A Memory: Earl and Marge

It always fascinates me, the things that jog and stir memories. The catalysts that can launch us into the seemingly insignificant, yet vivid details of our pasts. I was just heating up some leftover orange chicken (with rice)...

The engineers were discussing a recent funeral for one of the workers' great and distant aunt. A woman who lived to 97. But in doing so had outlived the people who knew her. And as a result, the worker had to be a pallbearer at her funeral even though he barely knew her. For some reason that reminded me of Marjorie Blundell. Struck to life an occurent memory: I was a pallbearer at her funeral.

Marge was a tall, thin woman. She wore vintage horn-rimmed glasses and had jet black hair that flared out over her ears. Small eyes; a round, sharp face. I don't remember ever hearing her speak, and if she did, her voice was too soft, too frail and unsure to leave an impact. Marge just had an air of lightness and simpleness about her. She could've walk on top of a snow drift, if the wind didn't carry her over it.

Then there was her husband Earl. The church's janitor. A grumbling curmudgeon with a large face, weighed with jowls, had heavy, hunched shoulders, the type of walk that made you wonder how he got anywhere before the day expired. Earl mumbled, seemed always to be talking to himself about something. He was a simple man as well, a simple, short man with giant hands and a massive heart. He was could've been much younger than he seemed. But at the same time, the aspects of devotion and loyalty he showed to Marge and the church couldn't have been learned in a hundred lifetimes. I knew that then and I know it now.

I remember my dad telling me to always respect Earl. To help him carry bags of clothes to the back. To tear down tables and put them back up myself if I wanted to use the gym; or the gym needed to be set-up for church functions I needed to do it for Earl. And anytime I could help Earl, I needed to help Earl. Even though his temperament scared me as a teenager.

And from that memory came a haunting piece of Scripture. A verse my father told me Earl expressed to him when asked why he continued to work well past retirement. A verse that was his life's verse. One that made him happy and summed everything up about Earl. And I remembered that verse.

My heart, for the rest of the day, was reheated by those memories of Earl and Marjorie.

My Dentist: A Character Sketch

Short. Hovering around 5 feet tall. Salt and pepper hair. Thin. Early 50s. Small hands and eyes. Impeccably ironed scrubs with turtlenecks on underneath. Dark, thick black glasses with a device that gives her singular, zoomed-in vision attached. When she looks at you, she tilts her head down, not up and therefore cannot avoid looking through the device. Anecdotes and thoughts are only complete in her head, yet they make sense if you listen carefully and casually. She is a woman of many details but wastes no time with them. Her humor is simple, straightforward, but has to be thought about to be found funny. It must be placed directly back against the gait and posture and tone of this woman. She is passionate about her job, loves dentistry. Leads well, her employees speak openly of their frustration with her antics and her personality and incomplete complete thoughts illustrating a lack of fear towards her meaning she's a good boss. And she's very good at what she does. Honest with her patients, genuine as well. She's also a little crazy and it comes through in the pitch of her voice, in its pace and delivery which feels a hair too fast and high for most conversation.

I hate the dentist office. Despise anything that involves cleaning the mouth: brushing teeth, flossing. I cannot be in the same room with another person who is brushing their teeth. Cringing doesn't surmise the physical reaction I have. I cannot brush Isaac's three teeth. I cannot watch a movie where someone is brushing their teeth. I simply cannot. But I like going to this dentist. She is a character I find infinitely interesting. A case study.

Watching people more efficiently is a task I've sought to do more of of late. And there are some strikingly different and overwhelmingly fascinating characters at work in this world around us. From the man with the golden voice who works at the gas station to the woman slowly and distractedly making my sandwich. Asking why another person is doing as they do and watching, trying to figure out why it is so, is a new thing for me. But I find we are all mostly alike in some ways and vastly different in others. We are all characters.