All seated at Gwin's table, a spring bounty of baked ham, topped with pineapple slices, scalloped potatoes, green beans - canned last year - and a bowl of early lettuce, they all joined hands, while Brian led them in prayer. Not a long one, of course, but for-real thanks to the Lord, for His generous provision - for having enough to eat, and living in areas, safe enough to venture outside to your mailbox, even after dark.
"And Lord, we pray for the continuing healing of both Your nations."
Oopps, that last part didn't go too well. From the other end of the table, Brian's eyes were met with a cold stony stare. Those stony eyes, belonged to the man clad in a long-sleeved flannel shirt - his brother, Glen.
But still, the prayer - ALL of it - needed prayed - and the one certain nation needed to learn to mind it's own business...i.e., bring the rest of - what's left, that is - of their troops, back home.
The last years? Bad! But that's bound fo happen, when sent to meddle on turf which is not ones own. Reason Two for the high fatality count? The climate. Brutal! Reason Number Three - which anyone with an iq of 80 could explain - is, in reality, Reason Number One ... well, Reader, we won't go there.
Gwin's prayer had included that ongoing unspoken request: that Brian and his family would get out of that crampy apartment and come home to live - atleast for awhile ... wasn't like there was lack of room. But, we know the drill: Pride. And yeah, there was an element of self serving on Gwin's part.
Mainly loneliness - and that would only intensify, come retirement. The wednesday before the last ... suffice to say, going up the street for a sandwich, was becoming risky behavior Not an hour later, the store clerk had left his job early - in the back of an ambulance.
Gwin and Shelby cleared the table. The plate of ham nearly empty, as with the potatoes. The bowls, containing the beans and lettuce had been scraped empty. As coffee brewed, both women washed the dishes, and set them to dry on a large rack. (Yeah, Gwin was probably one of three people in the tri-county area who didn't own a dishwasher. She didn't want one, either.) Anyway, took the two women, what? Fifteen minutes?
"Needed to work it off." Shell quipped, reaching in the drawer for a dry towel.
A queried look crossed her mother-in-law's face.
Shelby leaned in, and whispered: "I'm putting on pounds." She shook her head.
"Well, you'd better be!" Gwin whispered back.
"HEY, HEY, HEY!" Shelby called to her daughter, who was fascinated with a lump of mud-encrusted quartz, and wanted to detail her find. "Outside with that!" Shelby dried her hands, and headed outside to check on her kids - ugh, from one minute to the next...
A few moments later, Gwin set a plate, containing, maybe a third of a lemon-cake, which Shelby had brought over, along with a cheese ball and some crackers, adding, "Sorry i couldn't make that batch of..."
"Yeah, I hear ya!" Shelby rolled her eyes and added, in a low voice - so flannel-meister wouldn't hear, "stupid war." Truth told, just being around Glen for any length of time, made Shelby uneasy. Would he ever come to a place where he would just. move. on. - and realize the Department of Defense did her brother-in-law a big favor, getting him OFF the battle-field, and away from the whole thing entirely.
How many russian soldiers did he kill, during that certain fiasco? She didn't want to know. But she knew enough to know, he very much wanted to go back over there, and kill a few more.
Well, it's about time to fire up the time machine.
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