if you have been naughty.”

“‘There’s the story of Joseph and Mary, the Babe in the manger. The first kindergarten gift exchange in school — the orange bulging in the stocking on Christmas morning — perhaps a new sled under the Christmas tree — night air vibrant with the song of carolers.

“‘Memories of happy family gatherings come flooding. There’s the nostalgic sadness as we recall the breaks in the family circle — the death of our father — a young brother — and the loss of schoolmates and family friends.

“‘The seasons roll on — there’s new friends — new experiences — new losses. And we cling to the hope and belief that one morning we shall awaken in the Eternity which finds us reunited with all the loved ones who have departed before us, and that the old hymn, “Come All Ye Faithful” will have new and glorious meaning to us. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR READERS!’”

BULLETIN BOARD SAYS: We can’t do any better than R.J.’s father.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OUR READERS!

BAND NAME OF THE DAY: Cat Chaos

Your stories are welcome. The address is BB.onward@gmail.com.

Related Articles

Sunday Bulletin Board: The key to fixing stuff: A good, firm slap of the hand!