Four Angels and a Cigar – Part 3

As Paul Harvey would say:  ‘And now, here’s the rest of the story’…

One of the (hopefully temporary) setbacks of these bizarre syndromes is having to be grounded from driving out-of-town.  It started as a self-imposed setback, after making a 4 hr trip that was a struggle, I came home and told my husband that was the end.  I feel safe driving in town – I’m driving slow enough that if I were hit with a dizzy attack I can quick slow down and pull over to a stop.  But driving 55+ is too much – especially for a long period of time.  It’s now Doctor ordered.  I have to go 6 months without a dizzy spell before I can drive out-of-town again.  I’m up to 2 days without one – whoohoo!  Most of the time it doesn’t bother me – trust me it’s better than the awful feeling knowing I’m driving too much and feeling ‘out of it’ – but there sure are days I’d just like to jump in a car and go to something without asking for someone else to drive me.

Sigh.

This last bit of background information brings us…finally…to the story of the Four Angels and a Cigar:

With all of this going on, I’ve had many a talk with Mom and Dad (who are in Heaven), asking them to help me through all of this, wondering if Mom had some of this same stuff and it just never got diagnosed, and feeling their presence here and there.  Here’s are a few moments where it felt like they provided some ‘divine intervention’.

I had one daughter at a track meet in a town one hour away and another being honored at an art opening just ten minutes past that town.  And I had a husband who couldn’t go.  What did I do?  I put a plea out on Facebook for anyone who might be driving that way.  Yes, I was desperate.  I didn’t want to miss my daughter Sam’s art opening…and if I could steal enough time to watch Gabi’s race that would be great too!

I had one offer…from Angel #1…my friend Sheila.  Now, unbeknownst to me, she didn’t like to drive out of town…I found this out after the trip.

So off we went…

We made it as far as a little town 30 minutes away.  As we were driving through town, I spotted an old metal – double seated outside swing, just like my Mom and Dad once had.

Needless to say I asked Sheila to drive around the block so I could see how much it was.  Being the good friend she was, she not only obliged, but jumped out of the car to run across the street to see how much it was.  No price.  After a quick discussion, she ran into the store to ask about it only to find that a business owner from down the street had just purchased it.  The woman suggested we go and see if he’d sell it to us….more discussion between Sheila and I…and in we went.  Well, the man had since gone on an errand so I left him a note.

OK, yes, I was gushing about how I’ve been looking for one of these since my parents died…and please, please, please could I buy it from him…(I even offered to pay lots more)…I left him a note!  With that note written, we went on with our trip.

We made it to the track in time to watch Gabi race – she did a great job!

Then on to the art opening…

I knew this would be a teary occasion for me.

Sam had heard that Mesabi Range College-Eveleth Campus was looking for art.  She contacted them and asked what they were looking for and they indicated they wanted a piece of art that reflected mining, which is a tremendous part of our history here…iron ore mining to be more exact.

The particular piece of art that she did was a charcoal drawing of my Dad from his mining days.  She submitted a picture of the piece and the college purchased it.  When I dropped it off for her last year, I cried.  My Dad died 8 years ago and this drawing was such a sweet reminder of when he was younger.  Thus I call Samantha Angel #3 in this story.

We took the tour, found her piece and took the proper pictures (misty eyed and proud).  This was her first sale!

(Gabi, me and the Artist; Samantha (on the right))

Then Sam walked us back to Sheila’s car.

I looked down as we got by my door and what I saw made me catch my breath.  There, right on the parking lot, was the remains of a Muriel Air Tip Cigar…which my Dad smoked for many years.

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On a side note:  I have some fond, funny memories of that same type of cigar hanging out of my Dad’s mouth as he drove our boat back into the dock on a very windy and very rainy day…on a very big lake.  The cigar was limp from all the rain and we were laying in the bottom of the boat praying that we’d get in safely among the 3-4 foot waves.

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Since I hadn’t seen a Muriel Air Tip Cigar since Dad stopped smoking them (maybe 15 years ago) and Dad has been in Heaven for almost 9 years now, I knew this was a sign.

Dad (Angel #3) was with us.

Sam and I hugged each other and cried.

Angel #4 called a few days later.  It was the business owner who had purchased the metal swing telling me that he hadn’t paid for it yet and I was more than welcome to go and get it.

That, my friends brings us to our last post…part 4…just a little extra story about living with illness, moving on, and finding project that make your heart happy.

Patty O