I was not sleeping, whatever she may say… I was meditating. An expert tells me that this is the position of receptivity , so I thought I’d try and see.
Or, maybe, I was just making a wish. I’ve had them come true, you know… like the times she has left the fridge or food cupboard open, or turned her back on her dinner… Simple things, in the grand scheme, but they made this small dog’s day…
And at least you can tell what I’m doing, unlike some two-legses who are wearing shades in the house… and in winter too. I won’t tell her she looks silly… ’cause I am really wishing she’ll be better soon and my walks can get back to normal. None of this ‘just a quick one then’ business.
Still, with Christmas just days away and early at our place this year, there should be something to cheer her up soon! Wonder if they’ll take me adventuring again if I promise not to eat the leash this time?
I had a story sent to me for the calendar about wishes, so I’m going to take that as a good omen…
Just A Little Miracle
Phyllis Staton Campbell
It was Christmas, 1959. For me the world was moving forward to that joyous yet frightening time between high school and college. I was moving from the known world of the School for the Blind with its small classes, well known campus and the convenience of braille books to large classes, an unfamiliar campus, not geared to such accommodations as braille text books. It was the last Christmas I would take part in the Christmas concert with my peers; the last Christmas dance with the boy I’d been dating, the last time for so many things.
Next year I wouldn’t be living in Staunton, so it was the last year I’d step off the Trail Way bus to be met by my sister, Fay, and my four-year-old niece, Pam. I’d spent school holidays with Fay, her husband, Bill, and Pam, since my mother’s death.
“What’s Santa bringing?” I asked as Pam settled herself on my lap, later that afternoon.
“A cat,” came the prompt reply.
“Now, Pam,” Fay said from where she was rolling out cookie dough. “We’ve told you that you aren’t getting a cat!”
“But I am,” and there was no arguing if the assurance in her voice could be believed. But you didn’t argue with sister Fay.
“We’ve explained that this is not the right time of year for kittens. Now tell Phyl what you’re going to get,” and she decisively banged the oven door.
“A cat,” came the prompt reply. “I’ve asked God, and I’ve asked Santa, and I’m going to get a cat.”
By that time I was laughing helplessly, but at the same time, thinking about how disappointed she would be. She was an only child, and from my own experience, as a child, much younger than my sisters and brother, I knew how much that something her very own to love, even share secrets with, would mean.
It was almost dark when I heard the cry. “Phyl, Phyl, come, come, Phyl!”
“I don’t believe this,” came Fay’s only slightly less excited exclamation.
“What on earth–” I said turning from the piano where I’d been quietly playing Christmas carols.
“It’s my cat, Phyl, it’s my cat! It’s coming down the road!”
And a cat it was indeed. Definitely a stray from her appearance. We lived over a mile off the highway, and certainly in the time I’d lived there, we’d never had a stray cat, yet there she was, coming straight for the house, and straight through the open door.
Coincidence? Perhaps, but I like to think that some wise guiding presence had answered the desire of a child, granting her wish. Even now, when I’m faced with what seems like an impossibility, even a major change, I remember that Christmas Eve, the mysterious appearance of more than a rather scruffy cat, but proof that even the smallest need is granted, it only takes faith, and especially at Christmas.
About the author
Phyllis Staton Campbell, who was born blind, writes about the world she knows best. She calls on her experience as teacher of the blind, peer counselor and youth transition coordinator. She says that she lives the lives of her characters: lives of sorrow and joy; triumph and failure; hope and despair. That she and her characters sometimes see the world in a different way, adds depth to the story. She sees color in the warmth of the sun on her face, the smell of rain, the call of a cardinal, and God, in a rainbow of love and grace.
Although she was born in Amherst County, Virginia, she has lived most of her life in Staunton, Virginia, where she serves as organist at historic Faith Lutheran church, not far from the home she shared with her husband, Chuck, who waits beyond that door called death.
Find and Follow Phyllis
Books by Phyllis Campbell
Available via Amazon or Smashwords in paper and electronic formats, including plain text and RTF can be read on the PC using your screen-reader, with Victor Stream, Book Sense etc, and on devices such as the Apex. Click the titles to go to Amazon.