Wait For Me!

It seems I'm always looking for my husband.  When we go shopping, he somehow disappears.  He's with me one minute and the next minute, he's GONE!  It doesn't matter where we are.  If it involves shopping, he vanishes.  Walking in a store, I will turn to comment on a shirt that I've found for him, but is he there beside me? No. He's in another section entirely. Either that, or he says he'll "wait" outside the shop for me. By 'wait', he means that if I nip into a store for three minutes he will be 'waiting' several stores away where, of course I can't see him.  For times like these, we have our 'signal'.  It involves a melodic whistle.  Yes, people think I'm rude or crazy, but you can understand my frustration, can't you?  He's there; he's gone! Where is he? Fweeeeeeeet!!  Fweeeeeeet!! I think that's him, halfway down the mall.  Oh, it is! He's the small dot on the horizon, waving at me.

This brings me to the night in question.  It was a cold one; the perfect night to rent a good movie, share some popcorn, and snuggle on the sofa under a warm blanket. So, off to the mall we drove.  J.P. pulled up at the back door and stopped.  I exited the car and said, "Be back in a few.  Wait for me here, okay?" "Okay," he said.  I made my way to the video store where I perused the shelves until I found the 'one' that would please us both, paid for it and headed to the other end of the mall, to the supermarket where I bought the required snack. Mission accomplished, I walked the length of the mall to the back exit.  

I opened the door. No car. "Oh," I sighed resignedly, accustomed to his disappearances, "he probably drove around to the side door to wait for me near the video shop." Through the door I went and over to the door nearest the video store. Opened it.  "Nope. Not here. Maybe he didn't want me to have to walk all the way back through the mall from the grocery store?  He knew I was going to get popcorn. He must be at the front door by the supermarket waiting for me." Back through the mall to the entrance. Outside...looked around.  "Not here!" Feeling exasperated and not just a little vexed, I could sense my blood pressure mounting.  I retraced my steps....back to the side door, and again to the back door.  NOT AT EITHER DOOR!!! Once again to the side door. "Okay, calm down. Just go to the front door again. He must be parked near the supermarket," I reasoned.  I jogged through the mall.  "No, he isn't here!  Where is he?" Stifling my frustration, I forced myself to walk very calmly albeit quickly to the back door.  There was his car!  I couldn't believe it.  There he was, parked a short distance away by the curb. He hadn't been there, before!  I opened the door and flung myself down onto the seat in the dark car.  I threw my head against the headrest dramatically and commenced to lambaste him! "WHERE THE HECK HAVE YOU BEEN?  I'VE GONE BACK AND FORTH FROM THE BACK DOOR TO THE SIDE DOOR TO THE FRONT DOOR THREE TIMES!! WHERE WERE YOU???? YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO WAIT HERE FOR ME!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!  I'M EXHAUSTED AND SO ANNOYED RIGHT NOW!!! SO, SO AGGRAVATED!!  I HATE WHEN YOU DISAPPEAR LIKE THAT!"  No answer for five beats and then I heard an unfamiliar voice, "You're in the wrong car."

Before You Go

"Excuse me.  could you tell me where the mushrooms are?  I can't seem to find them."
"There just over there," indicates the produce manager, a tall, handsome, young man.
"Thanks a lot."
"I really like your shoes."
"Pardon me?"
"I like your shoes.  Where did you get them?" he asks.
The question takes me by surprise.  "Uh, they're from Benneton," I stammer.
"Oh.  Were they expensive?"
Why is he so interested in my shoes?  They're not even that nice.  Green suede, lace-ups, something like a running shoe.
"Um.  No.  In fact they were cheap.  I got them on sale."
"I think my mother would like shoes like that.  It's her birthday soon.  Maybe I'll get her a pair."
Inner sigh of relief!  Thank goodness it's nothing kinky!  He's only interested in my shoes because it's his mother's birthday.  But then he asks, "What are they like on the inside?"
"Pardon?"
"On the inside.  Are they cushy?  What's the insole like?  My mom has bad feet so she needs cushioned shoes."
"They're, uh, pretty comfortable."
"Do you think I could have a look at one?  I'd like to see the insole.  Just for a minute."
"Um, uh...well, uh...I guess so."
I find myself removing, very reluctantly, the coveted shoe.  He raises it appreciatively to his smiling face, rotates it slowly to better appreciate its form, closes his eyes, draws the shoe slightly closer to his nose, and then to my amazement, inhales deeply.  A look of ecstasy suffuses his flushed face.  His eyes open slowly, a film has softened the irises.  He is in another place, not of this world anymore.  The experience has transported him, transformed him, removed him from his mundane world to a different realm.
"Excuse me.  Excuse me!  Uh, could I have my shoe, please?"  My voice brings him back to the land of the living.
"Wha...oh, oh, yes.  Thank you," he chokes, almost throwing the shoe at me.  "I'm sure my mother would love them.  I hope they still carry them because they're exactly what she needs!"
I quickly force my foot inside and I'm out of there faster than you can say 'Blue Suede Shoes'!
Months go by.  The incident has receded from memory.  I need butter and milk. The supermarket.  Not the one I usually frequent, but close to my place of work. Butter! There it is.  
A presence....hovering over my shoulder.  I turn.  It's HIM!  My instinct is to flee.
"Hi!  Remember me?  I liked your shoes?  Well, I bought them for my girlfriend and she really loved them!"
"You bought them for your g..girlfriend?"
"Yeah, remember I told you she had bad feet?  Well, I bought her the same kind of shoes!"
"Oh, that's good.  Well, I have to go now.  I'm in a hurry.  Bye."
"Hey, before you go, those shoes you're wearing are really great!  What's the insole like?"

Exotic

Smaro's laugh started off deep and throaty, but crescendoed into a lovely high-pitched squeak. Both it and her smile were infectious.  How that woman loved to laugh!  Music was important to her too, and she would burst into song at the drop of a hat.  Her voice was a rich, full-toned contralto, and I was often regaled with her favourite Greek love song of the day.  Separated from her husband for many years, she worked long hours as a nurse to provide for her two children. 'Hard Work' was her middle name.

Those were lean days for me.  A stranger in a strange land, I had very little money, very few friends and on occasion, despaired.  If I was feeling at all low, the gloom would lift the moment I was engulfed in one of her great big bear-hugs.  She was wonderful to me and treated me like a daughter.  If I needed a bed, she gave me one; if I was hungry, she fed me.  Even though it was hard at times for her to make ends meet, she gave selflessly. And, oh the food she fed me....so different from what I was used to.  Chorta, pastitsio, dolmades...food as exotic to me as was Smaro.

One of my most vivid memories is of a day when I was invited by Smaro to come for lunch.  I walked into the dining-room and there in the middle of the table was a bony skull surrounded by potatoes.  "Ti einai afto?" (What is that?) I asked, cringing at the sight.  "It's the head of a sheep." she answered.  "What's the matter?  Don't you eat sheep brain in Canada?"  Bile rose in my throat.  "No!  We don't eat sheep brain in Canada and I can't eat it here, either!"  "Why," she asked, surprised, "It's delicious!"  "Thank you, but no thank you.  I can't eat that!  I can't even look at it," I gasped, almost gagging at the thought. She relented gracefully.  "Okay then.  Go into the kitchen and make yourself some eggs. You can eat in there."  I did as I was told, grateful to leave the abhorrent sight behind.  I quickly fried up a couple of eggs, sliced a tomato, grabbed a piece of bread and was sitting at the kitchen table just about to put some egg in my mouth when Smaro, ever-funny Smaro, spoke to me from the other room, her words putting an end to whatever appetite I had. "Oh, Arlene," she exclaimed in a laughter-filled voice, "This is so delicious. You really should come and have some.  Now, I'm eating an eye!"

Pride Goeth Before a Fall!

I was feeling very proud of my knowledge of basic Greek...perhaps a bit too proud.  The fact that I'd been in that country a mere month and a half did nothing to dissuade me of the opinion that I really 'knew my stuff'!  I was looking forward to taking Shelley to the restaurant and showcasing my linguistic abilities. What is that old saying?  Oh yes, "Pride goeth before a fall." Poor me. I was about to become well-acquainted with that concept.

The restaurant was crowded, as usual. I'd been there several times before and had enjoyed not only the food, but the ambiance, as well.  It was a typical Greek restaurant. Its white walls were covered with pictures of the Parthenon, Mount Athos and the windmills of Mykonos.  Ocher vases and small Grecian figurines sat atop the turquoise shelves that lined the walls. The other-worldly sound of the Greek language and bouzouki music permeated the small space. The scent of garlic, mint, onion, basil and thyme was irresistible. The fact that the taverna was inexpensive was a bonus. We needed to make every drachma count since we planned to travel for a minimum of six months.  

It was common knowledge among tourists in Greece in those days, that when you entered a restaurant of that caliber, the first thing you did was ask the waiter if you could go into the kitchen. "Endaxei," (okay) was the usual response. Hence, we found ourselves behind the scenes, in the busy, noise-filled kouzina, checking out the fragrant contents of large, bubbling pots and pans atop the stove and counter-tops. Everything looked so good and smelled so heavenly, that it took us forever to choose.  Finally, having decided what we would eat, we headed to a table. 

The waiter approached with the requisite basket of bread and a small bowl of olives. "Ti thelete?" (What do you want?)  This was my moment to shine!  "Pay attention, Shelley," I thought.  "You're about to hear some impressive Greek now!" Oh, but I was so full of myself!  Smiling sweetly at the waiter, I said confidently and perhaps just a wee bit too loudly,"Theo copella, parakalo." Several people at tables around us started chuckling, their chuckles slowly turning into gales of laughter.  The waiter looked around the room trying to avoid my eyes. At last, not able to control himself, he joined in the merriment. I could feel my face flushing.  What had I said? Think, Arlene, think.  Theo copella...that means two chickens, doesn't it? Doesn't it?  I wracked my brain.  Copella...copella.  Oh, my gosh....it doesn't.  The word for chicken is kotopoulo...not copella. I should have said "Theo kotopoula"!  My heart sank, my humiliation complete.  Instead of ordering two chickens, yours truly had ordered two girls!

CLACK

It was Monday.  Monday is the day I drop by the retirement home where my elderly friend Betty lives, to spend time playing games and chatting with her.  I know that Betty looks forward to these visits, so I try not to miss 'our' day.

That particular Monday, I also planned to visit my friend Sandy who had just undergone a hysterectomy.  Sandy was not a happy camper.  She was in great discomfort and when I had called her, she kept repeating, "I want to die!  I want to die!"

My relationship with Sandy was based, mostly, on teasing.  Sandy teased me, and I reciprocated in kind.  Divorced for many years, she enjoyed calling me to say that my husband was coming to her house for dinner. She would ask me to remind him to bring the wine.  She'd then call the following day, to tell me how much he had enjoyed the food and the company (He was, of course, at home all that night.).  I would reciprocate and yell at her, calling her nasty names and telling her to keep her hands off of my husband. This had gone on for years.  Sandy and I and my husband got a kick out of it.  But now, Sandy was in discomfort and needed a visit.  I felt in my spirit that God was telling me that I was 'supposed' to go to the hospital that day.  

I got ready to leave and looked in my purse for my keys.  They weren't there! They weren't in either jacket pocket...they weren't on the stairs.  I searched high and low...but to no avail.  No keys!  Certain that my husband had once again taken them by mistake, I phoned his workplace.

"Do you have my keys?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"I've looked everywhere!  Where can they be?"
"Have you checked your car?"

I hadn't looked there, so out I went to check.  "Oh, no!"  They were in the car on the passenger seat.  My car has a particularly annoying idiosyncrasy...the doors lock automatically whether you want them to or not!  If you get out of the car for a few seconds and want to get back in, you'd find the doors locked. When you're inside the car, they lock a few seconds after you close the door.  It's aggravating, but just one of those things I've had to get used to.  It ALWAYS happens.  It NEVER fails!  When I saw the keys on the seat, I knew I wouldn't be able to visit my friends that day.  Betty would be so disappointed.  "Lord, I was sure I felt you telling me to go visit Sandy today.  I don't understand this."  I turned to go back into the house to call the two women, but something caught my eye.  I turned to look at the door.  It was NOT locked! Impossible, but true!!  In the seven years that I'd had the car, this had never happened!  I opened the door quickly and grabbed the keys.  "Thank you, Lord," I whispered gratefully.  

I had a wonderful visit with Betty and after lunch, drove to the hospital expecting that something great was about to happen.

Sandy started whining the moment I walked into the hospital room.  The refrain began again...."I want to die.  I want to die."  Always able to humour her in the past, I said lightheartedly, "Well, that's okay, you can die...but have you said the Sinner's Prayer?"
"What's that?"
"Well, do you believe Jesus is the Son of God?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe that He died for your sins?"
"Yes."
"Do you believe He rose again on the third day?"
"Yes."
"Okay, let's say the prayer and then you can die," I joked.

I prayed and Sandy repeated the words, dedicating her life to God in Jesus' name.

Immediately after we'd finished the prayer, a nurse came into the room.  The name on her name tag was GRACE.  She checked Sandy's I.V. and left the room. "That was very cool.  You just said the prayer and in comes GRACE. We laughed at that.

Seconds later, in walked an orderly, also with a name tag.  His read Placido. "That's an unusual name," I said.  "It means peace, doesn't it?"

"Yes," answered Placido.  "My family and friends call me J.C. but I can't live up to that name!"

I now knew why God had prompted me to visit my friend.  After Placido had left the room, I looked at Sandy in amazement. "Isn't that incredible?  You said the prayer and immediately after, in came GRACE, PEACE and J.C.!!!" 



*NOTE
I thought that perhaps the car doors hadn't locked because if the keys were inside, some mechanism inside them and the car, prevented them from locking (so they wouldn't get locked inside the car?).  So, when my husband returned that night, I took his key and my keys and went out to my car.  I placed my keys on the car seat and waited several seconds...expecting that the doors wouldn't lock, but....CLACK (as my husband would say)....they did!!!  Since that day, as Jean-Pierre and some of my friends can attest, the annoying doors continue to lock!!!

*NOTE NUMBER TWO
This is a story that some of you might have seen or heard.  I wanted to write it for 'posterity' and to give great thanks to HIM!

"CALL SARAH....a still, small voice"

"Call Sarah!"  When I was walking closely with God, I would often receive this command as I sat at my computer or as I was going about my everyday chores. Sarah and I went to high-school and Teacher's College together.  We were good friends for years.  Our paths separated when she married very young and started a family.  I hadn't seen her for years when I heard the tragic news of her son's passing. He'd had a difficult life and had caused his father much disappointment and pain and his mother years of sorrow and worry.  Of course, she loved her two daughters, but this boy, perhaps because of his lack of self-control and confidence, was her heart. I attended the funeral and was very touched when upon seeing me, she rushed into my arms and sobbed.  

I knew that her son had become a 'believer' a short time before his death and having had a similar spiritual conversion years prior, I wanted to share what I knew to be his beliefs, with her.  Neither she nor her husband was Christian. The only problem was that I almost never saw her.  Perhaps every three or four years we would run into each other.  Our ways had truly parted. 

Several months went by...I found myself thinking about her a lot.  One day, I told the Lord that I wanted to share with Sarah, but I wanted it to be His will, not mine. I went so far as to tell Him that I wanted to visit her home in three days....on Wednesday. "Lord, if You want me to talk to Sarah about You, You'll have to arrange for us to meet.  I don't want to call her.  I want it to be Your will.  You know I hardly ever see her....so it's up to You!"

It was September...and time for the yearly Western Fair.  The Sunday of my prayer, my sister and her friend were going to 'walk around' the fair.  They asked me if I'd like to join them.  Throngs of people crowded the grounds; it was difficult to 'walk around', so we decided to go into the Progress Building to get away from the mob.  As is often the case at fairs, the building was almost as packed as the grounds.  We wandered slowly through the potpourri and plant section, then on to the knitted goods and wood crafts until we reached the stairs that led into the next part of the building. That's when I heard a high-pitched voice yell..."ARLENE!"  I looked in the direction of the voice and there was Sarah!! "Thank You, Father," I whispered, "Now I know it's Your will that I visit her."  The three of us approached Sarah and her husband and said our hellos.  I took her aside and said, "Sarah, how often do we see each other?"  "I don't know...maybe once every three or four years?"  I continued, "I want you to know that this is a little miracle and I would like to visit you on Wednesday to talk about your son.  Would that be okay with you?" She hesitated, "Sure, I guess that would be fine." 

I was thrilled, of course, that He had arranged this meeting and gave thanks!  This was to be the first of many times that He would arrange some sort of contact between Sarah and me. God was pursuing her and used me to let her know that He loved her....so "Call Sarah!"  became almost commonplace over the next couple of years. Each time I heard that in my spirit, I would question..."Is it really you, Father or is it just my imagination?" It would come 'out of the blue'.  I wouldn't be thinking about her, at all..and I would hear it. I learned to heed that command most times, and each time I did, I would call and say, "Hi. I don't know why I'm calling, but I am supposed to call you, and each time she would say, "Well, I know why you're calling," and would proceed to tell me.  It was always a time when she was experiencing great difficulty. "You're psychic," she would say.  "It has nothing at all to do with me," I always responded. "It's God wanting you to know how much He loves you." Once in a while, I would second guess myself.  "It's just my imagination.  I don't want to bother her...it's only my imagination."  I would inevitably hear...several days or weeks later, that Sarah had fallen down the stairs and broken her collar-bone, or that she was quite ill.  Each time, I would regret deeply, that I hadn't done what I was supposed to do.  He'd wanted me to show her how much He loved her, but I hadn't obeyed.  

I was taking a shower one morning when I heard, "Go to Sarah's house NOW!" "But, Lord," I complained, "I haven't eaten breakfast...can I at least eat first?" "NO.....GO NOW!"  I hurried out of the shower, dried off, dressed, and was in my car in no time flat.  I arrived at Sarah's house at 8:45 a.m., wondering why I was there. "She's going to think I'm nuts!"  I knocked softly, thinking she would still be in bed, but to my surprise she opened the door, a shocked look on her face.  "What are you doing here," she asked.  "I was in the shower and God told me to come to your house NOW. "Oh, my gosh!  I can't believe it," she said. I'm just leaving for Toronto.  My daughter is pregnant and the doctor found a problem the last time they did an ultra sound. She's having another one today.  She's worried and I want to be with her."  She asked me to pray for her daughter.  I prayed that all would be fine with the baby and that Sarah would get good news.  "I'll call you when I get home on Sunday," she said.  I didn't believe that I would hear from her, because she never called me, but I was happy to have had the chance to share His love with her once again.  

Incredibly, she did call.  I wasn't home when she did, but she left a message for me on my answering machine.  "Arlene, it's Sarah.  I just want you to know that I am going to be a grandmother.  My daughter is fine and her baby is fine.  I'm so happy...thank you, thank you!"  I hope one day Sarah realizes that it's not me she should thank, it's her Heavenly Father who loves her and wants her to know Him.

Misadventures....Part 5

Funds running low, we decided to take our lives in our hands and hitchhike once again. This time, an elderly British man, David and his "nurse" Carol, a pretty, but plump younger woman, gave us a lift. We were able to relax. There was no mauling, just a lot of pleasant conversation. The gentleman informed us that he would drive us all the way up the coast of Yugoslavia to Austria if we liked.  He mentioned that they intended to make two stops, one in Dubrovnik and the next at the island of Rab.  We jumped at the chance, particularly pleased about going to Dubrovnik.

We arrived at Dubrovnik after a few hours, checked into a pension in the old town and walked to the main square where we were just in time to celebrate Tito, the benevolent dictator's, eightieth birthday.  

The following morning, we continued on our way to Rab.  As we were driving, David mentioned that the place they were going on Rab was, by the way, a nudist beach. Nudist?  We were shocked...a nudist beach...a beach where one removes all of one's clothing?  A beach where there would be men...nude ones...who would be able to see EVERYTHING?  Shelley and I stared at each other, eyes round with shock.  No, no way...we could not go to a nudist beach!  That was just too much to ask.  We'd had to swallow our pride beside the stream in Pec, but that was..well...a matter of life or death, wasn't it? Get naked in front of a bunch of people....uh uh....not on your life.  "Uh....I think I'd feel very, very uncomfortable at a nude beach."  "Me, too" agreed Shelley, "I don't think I can do that." "Nobody even looks at you," said David.  "Wow, I just don't think I can," I said . "Well," sighed David, "I guess we'll have to let you off before we take the road to Rab." "Can't we just wait in the car," asked Shelley.  "No, we'll be there for 8 or 9 hours. If you want to continue to ride with us, you'll have to join us at the beach."

Now, we'd had more than our fair share of molestation during our many hitchhiking experiences and were reluctant to put ourselves at the mercy of any more degenerates....very reluctant, indeed!  We'd become adept at communicating with our eyes and facial expressions and reached the same conclusion without uttering a word...better to suffer a small amount of indignity on a nudist beach than to face what might eventually turn out to be a very real danger.  We both sighed at the same time and Shelley said, "Okay, we'll go." 

Resigned to our fate, we settled back and tried to enjoy the scenery. Approaching Split from high up on the mountain road, we marveled at the heart-stopping view. It was one more in the long list of God's incredible wonders that we'd been privileged to see.  The fact that Split wasn't far from Rab, however, took some of the joy from the experience. More than once our eyes met; the question on both our minds....'What the heck have we gotten ourselves into this time?'

Time passed much too quickly and sooner than anticipated, we arrived at the dreaded site.  The beach was beyond a wooden barrier where there was a sign in several languages, English being the second, "THIS IS A NUDIST BEACH.  ALL CLOTHING MUST BE REMOVED BEFORE PASSING THIS POINT."  David and Carol shed their clothes without hesitation.  They passed the barrier that lead to the beachfront leaving us to wrestle with our anxieties.  We looked at each other and giggled nervously.  Fortunately, we each had a towel to cover our 'embarrassment', but the thought of naked bodies everywhere was not the most agreeable to two shy, Canadian girls.  It had to be done, though.  We couldn't stand there all day....it was getting hotter by the minute, and the idea of the cool sea water was certainly appealing.  "Oh, well...here goes," I said and started peeling off my jeans.  "Crap," breathed Shelley, as she followed suit.  What a sight we were to behold.  Just a week before, we'd been driving scooters around the Peloponnese in Greece and had been wearing shorts and t-shirts so our faces, forearms and lower legs were tanned brown from the hot sun....the rest of our bodies were white as chalk.  Poor Shelley had to suffer one more indignity...her bottom was covered in a heat rash...angry red pimples dotted her derriere.  Oh, the humiliation!  Nothing to be done for it now....it was time to go.  Past the barrier, down the long, stony, winding path to the beach.  

We spotted David and Carol in the distance and made our way towards them, passing smooth, tanned bodies, semi-engorged penises, flaccid penises, wrinkled scrota, enormous breasts, tiny breasts, muscled torsos, sagging bellies, dimpled rumps....were there faces to be seen? If there were, we didn't notice them. Everywhere we looked, fleshly torsos assailed us.  

After an eternity, we arrived at our companions' blanket. To our amazement, 'plump' Carol was a goddess...a magnificent creature...her body bronzed golden...her shape, the stuff of a master's painting. She wasn't at all uncomfortable in her skin; completely at ease, she reclined on her elbows, legs askew. We didn't know where to look!  Meet her eyes...and his.  Don't look 'there'. Wherever we turned there were sights that jarred. "They are just bodies," I found myself thinking. "Relax," said David, noticing my discomfort, "Nobody cares, nobody stares!"  He motioned to Carol and they both stood up and made their way through the soft, brown sand to the water, Carol looking just as wonderful from behind.  Every man and woman within sight turned, and all eyes followed her as she glided to the water's edge.  "Right! Nobody cares, nobody stares," snorted Shelley.  We removed our towels discreetly and regarded each other's skinny, light chocolate-and-white frames...no voluptuous curves met our eyes. Counting to three, we raced for the cover of deep water.