Faded Memory…

Posted by admin - 01/10/09 at 02:10 pm

Big John toiled into the night at his desk in the small cabin he had called home for the past seven months.

“So many reports,” he muttered to himself as he strained his eyes to write, dipping his pen into the ink well again and again.

In war torn 1943, the ship’s captain allowed no lights other than a small candle like the one that burned above John’s log, with a small pool of wax that grew each time the sea rolled left or right.

 

As he had done so often, John glanced at the photograph that he kept taped to his wall, the only memento they allowed him to bring on board.

He found himself taken away, away from the cramped quarters and daily routine, away from the orders and the fear, far away, back to that small farm where she now slept alone, waiting for him to come home.

He thought of her smile and felt his own lips curl upward.

He reached up and let his calloused finger stroke the edge of the picture.

He wondered what she dreamed about.

The space between his mind’s eye and his heart began to fill with memories, the softness of her hair, the way she purred as she woke in the morning, her gaze that turned to butter when he met it with his own, her tiny hands that almost disappeared in his.

With no contact allowed, all he had was that photograph and the hope that some day soon he would see that smile on his wall come to life, a hope that he clung to with his life.

Seven months felt like an eternity.

For the second day in a row, Brad crossed the bridge and turned his car onto Navarre.

He navigated his way around the massive piles of debris, awestruck by the massive devastation left by the hurricane.

Houses that used to line the shore lay scattered in rubble on the other side of the beach road, snapped trees and telephone poles littered everywhere, broken furniture, appliances, even cars scattered about in random fashion, all swept by the massive surge of water that washed across the entire island without mercy.

He parked, collected himself and stepped out, unsure of which way to go or what to do.

He walked slowly, taking it all in, in a sort of strange daze.

Everything was completely wiped out.

Everything.

 He glimpsed a sparkle up ahead and shuffled in its direction, his curiosity piqued.

It moved, carried by a gust of wind.

He stepped more quickly, determined to catch up with it.

A second gust blew and he watched the item lift again.

“A photograph,” he suddenly recognized and broke into a run. “Somebody might really want that.”

 He scooped his arm down and grabbed the picture, a faded black and white of a young couple taken many years before at what appeared to be a ceremony, maybe even a wedding reception or a gala of some sort.

He turned it over.

 

To Big John, the best man a girl could ever want.

With all my love, Sarah.

September 22^nd, 1943.

 

Brad brushed the tear from his cheek as he stood, paralyzed, flooded with the emotion of his own loss and that of his neighbors, one of which was an old man that lived by himself at the end of the street.

In a stupor he made it back to his car and drove in the direction of the shelter where the community took refuge in the wake of the giant storm.

He went looking for an old man—an old man whose name was John.

 

 

That’s A View From The Ridge…

-Success Quotes-

Use what talents you possess. The woods would be very silent if no birds
sang there except those that sang best.
Henry Van Dyke

I have had dreams and I have had nightmares. I overcame the nightmares
because of my dreams.
Dr. Jonas Salk
  _________________________________________________________________

-Key Points-

Ask yourself these questions:
Who’s world might I brighten today?
Upon whom can I bestow a small act of kindness?
Where can I help to create a smile?
Who needs help that I could give?

I play this game as I walk through daily life–I call it the “smile game”.
The idea is to get everyone I come in contact with, especially the grumpy
ones, to crack that sad and forlorn look. I don’t always succeed, though
usually the simple act of smiling causes most folk to return the smile.
Sometimes it takes a compliment or a pat on the back or a tiny favor–hold a
door open, pick up something that someone drops, step aside and invite a
person to go before you–easy gestures that nonetheless give rise to that
smile.
Life is so much about the little details that make the passage of it more
pleasant and meaningful moment to moment. Random acts of kindness help to
create that extra “meaning”. Think of how many times, when you truly needed
it, another human being reached out to you in some way. What if you made it
your habit to constantly do the same–be the catalyst that interrupts sorrow
or suffering?
Be a smile generator…you’ll be pleasantly surprised at how often the
world smiles back.