He is eating me out of house and home!” cried Murray as he opened up Stumpy’s cupboards. “And he’s been here only three hours!”
Murray peered inside a Roy Rogers sippy cup.
“Don’t you eat anything besides nuts?” Murray said.
“I love nuts,” said Stumpy.
“I’m going nuts!” wailed Murray.
He looked inside a little red pencil box Stumpy had found by the children’s picnic tables.
“Ooh!” he said. “Raisins. I love raisins.”
Murray stuffed a footful of raisins into his mouth.
He swallowed.
“ ‘If you can dream it, you can do it!’ ” Murray said.
“Do what?” asked Stumpy.
“I don’t know!” cried Murray. “Ask my crazy brother! He says it all the time!”
“Murray,” said Stumpy. “It’s been only three hours. Three hours is not ‘all the time.’ ”
“Time,” said Murray. “Do you know what Morton says about time?”
“What?” asked Stumpy.
“He says time is an illusion,” said Murray. “I don’t even know what ‘illusion’ means. I think maybe it has something to do with those health-food cookies.”
“ ‘Illusion’ means something that seems to be real but is not real,” said Stumpy.
“I was close,” said Murray. “Anyway, I can tell you that three hours with my long-lost brother is really making me lose my mind! Not to mention that I’m eating all your raisins.”
“Surely he’s not that bad,” said Stumpy. “And he’s supposed to say things that motivate. That’s his job.”
“He sure does motivate me,” said Murray. “He is motivating me to move to Florida.”
Suddenly there was a knock at Stumpy’s door.
“Anyone home?” someone called.
“Shhh,” said Murray.
“Yes! Yes, come in, Morton!” said Stumpy. “So nice to meet you!”
Stumpy could see the family resemblance in Murray and Morton. Morton was older and a little balding, but the big brown eyes were just the same.
Stumpy invited Morton to stay for a snack. She put together a nice plate of walnuts and raisins for them all and then asked Morton to tell her a bit about himself.
“Well,” said Morton, “my journey began with a single step.”
Murray rolled his eyes.
“And as I have always said,” Morton continued, “if you can dream it, you—”
“Can do it!” finished Murray. “Which is what is happening right now. I am dreaming I can leave and I am doing it!”
Murray flew out the door.
“See you later!” he called.
Stumpy smiled at Morton.
“You were saying?” she said, passing him the plate of food.
Morton smiled and reached for another raisin.
“It all began at a Zen retreat in Half Moon Bay,” Morton began. “I was searching for answers, and in time I discovered that the answers were already within me.”
“Oh, I know just what you mean,” said Stumpy. “Gwendolyn calls it divine wisdom. She has a lot of it.”
“And who is Gwendolyn?” asked Morton, as had so many others before him. It seemed that all roads led to Gwendolyn.
“Well, I’ll tell you—” said Stumpy.
“First,” Morton interrupted, “have you any blueberries? Or maybe melon? Apples? If the answer is no, then that is perfectly fine. We must be at peace with what is. But if there is any fruit at hand, that would be stellar.”
“No,” said Stumpy, shaking her head. “So sorry. Just nuts. And raisins. I found the raisins in a pencil box a little boy left in the park. The blueberries, raspberries—everything we love to eat in summer—are not here this year. It is the drought, you know.”
Suddenly Stumpy felt very sad. She felt quite close to tears.
“Oh my,” said Morton. “I am an oaf.”
“Oh, no,” said Stumpy. “Not at all. You’ve only just flown in. You could not know how it has been.”
Something in Stumpy’s face was so honest and so heartfelt that Morton could not help asking:
“And how has it been?”
Stumpy took a deep breath.
Then she said, “I will tell you what drought is. Drought is worry. It is worry above all else. And we mothers, we worry most of all. The streams dry up, and then the creeks, and then even parts of the river. Do you know how many soda cans are at the bottom of the river? I didn’t, until the water dried up.
“The plants die. And everyone who can travel begins to leave. I can’t tell you how many hummingbirds I know who’ve flown to Canada. So many good-byes.
“And there’s so much dust. It affects the children. The baby chipmunks cough as often as the little girls and boys who sit beneath the shade trees with their mothers. The ground is all dust, the wind blows, and babies cough.
“And mothers worry about food. Even nuts can rot in the heat. But those whose children depend on berries and juicy green leaves and those perfect, round little crab apples that always grew in the orchards on the north side . . . They are afraid the food will be gone. It is not yet all gone. But they worry.”
Morton nodded sympathetically. Morton had always been a good listener.
“But thirst, Morton, that is the immediate threat,” continued Stumpy. “Thirst. Gooseberry Creek has dried up, and we have so many new babies in the park who are quite fragile. We also have the elderly—the ancient skunks and gophers who move so slowly, and the older pigeons who can hardly fly at all. They, too, are quite fragile.
“Drought is worry, Morton,” said Stumpy. “Even for Murray. I have seen him sneak away with cups of ice he found on cafe tables and bring them to my children to make sure they are all right.”
Stumpy paused. Then she began to lighten.
“But now, Morton, there has come a new ray of hope,” she said.
“Gwendolyn?” Morton asked instinctively.
Stumpy smiled.
“Gwendolyn is part of the hope. But there are also others. Others who are making a plan to help.”
“And how may I help?” Morton asked.
And although he did not yet know it, in that moment Morton became a volunteer. A volunteer motivational speaker.
They were all certainly going to need one.