I met a nice lady
I met a nice lady yesterday. She said she could type over 100 words per minute. While such a task is not so unusual in today’s world of Twitter this and Twitter that, when she does, it is.
She hugs her husband and then types — everything. Everything he says. She even types while hugging him. A strange relationship, for sure, but I guess it works for them. The happy hugging and typing couple have been married now for 20 years. They have five children.
I met a nice lady last week. She said she was very happily married to a wonderful, yet somewhat strange, man. He’s a dreamer. Her feet are firmly planted on the ground.
Over the years, he’s written three books. All unpublished. His paintings fill the basement. To date, none has sold. And his inventions occupy every corner of their small country house.
She’s read his books multiple times. She’s hung his paintings throughout their small house. And the inventions? Well, she still shows wonder for them — even though none actually works. The dreamer and realist have been happy together for 31 years.
I met a nice lady 12 years ago. She was the mother of two sons and two daughters, one of whom said yes when asked if she would marry me. The nice lady was so excited she never stopped talking. Then again, she has been gifted with the art of conversation all of her married life.
Her husband is passionate about playing baseball. He’s so good the coaches place him on teams with members 10 years younger. And he still outplays all of them. She sits in the stands cheering him on, talking to anyone who will listen.
I think she constantly talks because she’s so smart. I would have told her my theory, but she never took a breath. Her knowledge about the world is truly vast — so vast it can’t be contained and just flows out. He with his baseball and she with the art of conversation are truly a match. They have been together now for over 50 years.
I met a nice lady a long, long time ago. When I first saw her, she started to cry. For some reason our meeting had caused her a lot of pain. I tried to tell her that I was sorry. Sorry for hurting her, but it was as if we spoke a different language. She didn’t understand me.
Or maybe she did. For the more I talked, the less she cried. And eventually, slowly, a smile spread across her tear-streaked face. She stroked my hair and kissed my forehead as she held me close counting my fingers and toes. She whispered in my ear, “Don’t cry, little one. It’ll be okay. I love you.”
I decided to stay with that nice lady and her man. I enjoyed their company for the next 24 years. I guess they enjoyed mine. They let me stay.
We were together up to the day that nice lady left. Her man cried for weeks. I tried to comfort him, but again, it was as if we spoke a different language.
How could someone 24 possibly understand a partnership that had lasted over 33 years? It was a great loss to us both. I’ve recovered somewhat. He was changed forever that day and has never been the same.
Gifted with conversations, tolerant with the oddities of life, or simply the love of someone’s life – moms are all different but yet all the same.
My advice to you this Mother’s Day is simple. Visit the nice lady who sacrificed so much for you through the years. Give her a hug and say thank you. Though not a pleasant thought, she will not be around forever.
What I wouldn’t give for one last hug from that nice lady I met many years ago. And to hear her voice once again whisper in my ear, “Don’t cry, little one. It’ll be okay. I love you.”
[Rick Ryckeley, who lives in Senoia, has been a firefighter for more than two decades and a columnist for The Citizen since 2001. His email is email@example.com.]