What a pleasant surprise it had been when young Jimmy, who mowed the grass around the old apartment building, stopped out front with his father this morning. He’d said they’d pick her and Grace up at eleven sharp and they did. The big automobile was warm inside and the soft leather seats were an unexpected pleasure she’d never felt driving her old sedan. How she missed that old car.
Having a ride all the way downtown, stopping right at the front steps of the church was more blessing than the young lad realized. Playing pinochle in the community hall the other morning she and Grace had talked about going to the church for Thanksgiving dinner. But they’d decided it was just too far to walk this time of year.
It’d been colder than usual this year with snow already coming in spits and spurts near everyday. Then, night before last, after evening prayer meetings, young Jimmy had stopped her at the church doors. He’d said his dad would be pleased to drive her to dinner on Thursday. If she was planning to go to the dinner that is?
She decided if there was room for her, no harm in Grace coming along too. So she’d told Jimmy to thank his father for the offer. She’d nodded to the tall man where he stood with the pastor across the pews down front, just as she turned to leave the warmth of the church vestibule. The thoughtfulness of some folks still surprised her. She enjoyed that feeling as she made the long walk up the hill to her apartment.
Going up the back steps, she’d knocked on the door to Graces apartment and waited, smiling as her friend inside slowly made her way to open the door. She noticed Grace wasn’t using the walker again. “Don’t need it to get around my own apartment!” Grace always said. No convincing Grace any different she knew, so she didn’t bother mentioning it, again.
She was excited to tell Grace about the ride offer they’d received. “They’d” received was the way she put it to Grace. No use having Grace start in again about not wanting to “impose” on other peoples goodwill. It rarely occurred to Grace that having been children during the great depression, helping other folks had been a lifelong habit for both of them.
And now in their “later years”, they’d been helped so often, it had become their way of life.
People opened doors, carried their packages, stopped in to check on them. Very often dropping off little extras they’d “found” in the cupboards or closets at their house. Why, even that long, wool coat Grace wore on these chilly days, was a gift someone “found” in the back of their closet.
So they’d gone to Thanksgiving dinner.
The church was lit by every candle, chandelier and (awful fluorescent) lighting fixture in the old building. People were standing in the hallways, filling every seat, smiling in conversation with anyone nearby. The preacher had given a wonderful, short (they’d noted gratefully) blessing.
The food was served family style. Many of the towns leading citizens acting as waiters and guiding folks to seats as they opened. Men wearing white shirts and black aprons served them with big, genuine smiles. They kept bringing food ‘til the ladies protested for them to stop.
Which didn’t stop her and Grace stuffing a few extra rolls into their pockets (giggling just as they did as children all those many years ago). She enjoyed the meal with Grace as much as she could remember having enjoyed any meal in years.
Then Jimmys father had stopped at their table. He leaned near and asked if the ladies might like to say “hello” someone?
Turning in their chairs, she and Grace both looked up to glimpse the old fellow standing behind Jimmys father. “This is my Dad. He says he knows you ladies?”
Smiling broadly, his old brow wrinkled over brightly sparkling, grey eyes, the old man leaned forward in a mock bow of greeting. He fairly shouted, “Hello girls!! How’d ya like to have the best lookin’ guy in the room join you for dessert?”
She and Grace stammered quiet “Hellos” and quickly began moving their chairs apart. As he slowly managed to sit down between them, precious memories flooded back over the little group.
The “old fellow” sitting between them was the same one they’d both had a crush on all through high school! Dinner had been delicious, but dessert was delightful!
I Don’t Know About You..., But I hope your Thanksgiving Dinner is as good as theirs!
Cal Teeple may be contacted at: wayneindependent.com/cal OR At: calteeple@g-mail.com Founder of the Observational Cogitation Consortium, he’s still found three stools down and may be ignored, accosted or contacted in all three.
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What a pleasant surprise it had been when young Jimmy, who mowed the grass around the old apartment building, stopped out front with his father this morning. He’d said they’d pick her and Grace up at eleven sharp and they did. The big automobile was warm inside and the soft leather seats were an unexpected pleasure she’d never felt driving her old sedan. How she missed that old car.
Having a ride all the way downtown, stopping right at the front steps of the church was more blessing than the young lad realized. Playing pinochle in the community hall the other morning she and Grace had talked about going to the church for Thanksgiving dinner. But they’d decided it was just too far to walk this time of year.
It’d been colder than usual this year with snow already coming in spits and spurts near everyday. Then, night before last, after evening prayer meetings, young Jimmy had stopped her at the church doors. He’d said his dad would be pleased to drive her to dinner on Thursday. If she was planning to go to the dinner that is?
She decided if there was room for her, no harm in Grace coming along too. So she’d told Jimmy to thank his father for the offer. She’d nodded to the tall man where he stood with the pastor across the pews down front, just as she turned to leave the warmth of the church vestibule. The thoughtfulness of some folks still surprised her. She enjoyed that feeling as she made the long walk up the hill to her apartment.
Going up the back steps, she’d knocked on the door to Graces apartment and waited, smiling as her friend inside slowly made her way to open the door. She noticed Grace wasn’t using the walker again. “Don’t need it to get around my own apartment!” Grace always said. No convincing Grace any different she knew, so she didn’t bother mentioning it, again.
She was excited to tell Grace about the ride offer they’d received. “They’d” received was the way she put it to Grace. No use having Grace start in again about not wanting to “impose” on other peoples goodwill. It rarely occurred to Grace that having been children during the great depression, helping other folks had been a lifelong habit for both of them.
And now in their “later years”, they’d been helped so often, it had become their way of life.
People opened doors, carried their packages, stopped in to check on them. Very often dropping off little extras they’d “found” in the cupboards or closets at their house. Why, even that long, wool coat Grace wore on these chilly days, was a gift someone “found” in the back of their closet.
So they’d gone to Thanksgiving dinner.
The church was lit by every candle, chandelier and (awful fluorescent) lighting fixture in the old building. People were standing in the hallways, filling every seat, smiling in conversation with anyone nearby. The preacher had given a wonderful, short (they’d noted gratefully) blessing.
The food was served family style. Many of the towns leading citizens acting as waiters and guiding folks to seats as they opened. Men wearing white shirts and black aprons served them with big, genuine smiles. They kept bringing food ‘til the ladies protested for them to stop.
Which didn’t stop her and Grace stuffing a few extra rolls into their pockets (giggling just as they did as children all those many years ago). She enjoyed the meal with Grace as much as she could remember having enjoyed any meal in years.
Then Jimmys father had stopped at their table. He leaned near and asked if the ladies might like to say “hello” someone?
Turning in their chairs, she and Grace both looked up to glimpse the old fellow standing behind Jimmys father. “This is my Dad. He says he knows you ladies?”
Smiling broadly, his old brow wrinkled over brightly sparkling, grey eyes, the old man leaned forward in a mock bow of greeting. He fairly shouted, “Hello girls!! How’d ya like to have the best lookin’ guy in the room join you for dessert?”
She and Grace stammered quiet “Hellos” and quickly began moving their chairs apart. As he slowly managed to sit down between them, precious memories flooded back over the little group.
The “old fellow” sitting between them was the same one they’d both had a crush on all through high school! Dinner had been delicious, but dessert was delightful!
I Don’t Know About You..., But I hope your Thanksgiving Dinner is as good as theirs!
Cal Teeple may be contacted at: wayneindependent.com/cal OR At: calteeple@g-mail.com Founder of the Observational Cogitation Consortium, he’s still found three stools down and may be ignored, accosted or contacted in all three.
