“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 is to take a trip. Some people call it a “walkabout”, some call it a personal retreat, and some call it getting out of your comfort zone. I don’t care what you call it, just take a few days, Phil, and find out what ‘Know, Free and Be’ means to you. Let the card be your guide.”
“That’s it?” quipped Phil. “ ‘Know – Free – Be’ is the secret to success?” He set the card down and stood up. “Mrs. Gumby, I want to thank you for a wonderful meal tonight. I really needed to get out of the house. I lost my job a few weeks ago, and I’m struggling with what to do next. When you started talking about your son, I was really hoping to find some answers, but I have to tell you this is just a little over-the-top for me. I have an interview in a few days for a bookkeeping job, and I think I can get it. Taking a trip would not be possible anyway.”
“I see,” said Mrs. Gumby. “This bookkeeping job, is this something you really want to do?”
“Hell no!” Phil caught himself, too late. “I’m sorry. No, it’s not something I really want to do, but I’ve got to do something!” He shook his head and shrugged.
“Well, if you’ve got to do something, why not do what you want? ” she countered. “Look, Phil, all I know is my son is doing what he wants to do every single day because he took a chance. He discovered things about himself that he simply didn’t know before he took his trip. He was asleep, Phil! He was asleep in this world, just floating down the ‘river of life,’ going wherever the current took him and not where he wanted to go! Shoot, he didn’t even know where he wanted to go! He bounced from job to job, not because of anything he did wrong, but because that’s where the river was going!” Mrs. Gumby’s eyes sparkled, and her face flushed with color as she worked to compose herself. “So, I say to you, Phil, are you just going to keep floating down that river, drifting aimlessly wherever the river takes you, or are you ready to pick up your paddle?”
Her question hung in the air. Not knowing how to respond, Phil shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, Mrs. Gumby, I just don’t know.” He stood up and walked to the edge of the porch, looking out at the evening sky. He spoke softly, more to himself than Mrs. Gumby, “Why does life seem so hard for me these days? I wish it were like the old days.”
Mrs. Gumby stood up and joined him, “What do you mean, ‘the old days’?”
Phil glanced up at her question. “Oh nothing, Mrs. Gumby, I was just thinking about my life years ago when things just seemed, you know, easier.” Phil turned back toward the sunset again, his eyes far away. “It seems like I was a different person back then. Even my name was different.” Phil sighed.
“What did they call you?” the old woman asked gently.
“It’s not important. It was just an old nickname.” Phil shook his head.
“What was it, Phil?” Mrs. Gumby persisted.
Phil sighed again before replying. “Kingfish, they called me Kingfish.” Phil gazed into the evening sky, his eyes unfocused for a moment as he remembered