Angel among us |

Angel among us

The trip to Reno looks promising. Trouble is, I plan too many stops. We stop at the bank, Walmart, Costco, Mill Ends and Orllyene’s eye surgeon, Dr. Komadina. By the time we get to Whole Foods it’s pouring rain and I’m bushed. “Would you get us some munchies, sweetheart?” Orllyene asks. Good idea, it’ll make the trip home something to look forward to. I find barbecue-flavored potato chips and swing over to the bakery. I parade up and down in front of the tempting pastries. After a second pass past the pastries I’m not in the mood anymore. I decide to do the manly thing, get back in the car, and drive home. At that precise moment a female voice behind me asks “Can I help you?” I turn around to see a smiling employee. I have no idea what I want. “Do you have any donuts?” We walk over to a glass case. I spy an unimaginably distasteful looking donut. “What are those, next to the donut?” I ask. “They are blueberry scones. Would you like one?” My spirits ripple to life, and the kind lady searches through all of them to find the best one. Without thinking, I say “I am so glad I met you,” and she immediately says, “Well, I’m glad I met you too.”

I race to the car, tear into my scone, and moments later Orllyene and I are munching happily along I-80.

For several days, I ponder my encounter at Whole Foods. I truly believe the kind lady was an angel. I was in a slump and needed help and that’s what angels do — they come to our aid when we need help. Orllyene had her “munchies” and I was about to give up my treat, pout, and feel sorry for myself. And even though she didn’t have wings, she was there when I needed her. And another thing — suppose I’d piteously said “Oh, it’s all right, I’m just looking,” or “No thanks, I’ll be fine,” then what would have happened? Simple, I would have gone home “scone-less,” and the trip back to Smith Valley would have been miserable.

From what I’ve just said, don’t get the idea that I believe all angels are female. The other day during dance class I was jabbering to Jack’s wife Karen about the heater on our venerable Lincoln, which has gone kerflooey. We’ve been freezing for months. Later that afternoon, I get a call and I hear Jack’s voice. “It’s Jack. I hear your heater is out. If you want, bring it over, I’ll have a look.” I take it over — at 7:30 that evening, another call. “It’s Jack, I’ve got your entire dashboard and steering wheel torn out and sitting on the front seat. Give me a little time.” Two days later, another call. It’s Jack. “You can come and pick up your car.” So instead of costing $600-$700, he hands me a receipt for a $51.70 auto part.

My final angel verification story: Fifty-five years ago this Friday, Orllyene graciously agreed to marry me. Yes, I definitely believe in angels.

Ron Walker lives in Smith Valley. He can be reached at