Cowboy

file2251249256861cowboySome said he was born on a saddle. Others said he was one hell of a man. Didn’t matter what you believed, he was an authentic cowboy and wore the title well.

One night he cleaned off the dust, slipped into his best shirt, new Levis, and drove to a dance in the valley. A fiery redhead caught his eye, and his mind entertained thoughts other than lonely nights in the bunk house.

Having learned responsibility at a tender age, he secured a regular job. One that allowed him to take an active part in family life.

This didn’t take the cowboy out of him. He never missed saddling up for a round-up, branding, or any event to help a local rancher. He signed on to a ranch after retirement. His wife, known for her biscuits, pies, and any dish that cowboys had a likening, went with him.

Life of a cowboy isn’t an easy one. You take the lumps with the good, he used to say. He didn’t regret one bit, and lived life to the fullest.

Those who knew him never doubted he was a believer. His God lived in the outdoors–the plains, sagebrush, painted desert. Mountains, green pastures, and the beauty of horses working cattle. He never spent much time inside a church other than attending a wedding, or funeral. It made sense that his funeral was held in the local community lodge.

The minister stepped away from the podium and strapped on a guitar. There wasn’t a dry eye as he sang the cowboy’s favorite song.

Now, his wife lives in the house by herself, but few doubt that she’s alone.

Is there an unforgettable character in your life? Your comments are welcome and appreciated. Please comment below.

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The Cross-over Man

file1861303932819 He hated doing it, but the nursing home smelled clean, and the noises in the background spoke of friendliness and care. Blind except for shadows and a sense of dark and light, he relied on hearing and intuition.

She asked him to stay, and he did. From 8:00 in the morning the two shared memories, walked the halls, and drank coffee on the patio until the taxi arrived at 8:00 in the evening to take him home. As years passed, the staff seemed to forget to call for his cab and it came later each evening.

One morning, the cab driver carried a large suitcase with him as the two walked inside. No cab would be called to take him home.

The couple had rooms next to each other, but often woke up together. When his wife became ill and demanded care around the clock, he slept in the big cushioned chair next to her bed. He stayed by her side when the time came. He held her hand in his, talked to her about things others didn’t understand. His arms were wrapped around her when she drew her last breath.

Word traveled through the home, and one afternoon the nurse approached him. “The lady in room 6-B has no one and won’t last through the night. She asked for you.  She will understand if you don’t go. We all will.”

It was difficult, but he saw no choice.

From then on, folks called him the cross-over man. He was called often, and it never got easier. Whether they had no one near, or no one to care, it was left for him. He was near, and he cared. He knew them by their first names. He greeted new residents the day they entered. He spent his days going in and out of each room carrying his smile and a funny story.

He knew more about them than they thought. No, he didn’t know the color of their hair or eyes. Being blind, he was compelled to look further. Deep inside, where the real person lived, where beauty and love existed.

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How important is it to have someone present during the final minutes of death? Would you do this for a person who wasn’t a close friend or family member? Your comments are appreciated.

Angel in the Basement

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On his way to teach mixed choir, the college professor turned the corner and observed a spellbound man blocking the stairway.

“What’s that sound?” The man asked.

The professor cocked his ear. “Oh yes, that’s the new student warming up.”

“I would have sworn it was an angel.” The man waited until the sound ceased and went on his way.

During her public school years, the girl brewed a pot of trouble and may have been viewed as a devil. She rebelled in second grade from the assigned corner of the special education room. The meaningless worksheet and the broken red crayon flew across the room.

Determined, she fought to join the reading group and sit with the rest of the class.

The girl, her mother, and the assigned ADA attorney became a common sight around school district conference tables. The shiny blue cover of the thick ADA manual faded. Notes filled the margins of pages. Clips, yellow stickies, and dog-ears marked heavily used sections.

Change didn’t happen overnight.  The girl mainstreamed in fourth grade and became fully included in sixth grade.

She faces new issues of inclusion. Rosa Parks, one of her role models, comes to mind when she enters shops that don’t allow space for a wheel chair to navigate. She would love to select her own clothing from the racks; or, find the perfect gift.

Hearing of others who followed the trail she blazed brings joy that lights her face. Perhaps she is an angel.