Thanks to a Stranger

I thought about that evening many times over the years. At the time it seemed like a nice gesture and I was proud to be sitting next to him but three years later that memory would be more meaningful than I ever expected.

It was shortly after he finished basic training. He was home on leave ( I think he was on his way to California). He was so proud of his uniform and what he had accomplished. He called my sister and I to invite us out to dinner. He insisted on taking us to the Palomino because in his eyes it was the best. With him it was always like that. Everything had to be perceived as the "best". When he bought a game system, guitar, he only chose the "best". He ate steak whenever possible because it's the best cut. When he invited a girl to a dance she had to be the most popular girl in school because she was the best. When he joined the armed forces it was the Marines because they are the best.

In this case he wanted to go to the best restaurant in town and wear his dress blues. Rachel and I just happened to be lucky enough to be asked to join him.

As we walked into the restaurant you could tell he was proud.  He stood tall, dressed impeccably and ready to spend whatever was necessary to impress. Funny enough, he was actually disappointed that there wasn't a regular cheeseburger on the menu. We enjoyed a delicious meal that evening (I'm pretty sure he settled on a steak), laughed with each other, argued with each other. He told us how many chin-ups he could do and how many push-ups, he told us about his plans, we talked about my young and growing family and about my sister's plan for the future. But before long the meal was over, dessert had been eaten and all that was left was to pay the bill.

The server came with the little black case (I have no idea what that little black case is called) and slid it across the table to my brother. As Morgan opened it the server said to him said "A gentleman at a table across the way has taken care of your bill this evening."  Inside the check book was a note that simply said "Thank You." We asked after the stranger but he had already left the restaurant.

I remember thinking at that moment "That was nice." It didn't strike how important that gesture was until three years later as I stood by Morgan's grave watching the dirt sprinkle down onto his casket.  That man didn't know that he had bought dinner for young man that had just made it out of basic, he didn't know that Morgan had just wanted to show off his dress blues and impress his sisters with a fancy meal. He didn't know that Morgan would brag about that moment many times (pretty much every time I talked to him he'd say "remember the time I took you to the Palomino......." ). What than man knew was that Morgan had made a commitment to put his life on the line when the time came. And that's just what Morgan did.

So to that person who paid the check for a young Marine years ago, I say Thank You.

Sgt. Morgan W. Strader

July 18, 1981 -November 12, 2004

Finally, Success!

When we bought this house years ago I was so excited to have my first fireplace. I had visions of the family crowded by the fire reading books, singing songs, sharing stories, playing board games and enjoying each others company. (ok maybe not singing but all the rest.) I imagined late nights snuggled next to my husband with a glass of wine discussing our days, plans for the future, and simply relaxing in the warm glow of a crackling fire. Oh what a beautiful vision!

Then the opportunity to light our first fire rolled around. It only took moments for Roy to get a roaring flame going and only moments for my panic to set in as I watched my two toddler boys wrestle in front of the flames just inches away from a glass door hot enough to scorch their delicate skin. That was the moment I realized the picture I had in my head was not happening anytime soon. It would be almost 6 years before I would feel comfortable having a fire in the house. The few times we would try I would stay stationed between the fireplace and the kids for fear that one would get bumped and fall against the glass door or that a little one would reach out to touch it and not realize how hot the glass was.

Eventually we took the glass doors off, they were ugly any way, but that only lessened my anxiety by a little.

I often thought about waiting until the children were in bed to enjoy a fire with Roy but most nights by the time that opportunity rolled around we were both too tired to build or enjoy a fire.

And so last year I finally felt like I could enjoy a fire without having to stand guard the entire time it was burning. And so comes the fun part, learning to build a fire. Most of the time I would just tell Roy that I wanted a fire and would wait for him to come home and get it started. But then last spring on a could rainy afternoon I decided it would be wonderful to welcome the kids home from school with a roaring fire and a dinner in front of it.  Roy wouldn't be home that evening until late, so I set myself to the task. I took the fire-starters that sat by the wood and laid them carefully on the grates I layered the split logs on top with a little kindling and struck the match. Whoosh! up went the beautiful flames. I sat and watch for a minute as the crackled and burned and then ran upstairs to begin dinner. Moments later I looked into the family room to only to see some charred wood and a little smoke curling up into the chimney. What!? I ran back down to investigate. The fire-starters and the kindling had burned up but the logs were still there. How could that be? I couldn't figure it out so I started over. After about 2 hours of the same process, frustrated, in tears, hungry, by now the kids were home and I was tired of the them telling me the fire had gone out yet again, I finally gave up. I just couldn't do it. I can light a charcoal grill and start a bonfire, but this I just couldn't seem to do.

After that night the days became warm, sunny and beautiful, so for the next few months I didn't even think about a fire. Then last week the weather turned nasty, I was working from home, I had suffered through a rough morning involving my dishwasher and a lot of water on the floor and I thought to myself wouldn't it be nice to sit by a roaring fire with a cup of coffee to work. I decided I could do this, I could start a fire. So I moved the screen away and there sat the logs from last spring that I couldn't get to burn. (yes that's right I had thought so little about a fire I hadn't even cleaned out the fireplace.) So my first thought was, those have got to be dry enough to burn now.  I grabbed the last two fire-starters, a little newspaper and some kindling. I carefully read the instructions on the fire-starters, I built the fire accordingly and struck the match. This time instead of a whoosh! two slow flames began burning, the paper caught and then the kindling began to burn. The crackling, the warmth it was perfect. I watched for about 10 minutes then went to the kitchen to make a some coffee. When I returned to the basement my face dropped in disappointment. No flames, no crackling, just a few smoldering pieces of wood. AGGGGHHHHH! This fire was not going to get the best of me. I gathered more newspaper, some sticks the kids had collected and set to work. I was going to have a fire! Half a box of matches, every old school paper I could find and an hour later I still had no fire. I took a deep breathe, walked upstairs to fix my cup of coffee(someday I'll tell you why that didn't help my mood). I was done.

I  gave up on a fire for that day but that didn't stop me from wanting one again. Last night on the way home from the kids' martial arts class I couldn't help but want to try again. I stopped at the store, grabbed some more fire-starters (and a little wine I figured I could enjoy it by the fire  or use it to calm my nerves) and we headed home. It only took me two tries and last night this is what I had:

Have I finally learned the proper technique for building a fire, maybe. But it sure was nice to have a little success last night.