dusting off the golden rule

The following were from my fsilm, via email, naturally.

Real-life stories

1. Today, when I slipped on the wet tile floor, a boy in a wheelchair caught me before I slammed my head on the ground. He said, 'Believe it or not, that's almost exactly how I injured my back 3 years ago.'

2. Today, my father told me, 'Just go for it and give it a try! You don't have to be a professional to build a successful product. Amateurs started Google and Apple. Professionals built the Titanic.'

3. Today, I asked my mentor, a very successful business man in his 70's, what his top tips are for success. He smiled and said, 'Read something no one else is reading, think something no one else is thinking, and do something no one else is doing.'

4. Today, I interviewed my grandmother for part of a research paper I'm working on for my Psychology class. When I asked her to define success in her own words, she said, 'Success is when you look back at your life and the memories make you smile.'

5. I am blind by birth. When I was 8 years old, I wanted to play baseball. I asked my father, 'Dad, can I play baseball?' He said, 'You'll never know until you try.' When I was a teenager, I asked him, 'Dad can I become a surgeon?' He replied, 'Son, you'll never know until you try.' Today, after my own successful sight restoration surgery, I am a surgeon, just because I tried!

6. Today, after a 72-hour shift at the fire station, a woman ran up to me at the grocery store and gave me a hug. When I tensed up, she realized I didn't recognize her. She let go with tears of joy in her eyes and the most sincere smile and said, 'On 9-11-2001, you carried me out of the World Trade Center.'

7. Today, after I watched my dog get run over by a car, I sat on the side of the road holding him and crying. And just before he died, he licked the tears off my face.

8. Today at 7 AM, I woke up feeling ill, but decided I needed the money, so I went into work. At 3 PM I got laid off. On my drive home I got a flat tire. When I went into the trunk for the spare, it was flat, too. A man in a BMW pulled over, gave me a ride, we chatted, and then he offered me a job. I start tomorrow.

9. Today, as my father, three brothers, and two sisters stood around my mother's hospital bed, my mother uttered her last coherent words before she died. She simply said, 'I feel so loved right now.'
We should have gotten together like this more often.

10. Today, I kissed my dad on the forehead as he passed away in a small hospital bed. About 5 seconds after he passed, I realized it was the first time I had given him a kiss since I was a little boy.

11. Today, in the cutest voice, my 8-year-old daughter asked me to start recycling. I chuckled and asked, 'Why?' She replied, 'So you can help me save the planet.' I chuckled again and asked, 'And why do you want to save the planet?' 'Because that's where I keep all my stuff,' she said.

12. Today, when I witnessed a 27-year-old breast cancer patient laughing hysterically at her 2-year-old daughter's antics, I suddenly realized that I need to stop complaining about my life and start celebrating it again.

12. Today, a boy in a wheelchair saw me desperately struggling on crutches with my broken leg and offered to carry my backpack and books for me. He helped me all the way across campus to my class and as he was leaving he said, 'I hope you feel better soon.'

13. Today, I was traveling in Kenya and I met a refugee from Zimbabwe. He said he hadn't eaten anything in over 3 days and looked extremely skinny and unhealthy. Then my friend offered him the rest of the sandwich he was eating. The first thing the man said was, 'We can share it.'


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I don't know if any of the above are true or even what sources were used for the quotes.
I do know that I like the messages about loss adjustment.

there will come a day, youth will pass away, what'll they say about me?

Last Cab Ride

I arrived at the address and honked the horn.
After waiting a few minutes I honked again.
Since this was going to be my last ride of my shift I thought about just driving away, but instead I put the car in park and walked up to the door and knocked.

'Just a minute', answered a frail, elderly voice.

I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 90's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie.
By her side was a small nylon suitcase.

The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

'Would you carry my bag out to the car?' she asked softly.

I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.
She kept thanking me for my kindness.

'It's nothing,' I told her. 'I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother to be treated.'

'Oh, you're such a good boy,' she said.

When we got in the cab, she gave me an address and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'

'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.

'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice.'

I looked in the rear-view mirror.
Her eyes were glistening.

'I don't have any family left,' she continued in a soft voice.'The doctor says I don't have very long.'

I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.

'What route would you like me to take?' I asked.

For the next two hours, we drove through the city.
She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator.
We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.
She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.
Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, 'I'm tired. Let's go now.'

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.
It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico.
Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door.
The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.

'How much do I owe you?' She asked, reaching into her purse.

'Nothing,' I said.

'You have to make a living,' she answered.

'There are other passengers,' I responded.

Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug.
She held onto me tightly.

'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said.
'Thank you.'

I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.

Behind me, a door shut.
It was the sound of the closing of a life.

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift.
I drove aimlessly, lost in thought.
For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk.
What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life.

We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware - beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID ~BUT~ THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Coincidence that this cab driver was the one who came for the old lady?
I'd like to think not.
This was a small miracle, adding a touch of grace to both lives.
Last night, for the first time in months, I went to a Philo Cafe meeting.
[Sidebar: I had attempted to go, on a rainy night, back in February. As I had told Hai, "Drats. I cannot find The Foundery. There is def a joke that could be made, but it's true. Drats."]
The topic, posed by a new entrant to the group, a new entrant who also happened to be in training for Episcopalian priesthood, was "A Post-Christian Society". This week's meeting, on a rainy night as luck would have it, was also at The Foundery, a place I now well-knew how to find (thanks, bfe!). The Foundery happens to be a coffee shop opened by someone at my church.
Coincidences abound!
Or, does it just seem that they do because I am attuned to look for them?
Perhaps.
The conversation took various turns. Comparisons of populations of people in Walmart and in churches on a Sunday morning led to similarity of beliefs and features of those at a particular church (which brought to my mind the rule about solubility: "like dissolves like"). That line of reasoning led to demographics and marketing studies, as conducted for national churches, as well as the growth of splinter churches to serve specific niche populations.
Finally, we philosophers turned to the teachings of Christ for guidance. Were we, as a society at large, trying to treat each other kinder, to minister to each other's needs, to do what we could where we could? Was the world a better place because of the example set by Christ and taught by his disciples?
I hope so.
I believe it is.
I try.

The cab driver certainly followed that path.
He had a choice in the matter and he chose the decision which benefitted a total stranger.
In the end, his choice also benefitted him.

I do hope that when I am an old lady, I will find someone like that.
Meanwhile, I try to step out of my head and into other's shoes.

una postal de Barcelona

A couple of weeks ago,
one of my gifted former students,
and current fb friends,
placed an invite in her status line:
to all who would like
a postcard from her
in Spain,
provide your address.
Of course I did so!

Today, when I returned from a nephew's 6th birthday celebration in Beaufort, Barcelona was in my mailbox.
Que bueno!
Even more so was the message on the card.

2.20.2014
Hello from Spain!
Have you ever been here?? If not, put it on your "TO DO ASAP" list. It's lovely... I'm sure they could use a good chemist. :)
Research this cathedral [Basilica de La Sagrada Familia] - it's made by a local named Gaudi. He died in the early 1920's but he was a genius. Everything had to balance each other out - not unlike a chemistry equation. Each piece works together carefully & beautifully.
I love that.
I hope you're thriving & taking good care of your students! Rest assured - you're a fun teacher! Learning under you was contagious. What I'm learning now is how important it is to travel & see the world.
Eat well & play hard.
p.s. I passed the NCLEX! I'm a nurse!
{><} Jill

Not only had she taken the time to make good on her invite to a travel postcard, she had taken the time to let me know her high regard for me.
Wow.
She's a really fabulously smart, beautiful, and good-hearted student - I am so pleased she is doing well and look forward to the next time our paths cross.

scars

I've taken to a new police show, mostly because it features that fellow from "My Name Is Earl" and because it's set in Memphis, a town I'd like to visit for several reasons. In tonight's episode, more than one character espouses the following aphorism: The scars of our youth never go away.
Well, OF COURSE the scars never go away! The only way to be rid of a scar is to involve a plastic surgeon and much money. That would result in removal of the scar, but hopefully not the lesson learned when the scar was obtained. Because THAT is the true measure of a scar: the very personal life lesson imparted at some point in one's own history.
That small one on my forehead, near the hairline? That was from chicken pox when I was just in my teens and my youngest brother shared the malady with me and my brothers. That lesson was don't mash facial bumps unless you KNOW what they are.
The faint line across the back of my left hand was the result of a burn obtained in the chow hall kitchen during service week in boot camp. Yeah, I should have checked the temperature of that rack near the rolling oven BEFORE I tried to push it out of the way.
The inch-long ovoid on my upper left arm? Well, that's the result of having a mole removed.. and removed... and removed. No, it didn't grow back; it just took that many swipes with a surgeon's blade to get down to skin free of abnormal cells. Wear sunscreen! It's not just for the fair-skinned.
The four little marks, midway down, on my right torso? Those are from the eviction of my gallbladder three years ago. The lesson there is know your family history. Both maternal AND paternal, because both have a hand in YOUR future medical aches and diseases. My father's sister had that same surgery, at about the same age as I did, but I didn't know because the family had lost touch with her. (Not any more!)
Scars remind us of foibles on our path to become the person we are today. Wear them with pride - they are the proof of your resiliency.

cleaning up

For the last few years, I had said that when I turned 50, I was going to learn how to play the drums. After I filed for divorce, when I was still six or seven months away from my 50th birthday, I needed SOMETHING as a distraction. A very good friend, who happens to teach music in a local middle school, decided to help me by scouring the ads for an affordable set.
Well, before a couple of weeks had passed, he'd found me some: the Black Hawk kit shown here, complete with three cymbals (with neat names like "Crash" and "Ride" and "Hi-Hat"). No snare drum, but he found one of those for me the next week. The drums and cymbals had been sitting in a garage for some few years (since the guy was in high school; his dad told him they had to go NOW). I spent some time taking them apart and cleaning them up, removing and trashing the mildewy pillows inside the bass (to muffle the sound for the neighbors), removing tarnish from the cymbals and shining them back up, using a bit of Superglue to re-attach some of the hardware. it was a bonding experience for me and the drums. Every once in a while, I'd even put on some Robbie Robertson and try to drum along!
After I got them in a serviceable condition, I bought a "learn the drums" dvd and set about finding my beat. Well, that was sure easier said than done! I was expecting something that would teach me when to hit which drum, when to add a little crash or ride, what part of the drumstick. No. The tutorial assumed I would just pick up on that, I guess.
I even attended a workshop/concert at a local music store, at my friend's invitation. The event featured Will Calhoun, the drummer of the the former, and now again touring, band Living Colour. He gave an incredible performance, amazing to hear AND to watch. WOW! I even bought his CD, Native Lands, which I'm listening to as I write. The sounds that man could make! Not just with drums and cymbals, but with other objects he had incorporated into his repertoire and converted into musical instruments. What an inspiration!
I was definitely inspired and set myself a schedule for practicing on my drums. Unfortunately, my inspiration didn't persist. I was still very unsure of just WHAT I was supposed to be doing. How to know which drum to hit??? How often? How to coordinate with the foot pedals on the bass and the Hi-Hat?
How to coordinate, indeed. I'm a bit of a klutz, as most anyone will confirm. Trying to get my feet and my hands to work at different speeds, on different items, in some synchronized manner... well, it just wasn't happening. I didn't have the patience to try to teach myself nor the funds to take lessons. And so the Black Hawk kit found itself being used as furniture: an end table here, a luggage rack there, a nightstand. The cymbals met a worse fate, sitting closed up in a closet to keep them out of the way.
No more. I had found them on Craig's List, and back to there I went to seek a new home for them. The first two contacts were a bust, but the third, as they say, was the charm. A young man was wanting to take up the drums. He was already accomplished on the guitar and was wanting to start a band with a friend... who also played guitar. I sold him only the Black hawk set, just as I had bought it, albeit quite a bit cleaner. I even gave him the package of drumsticks, a few drumming books, and the instructional CD I had purchased for no extra charge. I imagine I could have asked for the same sum for which I had purchased them, but, as I told him, I knew I had gotten at least $50 worth of entertainment from them and was glad to have the drums go to someone who would use them.
(I'm not really sure why I held on to the snare drum. It came in a travel bag, so it stores quite nicely on a shelf, out of sight for now. Maybe I'll learn how to be a gypsy jazz drummer. That would certainly be more my speed: only one instrument to operate, with no need to coordinate my hands and feet!)
Since then, I've been selling off a few other items that have been collecting dust around here. I started with some books that Daddy had read, then some movies that I had watched and decided that I did not need to own. Then, I was going through my music collection and realized, with a start, that I hadn't listened to some of those artists for YEARS. On to the eBay marketplace they were posted... and many have since literally been posted off to new homes! To date, I have sold more than 47 items! That's right, at least FORTY-SEVEN "things" have left my abode! Actually, the total is even better than that, but I've had 47 "positive feedback" reports filed on me, so I know that many of the items were well-received by their new owners. Fly Lady would be so proud of me! And I'm pretty pleased with myself, too.