Author: Kathleen Fisher

My Boy Child is named Will.  He was named after my father who died three weeks before his birth.  It is a name that suits him to a T, and over the years I’ve met many boys named Will.  I tend to instantly like them, but I’m prejudiced when it comes to that name.

On Sunday, we drove Will and his friend to the airport for three weeks in London for a summer class to study architecture.  On the way there, my husband pointed out the thunderheads and said somebody was going to get a hell of a storm.

That night, we learned the storm we saw brewing in the afternoon unleashed its fury on Joplin, Missouri which is about two hours from here.  Joplin High School was having their graduation ceremony and another boy named Will and his dad were headed home.  The rest of the family left before them and when they were a mile from home, the dad called to say they could see the tornado and to keep the garage door open so they could run for cover in the house as soon as they arrived.

They never made it to the garage and the dad is in the hospital.  Will was ripped from the car (which happened to be a Hummer), seatbelt and all through the sun roof.  He has not been seen since and his aunts are wandering around showing his picture to everyone, with hopes that he’s out there somewhere and hasn’t been able to call his family.

The day they celebrated his graduation from high school and the future that lay before him was the last time he was seen, and I don’t know what a family is to do when they can’t find their Will.

When you live in Mayberry, you get to know most of its citizens.   One of our more famous is the Mr. Goodcents man.  Mr. G. did not own a car and every day when I took #1 child and then #2 child to the high school, we’d see him walking to work in the early hours, presumably to start baking bread.  All sorts of weather, nearly every day and usually in shorts.

His demeanor always seemed content, like walking to a sandwich shop every day was about as good as it gets in life.  I wondered why he didn’t own a car, why making turkey sandwiches was all he ever seemed to want to do and thanked God I had kids with ambition and goals in life.

When the kids would come home for breaks during college, they’d meet a friend who shared their love of Mr. G. and go to the shop for lunch.  They’d happily report back to me that he was there, like they’d spotted a celebrity who also happened to not be a jerk.   And then last summer Mr. G. was gone.  Moved on without even a goodbye.

Mr. Goodcents real name was Aaron.  He was from Vermont.  His mama had cancer and he gave up the life he made here to move back home to take care of her.  He is fondly remembered and if you mention him, people will say that they miss seeing him around town.  It was his absence that made me realize that during all those years of watching him, he had the highest of goals.  Living a simple life, being kind, feeding the hungry and tending the sick.  In the big picture that really matters, Aaron happened to be a very successful man and wouldn’t we all be proud to have a kid turn out like him?

This is the patio we put in last summer.  The space was awkward and when you mowed it, you’d be engulfed in a cloud of dust since no more than ten blades of grass grew there.  I looked at that space forevah and said to Big Daddy. “That’s gotta go.”

A friend was moving and offered us a huge stack of pavers if we were interested.  Say no more.  If it weren’t midnight when she told us, we’d have gone right then and there to load ’em up.  The table was free from my next-door neighbor.  The iron chairs were $5.00 each at an estate sale in the dead of winter (when nobody but an idiot would venture outside to have a look) and can I tell you how many times somebody has offered to buy them from me?  The tub is from a yard sale and is now a koi pond.  I bought the lounger from a guy who told me his uncle used to farm his fields then sit in it, have a glass of lemonade and take a nap when he was done.  The lightening rod was bought at a flea market and BD nearly killed the deal I was making when he started cracking on Glen Beck right there at the booth.  I gave the hubs the death stare, poured the charm on and waved cash under Mr. Conservative Dealer’s nose and money’s money even if the buyer is some hippie, liberal, atheist commie.

Now we sit out there all the time like we’re at some French cafe watching the world go by and I tell the kids at least once a week that we hit the jackpot on funding this project.  All right all ready, they say and roll their eyes because they know that besides loving a good deal, I crazy love the stuff we live with to have a good story.

I was perusing my favorite blogs and got the craptacular idea to make some candles after seeing a photo from Martha Stewart.  Shell candles.  Melt some wax, pour them into seashells, stick a wick in there and voila…….a little seashore ambiance.  Just what we need here in Kansas when we’re surrounded by dirt, dirt and some dirt.

Nancy is the proud owner of hundreds of shells so I went to her house to check them out.  We chatted about THE BIG SALE COMING JUNE 4TH (shameless shouted plug) while picking out shells.  I left with a nice stash and got to work.  It was warm and muggy out, but I hovered over the stove watching my wax melt because it happens to be highly flammable and I didn’t need to burn down da howse.  Anyhoodle, Martha says to put your shells in a baking dish filled with sand as to keep them from tipping.  Martha thinks of everything.  Oh me, oh my, they were so cute until Boy Child came sniffing around the crap project and said, “How are you going to keep the wax from running out the sides when you start to burn it?”  Martha already thought of that.  Doesn’t she always?  You glue small shells to the bottom like little feet to level your shell.  They no sticky, Martha.

There I was massaging another cluster when Boy Child says, “Maybe you should put them in something.”  Oh, he’s so smart right out of year two of university.  Off he went and I got a vase to try out my new grand plan to float the candles.  I filled the vase with water, dropped my little shell of wax into it and it sank right to the bottom.  Me, not so smart.  Me need more university. 

Final Assessment of the Hot Mess of a Bad Idea:  Shells weren’t big enough.  Didn’t have underlings like Martha has to stand over a hot stove on a hot night.  Spent $10.00 at the Hob Lob and God knows I hate giving those cranky people any of my money.  Realized Hob Lob employees are cranky due to being around crafts all day.  Had a beer.  Called it a night.  Shells, sand and wax all over the counter mocking me.  Mocking me real bad.

 If I were only younger, I could have such a bright future……….

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When you shop on the curb you never know for sure if your vision is going to come to fruition, but with a little cleaning and waxing, goodness can make an appearance.  Big sale June 4th?  Ummmm……this hunka, hunka burnin love will not be in it.

Every morning I walk the dog.  Two different dogs, same route, 18 years.  Over that time, I’ve met a few people along the way.   

Around the corner from my street is a retired plumber who raised eight kids in a cape cod that was a better fit for a family of four.  With the weather being warmer, he’s out a bit more and so we often visit  before we both move on to the tasks of the day.  Last year I found out he has early Alzheimer’s.  I wouldn’t have known that then, but this year when he drew a blank right in the middle of a conversation, he told me that he sometimes has trouble finding the right words.  He no longer drives a car and gets around the neighborhood on his bike, which has made him fit everywhere but in his mind.

The other day he was outside puttering with his lawnmower.  We talked for a few minutes and then he looked at me and said, “You and me, we’ve got the luck of the Irish don’t we?”  Oh yes we do, kind man.  I told him I’d let him get back to work, but before I left he said, “Isn’t this a beautiful day?  This is the day the Lord has made.”  True on both accounts.

This dog of mine and I walked the last block home, and on that lovely spring morning, the wind was at our back, the sun shone warm upon our face and I said a prayer for the friend who always rises to meet me.