McMuffins and Marines

I told him I'd pick him up at 8:30 on the morning of one of the primary voting days in his county. When I drove up, there was my father, sitting on his rolling walker in the sun to the right of his driveway: all nine decades of him, with the pilled and saggy sweater that he won't give up, the huge '80s glasses that are "still perfectly good," and one of the many baseball caps he started wearing out of embarrassment just a few years ago when his beautiful head of hair finally thinned out.

He'd insisted on going to vote early in the morning, to beat the crowd he was so certain would be there. (I knew otherwise, but I agreed that it was probably good to get a jump on the other voters. You know how everyone's always elbowing each other out of line to vote in the primaries.) When I got out to help him into the car, he said, "There might be too much traffic right now. Want to go to McDonald's and get breakfast first?"
 
Once there, he headed toward the condiments section to grab enough napkins for 40 people. I sat him down at a lime-green table, folded up his walker and put it aside, and went to get our order. Shortly after I returned, a tall gentleman, around 80, stopped by the table and introduced himself as "Rick," then asked if my dad had been in the service. "6th Marine Division," said my father. "29th Regiment." Rick smiled and winked, said, "I hate Marines," and then pulled out a colorful coin and popped it down on the table. "Ah, Master Sergeant," said my father, who saw at a glance what the coin meant. "Yep, career marine," says our new friend, pulling up his shirt so my father could see his belt buckle with the eagle, globe and anchor insignia. "Enjoy your breakfast!" And with that, he moved on, the Mayor of McDonald's, meeting and greeting his McCitizens.

With my father fed and ready to vote, I install him once more in my car and turn on the ignition. There's a knocking at my window. It's Rick, so I lower the glass and he says to my father, "We're up here 8-10 every morning but Sunday, me and some other guys who were in the service. We're all in our 70s and 80s. You should come sit with us once in awhile."

The look on my father's face - this man who has lost his wife and all of his contemporaries, who is so lonely despite the best efforts of his four daughters - was a gift. You bet I'll get him up there.

© 2016 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie 

Tarot Card Readers Don't Take Blue Cross

Until last Sunday, I was unschooled in the experience of the tarot card reading. But finding myself at a conference that was all about the cosmic arts, I just had to sign up for a peek into my future from a guy who is a local tarot rock star. (In the spirit world, at least.)

I asked about my work, and picked the number of cards he directed me to pull from his fanned-out, face-down deck, and he told me some things that might or might not be true. It sounded a lot like my regular life - you know, the one I was already having before someone saw it through a hazy mist.

Then I asked about a relationship gone awry, and he said, "Was this guy really, really introspective? I mean, REALLY introspective?" And I said, noooooo, not really... and then he said, "Could that be you?" I thought and thought about it, and then thought about it some more, and then said "Yes! That's me!" (Just a little introspective joke there for all you thinkers.)  Anyway, that was part of the issue, he said - too much introspection. Now, I ask you, when has a man ever not wanted to hear everything a woman was thinking?

Finally, I asked about my health, because I had some important medical tests coming up a couple of days after the reading, and I wanted some information in advance. Was I going to be okay? Astoundingly, he pinpointed the reason for the tests - or close to it - without me saying anything. And he showed me that my cards predicted it would all end up just fine, but there would be some treatment and I'd have to follow doctor's orders very closely.  So when I went for my tests yesterday, I wasn't a bit surprised that the outcome was good.

See? Who needs doctors when it's all in the cards? And bonus: no co-pay required.

© 2016 A Bit of Brie/Anitabrie