Silly Story I Wrote--Sings with Dolphins
(I didn't think of "Dances with Wolves" when I wrote this, but, since a friend pointed it out...oh well. This is an attempt at writing about rebuilding and healing. If you want to read the "real story" go to: warrensappcounseling.blogspot.com)
Sings with Dolphins
(Ritagail 2006)
It doesn’t matter where you are when your devastation hits you. Devastation is Devastation. You do what you can to get through. Some can’t, they merely exist. Even the strongest of us, at times, need an escape to get us through. Isn’t there something in the Bible about God providing an escape so we can bear the worst? But, what good is escape when you’re stuck staying here?
In our particular part of the world, the ground got scoured and cluttered all in one swoop. Nothing left, well, not much.
A man came to help us, to TALK to us…to help us FEEL better. Feel better? Who’s going to make us feel better? The government sure isn’t going to help us feel better. Some church folk come down here and think they are going to make us feel better….well…..where were they Before the scouring clutter came? Sigh, I know, that’s uncharitable of me.
The man’s name was Thomas…not Tom…Thomas. Who goes around insisting they be called Thomas? He was a little guy, soft voiced…like his voice is going to be heard over the din of clean up and rebuilding crews. Thomas Talk To Us, that’s who we heard was here to help us begin “healing”.
You can’t start healing when you don’t know if the scour and clutter wind is coming again, and there is still no decent roof over your head.
But, Thomas Talk To Us came anyway. He didn’t go away. He went out on boats, he talked on our doorsteps, he even got his hands dirty and, wonder to us all, Helped. He didn’t give up. Some of us even saw him talking to pelicans and fishing.
And then, we found out Thomas Talk To Us would Listen. And listen. And listen, listen, listen………listen, sometimes with a hammer in his hand, or a fishing rod.
One day, Thomas Talk To Us ended up at the doorstep of Norma Mystictree’s. Norma was whispered about behind her back, “Crazy” some said, “Cursed” others said, but, one thing we all agreed on was that she wasn’t like the rest of us. There was the added grievance that her place was the only one completely standing from the scour and clutter. Garden still growing too.
Now, we should have let up some when Norma started brought her handmade items out to give away. Or, when she brought her fresh garden things into town and just set them there with a sign that said “Free”, sometimes with vases of flowers. Who needs vases of flowers when you’re trying to survive and rebuild? She even left some of her paintings and pottery out. Just left them there, never staying around to talk to anyone. Just plopped her stuff down and then was gone.
We all watched. Told each other we wouldn’t have any of Norma’s crazy stuff in our houses. But, by the next morning, everything was gone.
One of us gave Thomas a woven blanket. The lady said, “Crazy Norma Mystictree made that. My daughter brought it home. I don’t’ want anything of that woman’s in my house, so here, you have it.” Thomas thanked the woman as she closed the door and left him standing there with the blanket. He touched it, rubbed it with his thumb, put it to his nose and breathed in the smell of handmade love.
That’s why Thomas went to Norma’s place. He was intrigued that such a crazy woman would just leave her well made items out for strangers, well, not exactly strangers, people from around who she knew had no time of day for her. He held the blanket as he tapped on Norma’s door. She invited him to come round and visit in her garden.
While they sat in the shade, late summer, hinting at Fall, Norma said, “You got one of my blankets, it will keep you warm this Winter.” Thomas didn’t want Norma to know it had been rejected from another’s home. But, Norma knew. “They gave it to you, did they…didn’t want it in their own home?”
Thomas looked down and thumbed the blanket. “It’s ok,” Norma said, “I know how they are.”
“I’m here to listen,” Thomas barely said above a whisper.
“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m not the one who needs listening to. Well, maybe occasionally.” She smiled. Thomas did too.
They sat in silence as the birds chattered over the bird feeders and splashed in the baths.
“I know they say I’m crazy, so, you might as well think it too.”
“Oh now…” Thomas started, but Norma interrupted.
“You’ve got to bring She Who Sings With The Dolphins here.”
Thomas froze.
“It’s the only way there will be any life around here. People building and surviving and fussing and fighting…even partying….but not doing one thing to Live.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Thomas uttered, thinking in the back of his mind, “She seems so normal.”
“The only way healing and life will come back is if you bring the gal who sings with the dolphins. She’s got to sing with the dolphins, then there’ll be some living around here.”
“But…uh….I don’t know anybody…who…sings with dolphins.”
“You think I’m crazy? You know her, yes you do. She isn’t here yet. She’s someone you know from where you’ve been.”
Norma got up and escorted Thomas to the front of her house, nodded and said, “You bring her and there will be life again.”
Thomas got in his car, worried about Miss Norma. She seemed to be so normal, she was obviously gifted in crafts, gardening, art, he’d seen one of her paintings inside the local library…they’d taken it from the “Free” pile as all of theirs had been damaged. They thought it would do until more respectable artists could be purchased.
When Thomas told a pastor about Norma’s cryptic message, he said, “I still can’t believe you actually went out there. Nobody goes to see Norma Mystictree. She’s too different. Spooks people, just like she did you. Last pastor that was here was sure she put a curse on him, and he was one of the most devoted Christians I know.”
Thomas kept the blanket.
The following week, Thomas got an e-mail. “Thomas, I can’t take this town anymore. I’m fed up with their lack of imagination. I need a place to make a really BIG one of my assemblages. You told me there are a lot of people there who need some cheering up. Tell them to gather small pieces of things, show them some of the photos I do. See if they have something special they want me to try….no charge to them, just find me a place to sleep and keep me watered and fed.” It was from Marigold Mattie.
Thomas thought “Oh no, first the scour and clutter, now Marigold.”
Marigold arrived in her beat up but dependable little pickup…the kind nobody thought of as a real truck until gas prices went up. She always had plenty of rocks, shells, sticks, and other assorted items for her assemblages in the bed of her little truck. Thomas waited for Marigold to hug him, he knew she was a bit peculiar about being hugged first. She was even more peculiar about handshakes…hated them. That always made it hard for Marigold when others wanted a handshake. She learned to curl her fingers in, but, lots of folks found that wimpy, some even suggested it meant she was devious. Good things folks around here aren’t much into physical contact.
Thomas had talked the pastor into holding a meeting at the church. He showed some of the photos of some of Marigold’s assemblages. It didn’t take long, “We got no time for stuff like that,” a solid citizen spoke up very loudly.
“You’re not doing, it, I am,” Marigold talked back.
“How much is it going to cost us?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope. I’ll make photos and posters of it and sometimes people will buy them, but, I’ll give you at least one free poster to keep here for your town. I keep all rights to the image, so I can sell it whenever I want,” Marigold figured she may as well be “up front”.
“Ah! Somebody else wanting to make a buck off of us!”
“Yeah!”
“We don’t need anybody else making money off of our misfortune.”
The natives were getting restless.
“Thomas,” somebody said, “We thought you’ve been a good friend to us. How come you brought this woman here to do this?”
Thomas stood up, “I didn’t. She announced herself that she was coming. Of course, what she would be doing would be terrible. Imagine her wanting to come down here, with her rock and shell paraphernalia, ask you for some of your junk that you don’t know what to do with, and try to make some Beauty out of it all. Of course, nobody here wants to witness anything like that, or contribute to such foolishness, so, Marigold, you may as well just take your little truck and go on.”
“Wait a minute,” one voice said. It was the Mayor. “Would you be willing to do this in the town square where everyone could watch?”
“What are you thinking Mayor?” asked one of The Faithful.
“Well, our annual flower festival was wiped out because of the scour and clutter. Even though some of our businesses are reopened, we haven’t had anything for others to come visit our town.”
One of the Other Faithful stood up and said, “Some of the roads have been busier, and some of the tourists have been filtering through other towns.”
“We haven’t done anything together in quite awhile as a community…been too busy surviving and rebuilding,” the pastor declared.
The Mayor looked at Marigold, “Would you do it in our town square? We’ve recently just rebuilt the platform, but there’s no roof.”
Marigold hesitated. Everyone was quiet. Thomas winked at Marigold.
“I’d have to…see how big the platform is. No roof is fine, because I’ll need to get up high enough for photos. I’ve got material to cover in case of rain.”
“Can you start in a few days, so we can get the word out and around?”
“Ok. What I need from everyone is a design idea. And little items that you want me to include in the assemblage. They really shouldn’t be any bigger than this shell,” Marigold held up a conch shell, “most should be about this size.” She held up a river stone.
“What kinds of things can you use?”
“Well, I usually use natural things, but, in this case, I’m imaging pieces of broken glass, pottery, tile, but also old jewelry, maybe a broken pin or an earring that doesn’t have a match. Even something like a salt or pepper shaker from a collection that has been damaged.”
“But we saved it anyway just because it was, well, something we saved?” a timid voice whispered.
“Yes! That’s it exactly!” Marigold started getting hopeful. “Little pieces of things that you saved, just because that’s what there was to save. My idea is to put them into this big assemblage, along with my rocks and shells, and I’ll make you something….well…I don’t know how Beautiful it will be……” there was a bit of laughter…..”but it will be Something!!” More laughter.
Finally, Something was started.
The folks had many ideas, but, Marigold found a handwritten note among the donations that folks were leaving at the town square. It said, “1 Cor. 13:7”. Marigold knew that scripture was about love, but wasn’t sure of the exact phrase. She asked Thomas for his Bible, handing him the slip of paper.
“Where’d this come from?” asked Thomas.
“It was left in the pile of donations……here it is: ‘Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.’ Still use King James?”
Thomas shrugged.
Marigold sighed. “Love….Love Bears…..no, that wouldn’t look right. Love Believes. That could work. Love Hopes. Short and sweet. Love Endures. That sounds a bit trite.”
“I think “Love Bears” would be cute…..see, there are even a few tiny teddy bears here,” Thomas smiled, holding out his hand for his worn Bible.
“Are you EVER serious? How do you get people to listen to you?”
“I fudge….I listen to them….they never know I don’t know anything.”
Marigold giggled. She was doodling. She found herself doodling in bold letters: LOVE HOPES.
“And do we have a winner?” Thomas mused. He tapped her shoulder with his Bible, then went to go have some fudge and listen to someone. Thomas knew that far away look in Marigold’s eyes.
Marigold didn’t ask anyone. She was getting images in her head and didn’t want anyone to put any static into what she was imaging. She started working.
Word got around quickly that Marigold was up to something. The Mayor was sent over to inspect. “We were hoping that you would let us vote on what you would make.”
Marigold couldn’t help herself, she got the giggles.
The pastor was driving by and decided to see what was going on with Marigold and the Mayor. Marigold didn’t stop, she just kept moving items here and, there, pausing to stand back and look where she wanted to sort things around into the perimeter of her workspace.
“Did we decide on something?” the pastor asked.
The Mayor said, “I was telling Miss Marigold that I was hoping we could vote on the suggestions.”
Marigold shoved her bold lettered doodle wordlessly at the two men. “LOVE HOPES??” the Mayor sounded dubious.
“LOVE HOPES…LOVE HOPES.” The pastor turned the words over on his tongue. “I think you just stole my sermon.”
“Why did you decide on that, seems too short to me,” mused the Mayor.
“Oh, it won’t be, I’ll make the letters huge, they always take up more room than a person things, and I’ll add borders and designs around. You’ll see…it will be fine….I hope.” And she giggled again. “There was a piece of paper left in the pile of donations today.” Marigold pointed at the paper.
The pastor picked it up. The Mayor stifled a gasp. The pastor whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“That….” pointed the Mayor, “is Norma Mystictree’s writing.”
“Are you sure? It’s very few letters and numbers.”
”I’m sure…..she’s going to get even with us…she’s going to curse us all….pastor you must tell Marigold this isn’t satisfactory. LOVE HOPES simply will not do. Why, we were hoping to have some symbol of the city, like our favorite flower, or our historic fountain that mostly made it through the scour and clutter……LOVE HOPES….it’s Scripture, we could get in trouble with mixing city and religion.”
“I don’t know, Mayor. Isn’t that kind of what this is all about, bringing Hope back to a tired community that has been doing all it can just to clean up, survive, and rebuild? Besides, technically, it isn’t a direct quote from Scripture.”
“That’s right…..I fudged…have a good mentor that does that all the time,” Marigold said from where she was still sorting.
So, that was what Marigold spent the next 2 days working on: LOVE HOPES.
Flyers were printed up and posted, radio announcements were made. A television station from the bigger town was notified, but didn’t seem interested. It wasn’t a big enough or odd enough human interest story. If Marigold had made “OUTTA HERE!” or something that could be interpreted many ways, maybe the television station would have been interested.
People came wandering by, trying to give Marigold room to work, while satisfying their curiosity. Besides her work on the assemblage, sometimes Marigold would hum, or even sing. There was something about her working and singing that was comforting to those who came by to watch.
When the letters were finally in place, Marigold asked for a sturdy step ladder so she could get up to see how it photographed. A teenager came by, climbed the ladder and said, “Those two letters don’t line up right,” pointing at the O and E in HOPE.
“Thank you, I thought something was a bit off….can you stay up there and tell me when I’ve got them straight?” He did. Then he came down the ladder and scuffed the toe of his shoe over and over. Marigold looked up. “You can come closer if you want,” she told him as she smiled.
“It’s not that, I don’t want to bother you…”
“No bother.”
The boy came closer, he took something out of his pocket. “It’s just, well, my Mom died after the scour and clutter.”
Marigold stopped. She stood up to face the boy, taller than her, with the grieved face of a much older man. What could she say?
“We stayed at my cousin’s further inland, so we made it through ok. But, Mom got sick while we were trying to clean up and start over. She didn’t make it.”
Silence.
“I found Mom’s favorite necklace. Of all the things to find in that mess…in the debris. Could you use it?”
Marigold held out her hand. It was a blue dolphin.
“I never really know how these things are going to turn out, but I’ll try my hardest to find a special place for it.”
“Thanks,” he barely whispered. Marigold lightly touched his shoulder. He had to be a man and keep himself from crying. “Better let you get back to work.”
“Your Mom, did she have a favorite church song?”
“Oh…um, yeah…Rock of Ages.” He started walking. Marigold hummed long enough for him to get behind a post at one of the stores, then she started singing Rock of Ages.
On the third day, Thomas came by about midday. “Wow! It’s nearly finished.”
“Ugh” moaned Marigold. “This is the stage I hate, when it’s almost finished, but, I fuss over it so much. And, I’ve never done one this big before, and, it’s not all natural items, so I find myself fussing more than usual, simply because there is more variety.”
“You haven’t been out on the water since you got here, have you?”
“No, and I’m NOT GOING.” Marigold was emphatic.
“Good! I knew you’d be delighted,” boat’s just getting ready to leave.
“Are you crazy? I don’t go on boats. I wade into the water and let it tickle my feet…..if God meant people to go on boats, he would have given us bigger feet!”
Thomas laughed. “Jesus went in a boat.”
“Yeah, well, why do you think He WALKED on it????”
“Come on, it will do the project some good……give you a much better perspective when you come back to it.”
“Good at making people feel guilty because they don’t tell people “no”, but lousy at taking “no” for an answer yourself!” Marigold bantered as Thomas took her elbow and steered her.
They were in the boat. They were in the boat out on the water. Lots of water. Everyone had a life jacket on…mandatory….Marigold hated it. She hated being in the middle of flat, lifeless, all you can see for miles…water.
“Having fun?” Thomas smirked.
Marigold said nothing.
“I’ve never seen anyone hate being in a boat so much,” the owner of the boat whispered to Thomas. Thomas noted the dark gloom as Marigold glared into the horizon. “I didn’t know she would hate it this much,” he admitted.
Marigold turned away from the water, crossed her arms, looked down, then started humming. The humming helped. She started lowly singing, then, self-conscious of others on the boat, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Thomas said, “do you take requests?”
“Well….”
“Do you know the Disney Pocahontas song?” a burly man asked. Everyone looked at him, “You know…the one about ‘the wolf crying to the moon’…” everyone looked at him, “What? My kid loves it. Makes me sing it for her.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Marigold grinned. She had to hum around a bit to find the right key for her range, then she started singing. When she finished, there was a sound in the water. They all looked. Dolphins!
They were popping in and out. Then they stopped and just kind of hovered.
“Hey,” the burly man said, “Sing something else, out to them.”
Marigold thought, then she started singing her “Precious Memories”. The dolphins went into a swaying formation in time with the song. Occasionally they would chime in with their own sounds.
Everyone in the boat was entranced.
Marigold sang another song. The dolphins continued to seem to want to be the backup choir. Then Marigold stopped, and the dolphins stopped.
Marigold looked at Thomas who was silently crying. Marigold didn’t ask, she just went into the water before anyone could stop her. It took her awhile to buoy upright and get the water sputtered out, but, when she did and started singing, the dolphins came by and brushed her, joining in the singing and the water ballet.
The music started in the water, and then it vibrated up from the water, into the air, towards Heaven. It formed invisible wave after wave of hope and love and reached the shores of the town, where it broke upon the sands, lightly whirled around, blessing everyone it touched, blessing Marigold’s project, and settling the little blue dolphin where it belonged.
Something happened to all of us that day. George Umprey decided that his kiln needed to be used for something, rather than trying to sell it, even though he’d just had an offer from an out-of-towner that day. Ruby Kilmer realized that she needed to restring and tune her fiddle. Mavis Beemer got the notion to raise all kinds of flowers. The pastor found himself drawing while he was writing his sermon…something he used to be pretty good at years ago. The Mayor got a sudden urge to work on some wood carving that he had set aside as frivolous in the days of rebuilding…as he was getting out his tools he muttered, “That Norma Mystictree has put a spell on us all!”
It doesn’t matter where you are when Healing begins. Healing is Healing.
LOVE HOPES posters and cards were good sellers for a year or two after that, Our town made a deal with Marigold to let them have exclusive rights while giving her a share of the profits…..we had insisted on it, she hadn’t asked. After that, we didn’t need the profits as much, we were busy selling our own arts and crafts and holding concerts. The boat men continue their fishing and such, but, they occasionally give rides out to visit the dancing dolphins, who dance for the burly man. As it turns out, he’s a pretty good singer. But then, I always knew that—I just love it when he sings Pocahontas!
Sings with Dolphins
(Ritagail 2006)
It doesn’t matter where you are when your devastation hits you. Devastation is Devastation. You do what you can to get through. Some can’t, they merely exist. Even the strongest of us, at times, need an escape to get us through. Isn’t there something in the Bible about God providing an escape so we can bear the worst? But, what good is escape when you’re stuck staying here?
In our particular part of the world, the ground got scoured and cluttered all in one swoop. Nothing left, well, not much.
A man came to help us, to TALK to us…to help us FEEL better. Feel better? Who’s going to make us feel better? The government sure isn’t going to help us feel better. Some church folk come down here and think they are going to make us feel better….well…..where were they Before the scouring clutter came? Sigh, I know, that’s uncharitable of me.
The man’s name was Thomas…not Tom…Thomas. Who goes around insisting they be called Thomas? He was a little guy, soft voiced…like his voice is going to be heard over the din of clean up and rebuilding crews. Thomas Talk To Us, that’s who we heard was here to help us begin “healing”.
You can’t start healing when you don’t know if the scour and clutter wind is coming again, and there is still no decent roof over your head.
But, Thomas Talk To Us came anyway. He didn’t go away. He went out on boats, he talked on our doorsteps, he even got his hands dirty and, wonder to us all, Helped. He didn’t give up. Some of us even saw him talking to pelicans and fishing.
And then, we found out Thomas Talk To Us would Listen. And listen. And listen, listen, listen………listen, sometimes with a hammer in his hand, or a fishing rod.
One day, Thomas Talk To Us ended up at the doorstep of Norma Mystictree’s. Norma was whispered about behind her back, “Crazy” some said, “Cursed” others said, but, one thing we all agreed on was that she wasn’t like the rest of us. There was the added grievance that her place was the only one completely standing from the scour and clutter. Garden still growing too.
Now, we should have let up some when Norma started brought her handmade items out to give away. Or, when she brought her fresh garden things into town and just set them there with a sign that said “Free”, sometimes with vases of flowers. Who needs vases of flowers when you’re trying to survive and rebuild? She even left some of her paintings and pottery out. Just left them there, never staying around to talk to anyone. Just plopped her stuff down and then was gone.
We all watched. Told each other we wouldn’t have any of Norma’s crazy stuff in our houses. But, by the next morning, everything was gone.
One of us gave Thomas a woven blanket. The lady said, “Crazy Norma Mystictree made that. My daughter brought it home. I don’t’ want anything of that woman’s in my house, so here, you have it.” Thomas thanked the woman as she closed the door and left him standing there with the blanket. He touched it, rubbed it with his thumb, put it to his nose and breathed in the smell of handmade love.
That’s why Thomas went to Norma’s place. He was intrigued that such a crazy woman would just leave her well made items out for strangers, well, not exactly strangers, people from around who she knew had no time of day for her. He held the blanket as he tapped on Norma’s door. She invited him to come round and visit in her garden.
While they sat in the shade, late summer, hinting at Fall, Norma said, “You got one of my blankets, it will keep you warm this Winter.” Thomas didn’t want Norma to know it had been rejected from another’s home. But, Norma knew. “They gave it to you, did they…didn’t want it in their own home?”
Thomas looked down and thumbed the blanket. “It’s ok,” Norma said, “I know how they are.”
“I’m here to listen,” Thomas barely said above a whisper.
“Oh, don’t mind me, I’m not the one who needs listening to. Well, maybe occasionally.” She smiled. Thomas did too.
They sat in silence as the birds chattered over the bird feeders and splashed in the baths.
“I know they say I’m crazy, so, you might as well think it too.”
“Oh now…” Thomas started, but Norma interrupted.
“You’ve got to bring She Who Sings With The Dolphins here.”
Thomas froze.
“It’s the only way there will be any life around here. People building and surviving and fussing and fighting…even partying….but not doing one thing to Live.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” Thomas uttered, thinking in the back of his mind, “She seems so normal.”
“The only way healing and life will come back is if you bring the gal who sings with the dolphins. She’s got to sing with the dolphins, then there’ll be some living around here.”
“But…uh….I don’t know anybody…who…sings with dolphins.”
“You think I’m crazy? You know her, yes you do. She isn’t here yet. She’s someone you know from where you’ve been.”
Norma got up and escorted Thomas to the front of her house, nodded and said, “You bring her and there will be life again.”
Thomas got in his car, worried about Miss Norma. She seemed to be so normal, she was obviously gifted in crafts, gardening, art, he’d seen one of her paintings inside the local library…they’d taken it from the “Free” pile as all of theirs had been damaged. They thought it would do until more respectable artists could be purchased.
When Thomas told a pastor about Norma’s cryptic message, he said, “I still can’t believe you actually went out there. Nobody goes to see Norma Mystictree. She’s too different. Spooks people, just like she did you. Last pastor that was here was sure she put a curse on him, and he was one of the most devoted Christians I know.”
Thomas kept the blanket.
The following week, Thomas got an e-mail. “Thomas, I can’t take this town anymore. I’m fed up with their lack of imagination. I need a place to make a really BIG one of my assemblages. You told me there are a lot of people there who need some cheering up. Tell them to gather small pieces of things, show them some of the photos I do. See if they have something special they want me to try….no charge to them, just find me a place to sleep and keep me watered and fed.” It was from Marigold Mattie.
Thomas thought “Oh no, first the scour and clutter, now Marigold.”
Marigold arrived in her beat up but dependable little pickup…the kind nobody thought of as a real truck until gas prices went up. She always had plenty of rocks, shells, sticks, and other assorted items for her assemblages in the bed of her little truck. Thomas waited for Marigold to hug him, he knew she was a bit peculiar about being hugged first. She was even more peculiar about handshakes…hated them. That always made it hard for Marigold when others wanted a handshake. She learned to curl her fingers in, but, lots of folks found that wimpy, some even suggested it meant she was devious. Good things folks around here aren’t much into physical contact.
Thomas had talked the pastor into holding a meeting at the church. He showed some of the photos of some of Marigold’s assemblages. It didn’t take long, “We got no time for stuff like that,” a solid citizen spoke up very loudly.
“You’re not doing, it, I am,” Marigold talked back.
“How much is it going to cost us?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nope. I’ll make photos and posters of it and sometimes people will buy them, but, I’ll give you at least one free poster to keep here for your town. I keep all rights to the image, so I can sell it whenever I want,” Marigold figured she may as well be “up front”.
“Ah! Somebody else wanting to make a buck off of us!”
“Yeah!”
“We don’t need anybody else making money off of our misfortune.”
The natives were getting restless.
“Thomas,” somebody said, “We thought you’ve been a good friend to us. How come you brought this woman here to do this?”
Thomas stood up, “I didn’t. She announced herself that she was coming. Of course, what she would be doing would be terrible. Imagine her wanting to come down here, with her rock and shell paraphernalia, ask you for some of your junk that you don’t know what to do with, and try to make some Beauty out of it all. Of course, nobody here wants to witness anything like that, or contribute to such foolishness, so, Marigold, you may as well just take your little truck and go on.”
“Wait a minute,” one voice said. It was the Mayor. “Would you be willing to do this in the town square where everyone could watch?”
“What are you thinking Mayor?” asked one of The Faithful.
“Well, our annual flower festival was wiped out because of the scour and clutter. Even though some of our businesses are reopened, we haven’t had anything for others to come visit our town.”
One of the Other Faithful stood up and said, “Some of the roads have been busier, and some of the tourists have been filtering through other towns.”
“We haven’t done anything together in quite awhile as a community…been too busy surviving and rebuilding,” the pastor declared.
The Mayor looked at Marigold, “Would you do it in our town square? We’ve recently just rebuilt the platform, but there’s no roof.”
Marigold hesitated. Everyone was quiet. Thomas winked at Marigold.
“I’d have to…see how big the platform is. No roof is fine, because I’ll need to get up high enough for photos. I’ve got material to cover in case of rain.”
“Can you start in a few days, so we can get the word out and around?”
“Ok. What I need from everyone is a design idea. And little items that you want me to include in the assemblage. They really shouldn’t be any bigger than this shell,” Marigold held up a conch shell, “most should be about this size.” She held up a river stone.
“What kinds of things can you use?”
“Well, I usually use natural things, but, in this case, I’m imaging pieces of broken glass, pottery, tile, but also old jewelry, maybe a broken pin or an earring that doesn’t have a match. Even something like a salt or pepper shaker from a collection that has been damaged.”
“But we saved it anyway just because it was, well, something we saved?” a timid voice whispered.
“Yes! That’s it exactly!” Marigold started getting hopeful. “Little pieces of things that you saved, just because that’s what there was to save. My idea is to put them into this big assemblage, along with my rocks and shells, and I’ll make you something….well…I don’t know how Beautiful it will be……” there was a bit of laughter…..”but it will be Something!!” More laughter.
Finally, Something was started.
The folks had many ideas, but, Marigold found a handwritten note among the donations that folks were leaving at the town square. It said, “1 Cor. 13:7”. Marigold knew that scripture was about love, but wasn’t sure of the exact phrase. She asked Thomas for his Bible, handing him the slip of paper.
“Where’d this come from?” asked Thomas.
“It was left in the pile of donations……here it is: ‘Beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.’ Still use King James?”
Thomas shrugged.
Marigold sighed. “Love….Love Bears…..no, that wouldn’t look right. Love Believes. That could work. Love Hopes. Short and sweet. Love Endures. That sounds a bit trite.”
“I think “Love Bears” would be cute…..see, there are even a few tiny teddy bears here,” Thomas smiled, holding out his hand for his worn Bible.
“Are you EVER serious? How do you get people to listen to you?”
“I fudge….I listen to them….they never know I don’t know anything.”
Marigold giggled. She was doodling. She found herself doodling in bold letters: LOVE HOPES.
“And do we have a winner?” Thomas mused. He tapped her shoulder with his Bible, then went to go have some fudge and listen to someone. Thomas knew that far away look in Marigold’s eyes.
Marigold didn’t ask anyone. She was getting images in her head and didn’t want anyone to put any static into what she was imaging. She started working.
Word got around quickly that Marigold was up to something. The Mayor was sent over to inspect. “We were hoping that you would let us vote on what you would make.”
Marigold couldn’t help herself, she got the giggles.
The pastor was driving by and decided to see what was going on with Marigold and the Mayor. Marigold didn’t stop, she just kept moving items here and, there, pausing to stand back and look where she wanted to sort things around into the perimeter of her workspace.
“Did we decide on something?” the pastor asked.
The Mayor said, “I was telling Miss Marigold that I was hoping we could vote on the suggestions.”
Marigold shoved her bold lettered doodle wordlessly at the two men. “LOVE HOPES??” the Mayor sounded dubious.
“LOVE HOPES…LOVE HOPES.” The pastor turned the words over on his tongue. “I think you just stole my sermon.”
“Why did you decide on that, seems too short to me,” mused the Mayor.
“Oh, it won’t be, I’ll make the letters huge, they always take up more room than a person things, and I’ll add borders and designs around. You’ll see…it will be fine….I hope.” And she giggled again. “There was a piece of paper left in the pile of donations today.” Marigold pointed at the paper.
The pastor picked it up. The Mayor stifled a gasp. The pastor whispered, “What’s wrong?”
“That….” pointed the Mayor, “is Norma Mystictree’s writing.”
“Are you sure? It’s very few letters and numbers.”
”I’m sure…..she’s going to get even with us…she’s going to curse us all….pastor you must tell Marigold this isn’t satisfactory. LOVE HOPES simply will not do. Why, we were hoping to have some symbol of the city, like our favorite flower, or our historic fountain that mostly made it through the scour and clutter……LOVE HOPES….it’s Scripture, we could get in trouble with mixing city and religion.”
“I don’t know, Mayor. Isn’t that kind of what this is all about, bringing Hope back to a tired community that has been doing all it can just to clean up, survive, and rebuild? Besides, technically, it isn’t a direct quote from Scripture.”
“That’s right…..I fudged…have a good mentor that does that all the time,” Marigold said from where she was still sorting.
So, that was what Marigold spent the next 2 days working on: LOVE HOPES.
Flyers were printed up and posted, radio announcements were made. A television station from the bigger town was notified, but didn’t seem interested. It wasn’t a big enough or odd enough human interest story. If Marigold had made “OUTTA HERE!” or something that could be interpreted many ways, maybe the television station would have been interested.
People came wandering by, trying to give Marigold room to work, while satisfying their curiosity. Besides her work on the assemblage, sometimes Marigold would hum, or even sing. There was something about her working and singing that was comforting to those who came by to watch.
When the letters were finally in place, Marigold asked for a sturdy step ladder so she could get up to see how it photographed. A teenager came by, climbed the ladder and said, “Those two letters don’t line up right,” pointing at the O and E in HOPE.
“Thank you, I thought something was a bit off….can you stay up there and tell me when I’ve got them straight?” He did. Then he came down the ladder and scuffed the toe of his shoe over and over. Marigold looked up. “You can come closer if you want,” she told him as she smiled.
“It’s not that, I don’t want to bother you…”
“No bother.”
The boy came closer, he took something out of his pocket. “It’s just, well, my Mom died after the scour and clutter.”
Marigold stopped. She stood up to face the boy, taller than her, with the grieved face of a much older man. What could she say?
“We stayed at my cousin’s further inland, so we made it through ok. But, Mom got sick while we were trying to clean up and start over. She didn’t make it.”
Silence.
“I found Mom’s favorite necklace. Of all the things to find in that mess…in the debris. Could you use it?”
Marigold held out her hand. It was a blue dolphin.
“I never really know how these things are going to turn out, but I’ll try my hardest to find a special place for it.”
“Thanks,” he barely whispered. Marigold lightly touched his shoulder. He had to be a man and keep himself from crying. “Better let you get back to work.”
“Your Mom, did she have a favorite church song?”
“Oh…um, yeah…Rock of Ages.” He started walking. Marigold hummed long enough for him to get behind a post at one of the stores, then she started singing Rock of Ages.
On the third day, Thomas came by about midday. “Wow! It’s nearly finished.”
“Ugh” moaned Marigold. “This is the stage I hate, when it’s almost finished, but, I fuss over it so much. And, I’ve never done one this big before, and, it’s not all natural items, so I find myself fussing more than usual, simply because there is more variety.”
“You haven’t been out on the water since you got here, have you?”
“No, and I’m NOT GOING.” Marigold was emphatic.
“Good! I knew you’d be delighted,” boat’s just getting ready to leave.
“Are you crazy? I don’t go on boats. I wade into the water and let it tickle my feet…..if God meant people to go on boats, he would have given us bigger feet!”
Thomas laughed. “Jesus went in a boat.”
“Yeah, well, why do you think He WALKED on it????”
“Come on, it will do the project some good……give you a much better perspective when you come back to it.”
“Good at making people feel guilty because they don’t tell people “no”, but lousy at taking “no” for an answer yourself!” Marigold bantered as Thomas took her elbow and steered her.
They were in the boat. They were in the boat out on the water. Lots of water. Everyone had a life jacket on…mandatory….Marigold hated it. She hated being in the middle of flat, lifeless, all you can see for miles…water.
“Having fun?” Thomas smirked.
Marigold said nothing.
“I’ve never seen anyone hate being in a boat so much,” the owner of the boat whispered to Thomas. Thomas noted the dark gloom as Marigold glared into the horizon. “I didn’t know she would hate it this much,” he admitted.
Marigold turned away from the water, crossed her arms, looked down, then started humming. The humming helped. She started lowly singing, then, self-conscious of others on the boat, she said, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Thomas said, “do you take requests?”
“Well….”
“Do you know the Disney Pocahontas song?” a burly man asked. Everyone looked at him, “You know…the one about ‘the wolf crying to the moon’…” everyone looked at him, “What? My kid loves it. Makes me sing it for her.” He shrugged his shoulders.
Marigold grinned. She had to hum around a bit to find the right key for her range, then she started singing. When she finished, there was a sound in the water. They all looked. Dolphins!
They were popping in and out. Then they stopped and just kind of hovered.
“Hey,” the burly man said, “Sing something else, out to them.”
Marigold thought, then she started singing her “Precious Memories”. The dolphins went into a swaying formation in time with the song. Occasionally they would chime in with their own sounds.
Everyone in the boat was entranced.
Marigold sang another song. The dolphins continued to seem to want to be the backup choir. Then Marigold stopped, and the dolphins stopped.
Marigold looked at Thomas who was silently crying. Marigold didn’t ask, she just went into the water before anyone could stop her. It took her awhile to buoy upright and get the water sputtered out, but, when she did and started singing, the dolphins came by and brushed her, joining in the singing and the water ballet.
The music started in the water, and then it vibrated up from the water, into the air, towards Heaven. It formed invisible wave after wave of hope and love and reached the shores of the town, where it broke upon the sands, lightly whirled around, blessing everyone it touched, blessing Marigold’s project, and settling the little blue dolphin where it belonged.
Something happened to all of us that day. George Umprey decided that his kiln needed to be used for something, rather than trying to sell it, even though he’d just had an offer from an out-of-towner that day. Ruby Kilmer realized that she needed to restring and tune her fiddle. Mavis Beemer got the notion to raise all kinds of flowers. The pastor found himself drawing while he was writing his sermon…something he used to be pretty good at years ago. The Mayor got a sudden urge to work on some wood carving that he had set aside as frivolous in the days of rebuilding…as he was getting out his tools he muttered, “That Norma Mystictree has put a spell on us all!”
It doesn’t matter where you are when Healing begins. Healing is Healing.
LOVE HOPES posters and cards were good sellers for a year or two after that, Our town made a deal with Marigold to let them have exclusive rights while giving her a share of the profits…..we had insisted on it, she hadn’t asked. After that, we didn’t need the profits as much, we were busy selling our own arts and crafts and holding concerts. The boat men continue their fishing and such, but, they occasionally give rides out to visit the dancing dolphins, who dance for the burly man. As it turns out, he’s a pretty good singer. But then, I always knew that—I just love it when he sings Pocahontas!
posted by Ritagail @ 12:43 PM
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