Treasures in a Tape Box

Years ago, as I stood in line in the cold at our camp on the outskirts of Kiev, I noticed that my fellow standees lacked the same impatient, shuffling attitude as I was displaying in painfully obvious fashion. So, I commented to a friend that Ukrainians are very patient people. Lena replied that it came from years of practice. Bread lines, metro lines, coupon lines, the ex-Soviets know how to entertain themselves in a line. In fact, one of the first phrases I learned in Russian was, "Everybody form two lines, please!" I'd like to send some of the recipients of free groceries at our Food Pantry back in time to Moscow circa 1964, just for a day or two. Each Tuesday, Wildwood gives out free groceries to people who need them in their Fellowship Hall. Each person signs in, waits in line, counselors pray with them, and they receive a bag of groceries and anything else that they might like or need. Most of our regulars are absolutely wonderful and they light up my life, but much like the licorice variety in a bag of jelly beans, there are always the few that you wish had been discontinued years ago. However, unlike the licorice variety in a bag of jelly beans, our not-so-pleasant guests can occasionally cause me to burst into tears.

Such was this past Tuesday, as I had the misfortune of crossing Mrs. Coleman on a particularly bad day. However, all was not lost. Our director saved me from an entire emotional breakdown in the middle of a hundred people and gave me the non-people (and thus, wonderful) task of typing up prayer requests in the back closet. Typing can be quite therapeutic. So can Ailia Taylor, whose five short years of living in this world have given her ample knowledge to pass the most rigorous counseling examination.

I squeezed into the back room and leaned my arms against two large paper boxes in the corner so that I would be able to reach the mouse and the keyboard. The back closet holds treasures such as shampoo, vitamins, coloring books, disability applications and missing volunteers' nametags. I'd imagine I could survive in there for quite some time if I wasn't claustrophobic. After I typed up the first couple folders, I heard a knock coming from about two feet above the floor.

"Hold on, Sweetie. Let me tie this polar bear up. It's almost his dinner time."

"Miz Calyn, you're silly. Open the door."

"No, I'm serious, Ailia. He's very fond of little girls. He's been cooking side dishes all day."

She finally got bored and pushed open the door just enough for her to squeeze in with a large briefcase that looked like it had been passed down at least four times. In the closet, there is really only room for one person to stand, so I set Ailia on the counter and had her hold folders for me.

"Where'd you get that briefcase, Ailia?"

"On the table by the stage."

"What's inside?"

Ailia carefully opened her beloved briefcase. Almost expecting there to be a million dollars inside, as I'm sure I'd seen that briefcase in at least half a dozen movies, instead, there were 16 tapes of famous classical musicians. From Bach to Wagner, each had a picture of the composer and "sixty minutes of the most satisfying classical pieces from their libraries." Ailia carefully arranged and rearranged each tape by the attractiveness of the composer and then by the color of the tape box.

"Miz Calyn," she said, "Do you have a boyfrien?"

"No," I replied. "Not yet."

Ailiah looked disappointed. "Oh, that's very sad. Why you don't have a boyfrien?"

"Well," I had to think. "I suppose because he hasn't found me yet."

I watched as my young therapist's face turned from utterly conflicted to perfectly clear. "I can find you a boyfrien."

"Alright, Ailia, you just let me know when you find him."

I hoped our therapy session was over and that we could move on to talking about much more exciting things, such as the status of Mrs. Coleman's yelling rampage, but instead I watched as Ailia carefully studied the faces on her tapes. Beethoven and Hayden were set aside and Mendolssen and Handel were looked over. Finally Ailia stopped at Dvorak.

"Here you go, Miz Calyn. You can marry this guy."



"He's a very good choice, Ailia, but I think he's a little bit old for me."

Ailia rolled her eyes. Clearly, someone as inept as me in finding my other half could not possibly know who was in my best interests. And so I laughed and promised to keep my eyes peeled for a little Czech man with a funny mustache. I found myself humming bits of the 9th symphony as I headed out.