Comfortably sitting around Amy’s table on Thursday afternoons this fall, chatting away about life, sharing stories, and whatever, has helped me. Grounded me. Given me strength in this unsettling time.
The six of us carrying on as always. Never at a loss for words. Several little conversations often occurring like rapid fire around the table. Frustrations being released and absorbed with an intensity reminding me of Dr. Doolittle’s Pushmi-Pullyu. I appreciate this familiar routine packed with honesty, friendship, laughter and, sometimes, tears - soothing my fears for the couple hours.
On our most recent get-together, Amy, who always likes to push our creative brains a bit, raised her voice to get our attention and said, “Hey, guys, I have an idea!”
There was a quiet pause as heads turned in her direction.
She went on, “I have something for us to think about. Here goes. What would you do if –if you found an unusual - or ancient - coin on the edge of a riverbank, say, or somewhere, that had magical powers? What would you do with the coin?”
Kristi, on my right, a mother and grandmother, like me, immediately leaned over and whispered to me, “Just like Sylvester and the Magic Pebble.”
“Yeah”, I said with a weird smile, “We know how that worked out!” thinking back to William Steig’s beloved children’s book read many times to my kids and grands. “Quite a lesson there,” I continued. Kristi nodded.
We all thought about Amy’s question for a minute. A rare silence ensued as we pondered on possessing such a coin. Such power. Someone, then, broke through the quiet and said, “Sorry but I gotta go,” quickly proposing thinking about this question more and further discussing it next Thursday.
Looking at our watches, we confirmed it was time to go. With that, chairs were pushed back, coffee cups placed in the sink and coats put on. The usual course of things. Everyone seemed in agreement to pick it up again next week.
I have thought, probably too much, on Amy’s question this past week, struggling to come up with a whimsical response. I find the thought of this coin – the power - in the wrong hands frightening. Too close to home. Perhaps it already has happened.
But, maybe, now that I think about it, I might be willing to give it a shot. This Tuesday I will rub the coin furiously until my fingers are raw while whispering repeatedly “Please give this magical power to THE PEOPLE. WE, THE PEOPLE. To preserve our democracy, our America, for forever and a day. Please.”
I will then immediately melt the coin, pray a lot, sleep a little better, and be at Amy’s table next week.
Above: My grandfather’s silver dollar that, as an adult, he carried in his pocket every day. He was born in 1901 and died in 1985. Then his wife wore it around her neck until she died in 1999 at age 98. My dad then wore it until his death in 2003. It was passed on to me to wear. The coin has been rubbed by many hands.