referenced in the post below:
Well, you must understand that oftentimes, living with Zane meant playing the "Grasshopper" role from "Kung Fu."
He was a fastidious man, always neat and well-dressed, and always prepared for any contingency. Andrea and I were always needing some critical item when we were out and about, and he would always have it. Handkerchiefs, cash, change, nail clippers, Swiss Army knife (with tiny scissors, screwdriver, etc.), ink pen, paper, whatever. One day Andrea and I needed something, I don't remember what, and he reached into a pocket and pulled it out. We asked him, "How do you always have everything in the world right on hand?" he answered, in his "Confuscious" voice, "I am a man of many pockets." We laughed ourselves sick, to the chorus of our mother reminding us that by laughing we were "only encouraging him", and when it got quiet, he added, "And there is something in each of them."
It has remained a favorite refrain, all these years, whenever we want to convey personal depth, utmost competence, or mystery, to just smile at each other and say, with raised eyebrows, "I am a man of many pockets."
Zane did always remind us all, including his sons-in-law, that while we all might also be "men of many pockets," we had years of learning ahead of us before all of our pockets would be filled, as his were.
This is the stage I am getting to now in my grieving process...I miss him oh so much, and still hurt without him--but in his absence, I, more than ever, want to become a "man of many pockets...with something in each of them."
What starts as the silliest of jests can develop such deep meaning...and vice-versa, I suppose. God is letting life teach me...and filling my "pockets."