There but for the grace of God

I got an email from my friend Howard yesterday. He had fallen on some black ice while clearing off his Jeep. It was a crappy morning and he did not want to take out the good car that was parked nice and dry in the garage. He cleaned off the snow and ice from the front of the vehicle then walked around the side to do the back. On the way, he slipped and his feet flew out from under him. He fell flat on his back on the blacktopped driveway. He hit his elbow, hip and smacked his head. He immediately drove himself to the Emergency Room in Morristown where they stitched up his elbow, X-rayed the rest and sent him home.

Two weeks later, he started to lose his words and his right foot was dragging. He called his doctor, went back to the hospital and had brain surgery the next day. Brain surgery- the scariest of surgeries. He had a Subdural Hematoma. He said he had no headache. No symptoms. After the surgery the bleeding did not stop, so they had to go back in again to find the cause. It could have been much, much worse.

After 2 surgeries and a stay at a Rehab center, he is now home. I spoke to him today and he sounds normal. His voice is strong. He is tired, but on the mend.

He told me of the misery of those in the hospital and in rehab--the pain and suffering that happens around us that we do not know. While in the hospital he prayed for all those suffering in the world. He said it was a wake-up call. "Your life can change in an instant. We should all be thankful for what we have."

In this Easter season let us hold up to the light all who suffer. As I sit down with my guests for Easter dinner, I will pray for Howard who may be having Easter lunch at a diner, but is alive and well enough to go out-even for a short distance. God Bless.

The one that got away

Azer’s arm ached from steadying the crate on the roof of the car through the open window. He wished he were anywhere but driving down the streets of the city on a hot Sunday afternoon delivering tomatoes with his father. He let go of the steering wheel and reached over to turn down the Mughum music that was blaring from the radio. It was loud and embarrassingly old-fashioned.

Without saying a word, Azer’s father snaked out a gnarled hand and turned the music back to ear-splitting decibels. Azer closed his eyes and prayed for strength. He wished he had not agreed to do this favor for his father.

As the car crawled up the steep street past the Symphony Hall and the Museum, Azer noticed a blonde woman strolling down the sidewalk toward them. She had on blue-tinted sunglasses that flashed in the sun and wore loose white trousers and a pale blue tunic that fell to her knees. On her feet were brown open-toed sandals.

The car veered toward her as Azer stared. His father’s shout startled him and he spun the wheel hard to the left. Azer let go of the crate and grabbed the steering wheel with both hands to regain control. Looking into the side mirror past the old man’s arm; he was mortified to see the woman waving her hands.

He slammed on the brakes. He looked in the side mirror again to see the crates that had been tied to the roof scattered on the pavement and tomatoes rolling down the street. He leaned his forehead against the steering wheel and groaned.

His father flung open the door with a curse, surveyed the damage and started to scream about money lost. Oblivious to his father’s snarls, Azer bent over and started to retrieve the tomatoes.

Some of them were smashed but many of them were only bruised. He scuttled down the hill picking up the fallen fruit. As he approached the last few stray pieces, a pair of brown leather sandals with painted red toes came toward him. Above the sandals white trousers billowed in the hot breeze from the Caspian Sea.

“You missed one.”

A hand held a beautiful red ripe tomato, unblemished during the accident. Too embarrassed to even look up, he took it.

“Tesekkür ederim,” he mumbled.

“You’re welcome,” she said.

The feet turned and walked away.

Azer finally looked up as the blonde woman turned the corner and slipped into the cool shade of the park. He stumbled back to the car with his arms full. He kept glancing back at the park as he helped his father refill the crates and tie the load again. Finally with the crates secure, he got behind the wheel.

Azer looked in the mirror as they drove away hoping for another glimpse. As they rounded the corner, there it was: just a flash of blue, white and blonde.

An Accident Waiting to Happen

As I came around the curve of the road I saw a van pulled over to the side with its flashers on. In the same instant I noticed a small black Toto-like dog in the on-coming lane. The dog was looking confused, glancing around, taking a step forward then a step back. I assumed the dog was lost and the people in the van had been looking for him. I stopped the car in my lane expecting the van door to open and the dog to run in front of me.

As soon as I stopped the dog came toward my car. I waited. The van took off. The cars were now lining up behind me. I put on my flashers and hopped out-still in the middle of my lane. The cars started to go around me on the berm. The dog had tags. I bent down to read them. There was a name and local phone number. The rabies tag, however, was from a city 3 hours away. Yikes.

The dog tried to jump into my car; I reached down the boosted him up. He knew all about cars and had obviously been in one many times. I got back in and pulled off to the side of the road. I looked in my rear-view and saw a large truck had been protecting my back.

Traffic was now flowing steadily in both directions. I waved as the truck went by. I called the number on the tag. A man answered the phone.

“Hello.”

“I think I have your dog.”

“Gus?” “You have…Gus? “ The voice sounded perplexed.

“Honey where is Gus?” There came a mumble through the phone that sounded like porch.

“Where are you?”

I looked around. “I am across the street from Lundgren’s Landscaping.”

“That’s me.” The voice continued, “I’ll be right down.”

I waited in the car, petting the dog and talking to him. Finally a wiry man in grass-stained jeans came down the long drive. Gus saw him and started to wag not only his tail, but his whole back end. I shouted across the street.

“He knows you.”

Traffic was heavy in both directions. The man waited to cross. I watched the traffic in my mirrors. Many minutes passed. Finally there was a break in the traffic and the man approached the car. I opened the door. Gus leapt into the man’s arms.

“Wow,” the man said, “there is a lot of traffic.”

“Your dog was in the middle of the road.” “He could have been hit.”

“Thank you, thank you, how can I thank you?”

He walked back across the street with Gus licking his face.

The moral here is: Please, watch your dog, I don’t want to have to call you.