| The Whirligig Man | |
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~ Welcome to Stories of Heart! ~
If you are not a subscriber and this has been passed on to you, join us by sending a blank e-mail to [email protected] with "subscribe" in the subject line. And get the love direct! Tour our website: http://www.geocities.com/jenniferioliver2001 ________________________________________________________
America celebrates
Thanksgiving on Thursday, the time to be giving thanks for the
blessings in our lives. We are especially grateful to all who
sacrificed their lives for the freedoms granted to us here in
America. Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!
Dad, I hope you had a
wonderful birthday! Love, your favorite daughter =:o)
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WHIRLIGIG MAN
"From
what we get, we can make a living; from what we give, however, makes a
life." -- Arthur Ashe
Stephen drove to a
bigger city about an hour away to pick up materials for our
fixer-upper that could not be found locally.
He had all three boys, ages one to four, with him on the trip,
and to unwind on the way home, he decided to take the scenic route on
narrow, winding roads through hill country.
He hadn't been this way before and felt it would be a treat for
the kids to soak up the autumn landscape.
A host of movements caught
his eye, prompting him to slow down in front of a lone house with an
expansive front yard. At
the edge of the lawn was a congregation of brightly colored whirligigs
that pedaled in the direction of an easterly wind.
No sign indicated they were for sale, but instinct made him
think that they were. He
only had five dollars in his wallet, but he thought it wouldn't hurt
to do a little browsing.
He pulled over, set the
car to idling, and heaved himself out.
"Wait here,
boys," he instructed. "I'll
be right back."
The variety was
impressive. Among them
were paddling ducks, flowers, lumberjacks sawing logs, and his
personal favorite, a Native American Indian in a canoe, his oars
spinning like mad. On
closer inspection of the handiwork, he saw that whoever constructed
the lawn ornaments was a novice at painting.
Drips, smudges, and the features of the Indian's face made him
think of folk art.
If they were indeed for
sale, their weathered appearance yielded that it had been a while
since anyone paid mind to this display.
After all, it was off the beaten track, and no neighbors were
in clear sight with harvested cotton fields kissing the horizon.
"Hallo!"
Stephen started.
An older gentleman was heading his way.
"Hello!" Stephen
replied, greeting him with a hearty handshake.
"Got some great whirligigs here.
Are you selling them by any chance?"
"Yep, I sure
am!" he said, grinning wide and rubbing his palms together.
"Found one you like?"
Stephen was torn.
He didn't have the money really.
Yet something about the
eagerness in the man's eyes compelled him to respond almost instantly,
"Well, that Indian in the canoe sure would look great in my
garden."
"Ah.
Wouldn't you know you picked my favorite one, sir.
I'll let you have it for five dollars."
The exact amount left his
wallet. Stephen couldn't
believe his ears.
"Well, you got
yourself a deal!" he said, handing him the bill.
"You make all these yourself?"
"Yes, sir.
The wife passed on, and it's just me here, so I spend most of
my time in the workshop. Wait
here. I'll get a bag for
you."
"Oh, you don't have
to go through the trouble."
"No trouble at all!
Won't be a minute."
The man whistled the long
walk back to the house, practically dancing.
He placed the whirligig carefully in a plastic sack and handed
it reverently to Stephen as though parting with an old friend.
"Fine bunch you got
there," he said, using his chin to point at the car.
The older boys' faces were pressed to the windows, their brows
furrowed with curiosity. "Think
they're thirsty? I've got
sodas."
With a pang in his heart,
Stephen felt the underlying intent of the innocent question.
A bid to prolong the visit for a bit.
He couldn't deny the sweet man a little stretch of
conversation.
"You know, we could
use some water, if you don't mind."
Stephen detected an extra
bounce in his step. All
five of them traipsed back to his home for a tour of his workshop and
of his life, drinking tumblers of ice water, until the sky blushed
with the setting sun.
"Dad?" Ethan
asked when they scooted back into the car for the drive home.
"Yes?"
"I liked that man.
He was nice."
"Yes, he was, big
boy. A very nice
man."
It was the best five
dollars he'd ever spent.
And the whirligig, we'd
come to find out, looked perfect in our herb garden.
Jennifer Oliver
[email protected] Copyright © 2001 by Jennifer Oliver. All rights reserved. ******* About the author: Jennifer Oliver resides in the heart of Texas and has three fulltime jobs as a webmaster for the government, wife to awesome househubby, Stephen, and mother to four beautiful kidwarmers. _________________________________________________________ QUOTES FROM LESSER KNOWN PEOPLE
"I love you, Mom!
You're a cutey-pie!" - Matthew Oliver, age 3
One
Christmas when we stayed at my sister's house, the boys'
Aunt Beth played a tape of children’s songs.
When the first song ended, three-year-old Ethan’s eyes
widened, and he whispered, “Where’d the song go?”
Then the next song started up, and he smiled and said,
“There’s the song!”
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POWER OF PRAYER
Jennifer, Please
remember my 75 year old brother Burt in your prayers. He is expected
to have surgery for cancer of the esophagus on 11/19, complicated by
possible cancer of the spine. Thank you. - Freda
Folks, please keep my
supervisor in your prayers. His wife, who was a very special
lady to all of us, passed away last week after a lengthy illness. -
Jennifer Oliver
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FROM OUR FRIENDLY E-MAIL
CARRIER
Read your stories
yesterday - wonderful. I love the short clips about things the
boys have said especially Ethan singing a lullaby to the bees. -
Karen
In regards to "People First" --
Ain't that the truth,
Jennifer! Thanks for sharing sweet Cody with all of us. - Alicia
In regards to Family Love
Moment --
In that story by Steve
Popoola about teaching his son: At first I laughed, then saw
what he meant about the power of witnessing a parent's love.
Amen! - Alicia
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