Friday Vibes to You!

It’s been a good week in my world.
You?

I did, however, buy 3 peaches at the grocery store the other day.  All excited (as they are my favorite fruit), I cleaned one and bit into it like an apple and was like, “What are you?  You don’t taste like a peach AT ALL.  You taste —uh,  flavorless.”

From here on out — while peaches are still in season– gonna totally do the sniff test.
If it doesn’t smell like a peach — won’t taste like one either.
101 peach lesson learned from Cheryl and passing it along.  Ha!

Presenting 5 for Friday post this August 23, 2024.

BEGINNING WITH:

MARBLE LESSON
Story — so full of heart and soul and reverence.
Not gonna lie — I leaked a tear or two typing it out to share today.
Beautiful. 
Totally makes me want to go find a red marble and put it somewhere in my home so whenever I see it — reminds me of this story.

CARTOONS
Are a hoot!
Hat tip to the talented artists who draw and create with captions –mini-stories!

QUICK QUESTION
Do I eat food past its expiration date?
Yes, I do.  But only if it’s like 3-4 days past the expiration date.
No longer than that.
I go with the — eyes can see — nose can smell  — determining factor.
You?

COWBOY CODE
3 teeny-tiny simple, powerful pieces of wisdom.
Cowboy or not – these are the 3 that can help make the world go ’round a little smoother.
At least my little place in this world.

CONFETTI SLAW
Yes, I’ve posted this recipe in the past.
However, my sister, Jennie, said the other day — “I think you should put the Confetti Slaw recipe in again – in case people may have missed it.  The recipe ingredients do sound a little weird for a slaw but WOWZER is it good!  Summer, Fall, Winter, Spring.  And every time I make it for a gathering, not only is there not one teaspoon left over, but people always beg for the recipe.”
Jennie is absolutely correct.

So here it is again, Daymakers – unforgettable in taste and its beautiful, colorful presentation.
Hence, its name – Confetti Slaw.

Ready?
Set.
Go.
Enjoy the Read!

MARBLE STORY

During the waning years of the Depression in a small Idaho community, I used to stop by Mr. Miller’s roadside stand for farm fresh produce as the season made available.  Food and money were extremely scarce and bartering was used extensively.

One day — Mr. Miller was bagging some early potatoes for me.

I noticed a small boy, delicate of bone and feature, ragged but clean — hungrily appraising a basket of freshly picked green peas.

I paid for my potatoes – but was also drawn to the display of fresh green peas.  I am a pushover for creamed peas and new potatoes.

Pondering the peas, I couldn’t help overhearing the conversation between Mr. Miller and the ragged boy next to me.

“Hello, Barry, how are you today?”

“H’lo, Mr. Miller.  Fine.  Thank you.  Jus’ admirin’ them peas … sure look good.”

“They are good, Barry.  How’s your Ma?”

“Fine.  Gittin stronger all the time.”

“Good.  Anything I can help you with?”

‘No, Sir.  Just admirin’ them peas.”

“Would you like to take some home?”

“No, Sir.  Got nothin’ to pay for ’em with.”

“Well.  What have you to trade me for some of those peas?”

“All I got’s my prize marble here.”

“Is that right?  Let me see it.”

“Here ’tis.  She’s a dandy.”

“I can see that.  Hmmmm — only thing is this one is blue and I sort of go for the red.  Do you have a red one like this at home?”

“Not ‘zackley … but almost.”

“Tell you what.  Take this sack of peas home with you and next trip this way — let me look at that red marble.”

“Sure will.  Thanks, Mr. Miller!”

Mrs. Miller, who had been standing nearby came over to help me.  With a smile, she said, “There are two other boys like him in our community; all three are in very poor circumstances.  Jim just loves to bargain with them for peas, apples, tomatoes or whatever.  When they come back with their red marbles, and they always do, Jim decides he doesn’t like the red after all and he sends them home with a bag of produce for a green marble or orange one, perhaps.”

I left the stand smiling to myself — impressed with this man.

A short time later I moved to Colorado, but I never forgot the story of this man, the boys and their bartering.

Several years went by, each more rapid than the previous one.

Just recently, I had occasion to visit some old friends in that Idaho community and while I was there learned that Mr. Miller had died.

Mr. Miller’s viewing was that evening and knowing that my friends wanted to go, I agreed to accompany them.

Upon arrival at the mortuary, we fell in line to meet the relatives of the deceased and offer whatever words of comfort we could.

Ahead of us in line were three young men:  one was in uniform and the other two wore nice haircuts, dark suits and white shirts — all very professional looking.  The three approached Mrs. Miller, standing composed by her husband’s casket.  Each of the young men hugged her, kissed her on the cheek, spoke briefly with her and moved to the casket.

Her misty blue eyes followed them as one-by-one, each young man stopped briefly and placed his own warm hand over the cold, pale hand in the casket.  Each left the mortuary awkwardly, wiping his eyes.

My turn to meet Mrs. Miller.  I told her who I was and mentioned the story she had told me about the marbles.  With her eyes glistening, she took my hand and led me to the casket.

“Those three young men who just left were the boys I told you about.  They just told me how they appreciated the things Jim ‘traded’ them.  Now, at last Jim could not change his mind about color or size.  They came to pay their debt.  We’ve never had a great deal of wealth in this world,” she confided.  “But right now, Jim would consider himself the richest man in Idaho.”

With loving gentleness, she lifted the lifeless fingers of her deceased husband.  Resting underneath were three exquisitely shined red marbles.

~ Author Unknown ~
Courtesy and with permission reprinted via poeticexpressions.co.uk
Thanks!  Mike and the Team!