a pain in the ass!” he muttered to himself on the way to his car.
___
Phil sat on the couch with his feet propped up on a pillow, a bowl of cheese puffs next to him on the floor, forgotten. A daytime talk show blared on the television, and Phil groaned when the topic turned to dieting. He wore sweatpants and an old football jersey, his face covered in shaggy whiskers, a baseball cap covering his unwashed hair. Pizza boxes and Chinese take-out cartons littered the coffee table.
He was disappointed he hadn’t heard from anyone at work, and wondered what kind of friends would abandon him in his time of need. The doorbell startled him out of his pitiful musings, and he pressed the “mute” button as he got up. Glancing in the mirror, he thought twice about answering the door, and then shrugged. Phil opened the door and raised his eyebrows at Mrs. Gumby and her little rat-dog.
“Good Afternoon Mr. Fish,” said Mrs. Gumby.
“Uh – hello.” said Phil, at a loss for words.
“I was wondering if you had time to help me with a small problem,” she continued without waiting for a response, “You see, my son always changes the filters on my air conditioner on the tenth day of each summer month, which, of course, is May through August. He also changes them every other month during -”
“OK, I get it, Mrs. Gumby, you want me to come change your filter!”
“Yes, thank you!” Mrs. Gumby’s eyes sparkled as she smiled. “My son is so busy with his new project - I’m afraid it will be another week before he can come by. I just thought that if you were - ”
“Sure, Mrs. Gumby, I’ll be over in a little while.”
“Oh, and if you haven’t had dinner, I’ve got a roast beef in the oven as well. I’d love to have you join me!”
“Well…um…ok,” Phil was unsure how to decline the unexpected invitation. “I’ll be over shortly.” He closed the door and peeked out the window, watching her walk away.
He sighed as he headed up the stairs for a shower. “This is all I need! No friggin’ job, and now I’ve got to play “Bob Vila” for some crazy woman with a rat for a dog! Who the hell keeps up with the date to change out AC filters?”
An hour later, Phil found himself standing on Mrs. Gumby’s front porch. It was the first time he had ever stepped onto her property. He had driven by her house almost every day for over ten years, but had never bothered to pay her a visit. Mrs. Gumby greeted him at the door, her little dog circling her feet like a satellite orbiting the earth. Entering the house, Phil was surprised to see the living room walls covered from floor to ceiling with dozens of oversized oil paintings. Mrs. Gumby excused herself to the kitchen and encouraged Phil to make himself at home while she finished preparing dinner. “Rambo will jump in your lap if you let him,” she warned.
“Rambo?” Phil mumbled to himself, glancing at the tiny dog. “She named this five-pound rat Rambo?” He shook his head and shrugged, turning his attention to the paintings lining the walls. “These painting are amazing!” he exclaimed loudly. “Where did you get them?”
Mrs. Gumby responded as she came from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. “Well, they’re actually all from the same artist, and -” A timer beeped in the kitchen, cutting her off. “Oh, excuse me, I need to get the roast out of the oven!”
Soon they were at the table enjoying the best meal Phil had eaten in years. “This is great!” said Phil, shoveling a mouthful of succulent roast beef into his mouth. Phil recognized the china as Blue Willow. His mother collected Blue Willow china, and had left him several settings when she died. He had never unpacked them.
“Thank you!” Mrs. Gumby smiled. “How about another slice of roast beef?”
“I would love some!” said Phil, extending his empty plate.
“I also have cheesecake with strawberries for dessert - if you like.” Phil had already filled his mouth, but nodded a hearty affirmative.
They ate the meal in relative silence, occasionally filling the gaps with awkward small talk.
“After my meals, I like to sit on the front porch and enjoy the evening breeze. Would you care to join me?” invited Mrs. Gumby.
Phil shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”
Mrs. Gumby walked toward the front porch, Rambo close on her heels, and Phil bringing up the rear. Leading them to a pair of wicker rocking chairs, she motioned Phil to sit in the closest one. Rambo leapt into Mrs. Gumby’s lap, circling twice before settling down, resting his head on her arm. She stroked the little dog for a moment before she spoke. “If you don’t mind me saying, Phil, you remind me so much of my son. He ran into a rough patch a few years ago, and had to work himself out of it. His wife left him and then he lost his job. Things were not good for him, and he was always feeling sorry for himself. You might say he lost his passion for living.”
Phil crossed his arms, resenting the comparison. “I’m really sorry to hear about your son,” he said, wondering where she was headed.
“Sorry?” Mrs. Gumby looked up, surprised. “Oh my! No need to be sorry! He’s doing great now!”
“Really?” Phil glanced at her from the corner of his eye. “What changed?”
“Well, it’s kind of a crazy story! He was visiting an old friend who gave him a small card bearing a few words of wisdom.”
“A card?” Phil raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, it was a memento that had been passed down for years through his friend’s family.”
“How could a card change your son’s life?”
“You know what, I think I still have the card upstairs. You just sit right there and I’ll go get it!” Mrs. Gumby jumped up, winking at Phil.
Phil watched Rambo prance proudly after his mistress as she left the room, and couldn’t help smiling.
A few moments later, the two reappeared. “Here you go!” she beamed as she handed Phil the card. Phil took the old battered card from Mrs. Gumby and started to read.
He turned the card over:
Shrugging, he glanced at Mrs. Gumby, perched expectantly on the edge of her chair. Resisting the urge to hand the card back to her, he read it again.
Phil raised an eyebrow. “I don’t get it. What does it mean?”
“I think you have to figure that out for yourself,” she replied solemnly. “According to the story my son told me, this little card has done quite a bit for many people through the years, but the formula is always a little different.
“When people hit a wall – or lose their way, they need to shake things up. They need to expand their horizons and expose themselves to new ideas, new people, and new environments. The best way I know to do that
