The Joys of Life
A simple view of a time gone by.
One bright Saturday in August, I decided to go for a walk, I was in a comfortable short-sleeve shirt and a pair of slacks, as well as some loafers. The sun shines brightly, the breeze blew through the poplars that line our suburban street, giving that lovely silvery green look which for some reason I cannot muster is very soothing. The sound of the new power mowers some folks bought. I see guys washing their cars, making sure that chrome is properly polished. I see my neighbor, he’s getting old but is still a man who looks after his neighbors, reading his paper while sitting in his rocking chair, on his porch. I see my three boys with the kids across the road playing cowboys and Indians with the toy guns Martha and I bought for the Kids for Christmas.
As I walk along, I see my old Marine Corps buddy and his wife discussing some matter, I hear the birds singing, and the breeze whistling through the poplars. I smell the cigar Old Mr. Williams smokes. He’ll have one after lunch on Saturdays. I see a passing car, a new Corvette, the top down, the younger fellow, maybe twenty-five, is driving with his arm around a lovely girl about his age. They seemed to be as I was enjoying the day and taking in the relaxing atmosphere of Poplar Grove street, the houses are not mansions, but comfortable, they are each man’s own palace, they are work but the big yards are great for kids and barbecues.
I turn onto Maple street, I see older houses built in the twenties and thirties. They’re still nice enough houses, and their owners seem to be feeling the peace on Poplar Grove Street. I pass the Church where my family and I go each Sunday. Tom Bridges, one of the Church members who signed up for this week to mow the lawn and take care of the weeds in the Church garden. I’m going to be in his place next week weather permitting. It is soothing smelling the grass clippings and sneezing from a slight case of hay fever. Cars pass by from time to time, but most are hopefully on their way to see their own families and find their relaxing street where they call home.
I turn off Maple onto Elm street, an odd name for a street with only one Elm on the Block, but a Comfortable neighborhood nonetheless, a street which I grew up on with my brothers, playing Hockey in the winter, Baseball in the summer, and Football in the Fall, going to a church down the street. I think of the day I joined the Marine Corps some thirteen years ago in 1942. Some ask why I volunteered when I could have waited for the draft, but I wanted to do something for my country. It turned out worthwhile as I look back, however, the terrible things which I saw did not leave me. I still feel the effects at times, but I make sure I don’t take it out on the boys or Martha. Seeing guys die or be mangled forever sticks with you, no matter how old you get. I’m thankful I found comfort and grace again later on or I may have ended up an Abusive Alcoholic.
I leave Elm Street and walk into James Otis Park. I remember the First time I kissed Martha there, we sat on a park bench, we were on our fourth date. We’d met one Sunday in Church, I was a returning vet, lonely, and hurting. I was wondering where I was going, I’d gone to church in the past but it grew to seem like soft soap, feel-good sermons, never telling me a full answer. I understood that some things cannot be explained, but I wanted something that looked to guide me. I was at the Police station to get a Police record check for my new job, but I had to wait while filling out the form. I met an older woman who also was waiting and in the conversation, we got to talking about church and she invited me. I went and enjoyed their church and continued coming, I was saved from myself. It was there I met Martha, and I fell in love with her. We married in 1948, only 11 months after our first meeting.
The dusk is falling, people are returning home, I smell barbecue charcoal heating up, steaks grilling, neighbors chatting over their grills enjoying the warmth of the evening. I see the children panicking that they’ll be late for dinner and may get a paddling. It gives me a great sense of joy, in knowing that these good days, give us memories to forget those grey bad days. As my Savior did on that Summer Sunday, in 1947, he brought me home and gave me comfort, when I’m down. Those days in the war, that tore me up inside, but I found comfort in Christ and became better for it. I see fewer cars as people sit down to eat, and I best get home, because Martha’s gonna have dinner on the table soon.
