Yesterday was the first day of this project that I didn't post, and I keep reassuring myself that it's okay, that I don't have to post every single thing I'm thinking or doing. Fair enough.
Minus the sound of a tractor, I feel like I'm in the most peaceful place on earth right now- my mother's back porch. Surrounded by the leaves of who-knows-how-many trees, all kinds blending together to make up a leafy semi-circle, I am so lucky as to be blogging outdoors, by myself, with a glass of cold water on my left and cup of hot coffee on my right. (Can't do without my hot coffee, but it needs a cold counter-attack, because it certainly is hot today.) Sip right...sip left. Ahhhhh.
Yesterday turned out to be a beauty of a day, one that included a random act of kindness- toward baby raccoons- and the long-overdue resolution of a relationship in need of mending for three years. It all happened at a park. Lots of picnic food, lots of sun, lots of kids, lots of good energy. (Saying "lots of" that many times in a row started to sound like "lotso", reminding me of Toy Story 3...I love that movie...should watch it again.)
My kids and I met up yesterday with a wonderful friend with whom I have spent far too little time the last few years, and her four children. I had packed a plastic bag of food for my kids and me- sandwiches, pickles, Sun Chips, applesauce, juice boxes. When she showed up with her van full of kids, she practically dumped her entire kitchen onto the table. Had I been sipping on my coffee at that very moment, it would have shot straight out of my face. Bananas, grapes, brownies, bottles of water, juices, sandwiches for a hundred, yogurt, and who knows what else. I nearly died. Needless to say, there was certainly no shortage of options, and the eight of us had a lovely lunch in the shelter.
Just as the little ones were running off to play on the playground, one of them noticed two baby raccoons in the trash barrel as he was clearing his section of the table. So, my friend and I, and her oldest, proceeded to attempt to get them out. It was a raging mess. They were clinging for dear life onto the trash bag, and it meant that we had to turn the barrel upside-down, trash everywhere, to get them out. Had they been adults, we may have let them do their thing, but we were afraid their mother may not find them, or that the heat would do them in with such a heavy lid on top. Plus, we both have a weakness for animals. And they were so cute!! They scurried, all wobbly, over the cement in the shelter, as we chased them around with cameras, staying far enough away so as not to...well, you know...rabies and stuff...and not wanting their mother to do away with them having had human contact. Eventually, they made their way to a tree, and we watched (oohing and ahhing) as they made their way up. Oh, and then we picked up that mess of trash.
"There's your random act of kindness for today!" she said to me. "Awesome!"
Three years ago, her oldest and I had a serious issue. I had been around those children A LOT for quite some time, and I loved them like they were members of my family. They needed me. I needed them. I was incredibly fond of all four of them. The oldest was eleven at the time, and he and I were able to have "real" conversations, and we had an understanding-of-sorts that the others were simply not quite old enough to be a part of yet. For multiple reasons, I could no longer come around, and it was something I was never able to adequately explain to those kids. I missed them, and apparently they missed me too.
After having not seen them for a few months, the four of them were walking with a family member near where I was living at the time, and the three younger ones all but attacked me with hugs and kisses. It was particularly emotional. When I looked up to the oldest, he said, "You left us," and turned and walked away. It was the last I saw of them until yesterday.
We were able to talk on an adult level, and all the kids had a great time...as did my friend and I. We were out there for hours! Everyone got along swimmingly; the oldest gave the little ones rides on the zip line; Evan and Ayla were all about it. Evan had met them when he was very small, but this was Ayla's first time with them, and everyone was so happy. It's the longest I've seen my kids go without arguing about something in ages. Not even a tiny little, "No I didn't!", "Yes you did!" It was fantastic. Even though someone said there was a wishing well at the top of the hill, and though confused, we climbed- hot as hell, to the top of the hill, only to find there was simply a sculpture dedicated to those lost or captured in war. There was sighing. The kids all had their coins out, ready to go. Instead, we held our coins, thought of someone we missed very much (it's been an emotional few days), and laid our coins on the monument.
Ayla was very private about hers, which we respected; one of her kids had thought of her grandpa. Evan said, "Mom, you know who mine is for?" I had a pretty good idea, and I said just that. "His initials are M.J." he said. I thought for a second and said, "Oh my goodness....you did yours for Michael Jackson...??" He smiled broadly, and I said, "You know what, babe? I'll bet you do really miss him and are sad that he's not with us anymore...he really means a lot to you." Truth. [That boy does not just think MJ's music is cool- he thinks it's prolific (in his own way without using that word, of course). He understands why I get emotional every time (yes, EVERY TIME) I hear "Man in the Mirror"; he understands why he's as popular a singer and songwriter as he is. That child is not obsessed...he is overjoyed. Ayla has since become a huge fan as well, and the two of them dancing is a sight to behold. Evan does his MJ moves and gives himself street cred, while Ayla does phenomenal, creative improv in circles around him. Too cool.]
When we were packing up, I turned to the now teenage boy and said, "If it makes any difference at all, I missed you." He smiled and nodded, lowered his head, and got in the van.
Tired, hot, and thirsty, we all left that park in a really good place.
Later today, I'm off to Columbus again. PB&J sandwiches and bottled water are coming!
Have you ever gone days without food? Me either. If you have, then you understand. Use what you do have to help someone in need. A little goes a long way, and that is what this week has shown me so far. It doesn't take much, so give a little: time, money, kind words, a helping hand, a smile, a sandwich. Whatever you can, whenever you can.
Again, thank you for all the support! I am so lucky to have such wonderful people all around me.
Tim and Matthew, we love and miss you every day.
15 June 2012
Bittersweet Spaghetti
Spaghetti. Garlic bread. Chips...just in case.
Rachel and I headed to the Hospice floor at the hospital this evening to serve dinner to the families and friends of two patients. Having talked to the nurse earlier in the day (thank you Kristin for all the info!), I was under the impression there wouldn't be many people there, bringing slight relief, as I was unsure I had enough food. I called back right before I started cooking to find out from Sally (thank you for checking with everyone!) that there were seventeen people on the floor...uh oh. And four staff members. Food for twenty-one. Okay. Let's see what we can do....
We loaded up the car, trying not to spill the meat sauce, because somebody doesn't seem to have lids for everything and has to use tin foil. Note to self: more real Tupperware. Having not been to the sixth floor of the hospital in three years, there was a tiny twinge of anxiety. I was in such a whirlwind before, I can't really remember what it was like, what the vibe would be. Right off the bat, the nurses were so welcoming, so fantastic. They gave us our space to set up and told me I could go tell the families when everything was ready. It was very quiet. For an hour, things were very quiet.
We had the opportunity to talk with a few of them, though most (understandably) took their plates back to the room. There were painful moments, difficult stories to hear. The general tone of that hallway was somber. The moment they walked into the kitchen to fill their plates though, you could almost feel the fog part...just for a short time. Some of them joked with each other, some gave firm but loving support. Some were silent. But all were so kind, so appreciative. Hopefully, some were hungry, and it was a chance to step outside it for a moment to rejuvenate. I remember what it's like to realize you haven't eaten in days. I remember what it's like when you realize the only thing normal to you anymore is a hospital room.
Our experience on that floor was primarily joyous, which I recognize is not the case for most people. We were all so lucky to have experienced the best week many of us had ever (have ever) had. Having been caught up in the swirl of music and laughter and inspiration and constant activity, I didn't realize that I had missed out on something crucial until today.
Three years ago July 21st, I fell asleep with Tim in his bed, having not slept for something like 35 or so hours. In the neighborhood of 1am, with just a handful of people still there, Mark came in to wake me to go home. Knowing he had a matter of hours, I was hesitant, but somehow, it really was time to go. I had cuddled my 'goodbye' to the sounds of YES and rattled breath. And we left. Remaining there was a small group of wonderful friends of Tim's, and there was much comfort in that. This included my mother, who called me not an hour later to say we had but minutes, holding the phone to his ear to talk with him, into another place and time. If you were there, you still think about these few minutes. You remember. You know. And with that last breath, at just the right moment, came total silence. No one breathed. No one cried. Not yet. It was just too perfect to weep. But then I did, sobbing, still on the phone with no one for what seemed like an hour.
I was never crushed that I wasn't physically there, because if you were there, you know. You understand. And I could hear him...all of them...all of us together. I was there. Or was I?
Tonight, as were began packing up what food was left, Kristin asked if I'd like to go in his room. It seemed perfectly natural to do this, and I felt no anxiety in it at all as I walked toward 604. As soon as the door opened, it was as if I had been there yesterday, and I was seeing this empty bed for the first time...because I was. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that. The next five minutes in that room was something I never knew I needed. I had a sense of closure I didn't know I was lacking. An empty, sterile hospital bed, next to that big, Tim-sized recliner. I never got to feel him leave that room....until today.
Hospice nurses, you are a gift to humanity- molded from honesty, depth, empathy, and purpose. Your job description should read The ability to just be. And that is, by far, the most difficult thing in this world to achieve. All who have been in your presence hold a life-long appreciation for this gift. Thank you.
What I went to do was serve spaghetti to people who needed a little nourishment of body and spirit. What I walked away with was a collective 'knowing', a bittersweet journey down a hallway and into a room, shared with seventeen other people who need not say a word.
The Nurses of Hospice at Licking Memorial Hospital:
Dawn B.
Jeanie B.
Gina R.
Kristin S.
Sally B.
Deb V.S.
Vicky K.
Cheryl T.
Tania B.
Judy D.
Kelly S.
Connie O.
For the lovely conversation, for all your help, for a hug, and for opening that door....
You know who you are.
Thank you.
Rachel and I headed to the Hospice floor at the hospital this evening to serve dinner to the families and friends of two patients. Having talked to the nurse earlier in the day (thank you Kristin for all the info!), I was under the impression there wouldn't be many people there, bringing slight relief, as I was unsure I had enough food. I called back right before I started cooking to find out from Sally (thank you for checking with everyone!) that there were seventeen people on the floor...uh oh. And four staff members. Food for twenty-one. Okay. Let's see what we can do....
We loaded up the car, trying not to spill the meat sauce, because somebody doesn't seem to have lids for everything and has to use tin foil. Note to self: more real Tupperware. Having not been to the sixth floor of the hospital in three years, there was a tiny twinge of anxiety. I was in such a whirlwind before, I can't really remember what it was like, what the vibe would be. Right off the bat, the nurses were so welcoming, so fantastic. They gave us our space to set up and told me I could go tell the families when everything was ready. It was very quiet. For an hour, things were very quiet.
We had the opportunity to talk with a few of them, though most (understandably) took their plates back to the room. There were painful moments, difficult stories to hear. The general tone of that hallway was somber. The moment they walked into the kitchen to fill their plates though, you could almost feel the fog part...just for a short time. Some of them joked with each other, some gave firm but loving support. Some were silent. But all were so kind, so appreciative. Hopefully, some were hungry, and it was a chance to step outside it for a moment to rejuvenate. I remember what it's like to realize you haven't eaten in days. I remember what it's like when you realize the only thing normal to you anymore is a hospital room.
Our experience on that floor was primarily joyous, which I recognize is not the case for most people. We were all so lucky to have experienced the best week many of us had ever (have ever) had. Having been caught up in the swirl of music and laughter and inspiration and constant activity, I didn't realize that I had missed out on something crucial until today.
Three years ago July 21st, I fell asleep with Tim in his bed, having not slept for something like 35 or so hours. In the neighborhood of 1am, with just a handful of people still there, Mark came in to wake me to go home. Knowing he had a matter of hours, I was hesitant, but somehow, it really was time to go. I had cuddled my 'goodbye' to the sounds of YES and rattled breath. And we left. Remaining there was a small group of wonderful friends of Tim's, and there was much comfort in that. This included my mother, who called me not an hour later to say we had but minutes, holding the phone to his ear to talk with him, into another place and time. If you were there, you still think about these few minutes. You remember. You know. And with that last breath, at just the right moment, came total silence. No one breathed. No one cried. Not yet. It was just too perfect to weep. But then I did, sobbing, still on the phone with no one for what seemed like an hour.
I was never crushed that I wasn't physically there, because if you were there, you know. You understand. And I could hear him...all of them...all of us together. I was there. Or was I?
Tonight, as were began packing up what food was left, Kristin asked if I'd like to go in his room. It seemed perfectly natural to do this, and I felt no anxiety in it at all as I walked toward 604. As soon as the door opened, it was as if I had been there yesterday, and I was seeing this empty bed for the first time...because I was. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that. The next five minutes in that room was something I never knew I needed. I had a sense of closure I didn't know I was lacking. An empty, sterile hospital bed, next to that big, Tim-sized recliner. I never got to feel him leave that room....until today.
Hospice nurses, you are a gift to humanity- molded from honesty, depth, empathy, and purpose. Your job description should read The ability to just be. And that is, by far, the most difficult thing in this world to achieve. All who have been in your presence hold a life-long appreciation for this gift. Thank you.
What I went to do was serve spaghetti to people who needed a little nourishment of body and spirit. What I walked away with was a collective 'knowing', a bittersweet journey down a hallway and into a room, shared with seventeen other people who need not say a word.
The Nurses of Hospice at Licking Memorial Hospital:
Dawn B.
Jeanie B.
Gina R.
Kristin S.
Sally B.
Deb V.S.
Vicky K.
Cheryl T.
Tania B.
Judy D.
Kelly S.
Connie O.
For the lovely conversation, for all your help, for a hug, and for opening that door....
You know who you are.
Thank you.
14 June 2012
To New Beginnings
After taking the female bambino to school, Evan and I went to drop donations off at New Beginnings- the local battered women's shelter. They were so kind and appreciative. Thank you to the staff who came out front to help. Evan was so proud, lugging what bags he could up the ramp. He even noticed an electronic bowling set his grandmother had put into the mix, citing ever-so-bravely that he still liked it, a little miffed that she had decided it was time for it to go. He had his moment though, and shrugged his shoulders, carrying it to the door. He made sure the woman knew that he and his little sister had worked really hard to go through their things. She was ever so grateful. We took a picture of him standing with all the things we had brought. Good grief, he's getting so old...
What a great feeling. It would have been enough of a pleasure to have taken those things by myself, knowing that people who really need a taste of home would be getting them; when your children are a part of it, the feeling goes a lot further. I'm unbelievably proud of my kids.
Later that afternoon, I saw the wise neighbor I had put in a word or two about in yesterdays blogs. I was sitting with a friend of mine I hadn't seen in ages and introduced them. She said, "Oh, you're the wise neighbor...I read about you on her blog!" He laughed. "You wrote about me?" "I sure did," I told him, at which point he said that he has to read it now. We laughed as I gave him the web address.
The weather has been beautiful, though I'm hopeful for a little rain soon. I won't complain if there's a thunderstorm soon....ah, how I love a good thunderstorm. The louder the better...with a good light show, if possible...and hours of heavy rain. Ideally, it would roll in after the kids are asleep (they'll sleep through anything, but if they know it's coming, it's madness), I'd get to watch it for a couple of hours before going to sleep to it. Never do I sleep as peacefully as during a thunderstorm. But alas, not a cloud in the sky as far as I can tell. Appreciate what you have...and be careful what you wish for :-)
Right.
It's a lovely day. The freakishly big fish are breaching like baby whales every few minutes- a sound I've come to wait in silence for some days. This perfect breeze has kept up for two days now. I was so taken with it all yesterday afternoon, that I shot a five-and-a-half minute video of the nature in front of me. It was so calm. I panned ever so slowly across the water and along the tree line, noting the chirping of the birds, twenty of the hundred geese we have sunning themselves without a sound, and the willow tree. That willow tree. I figured that someday I'd want to really remember this place, and I wanted to remember it exactly how it was yesterday afternoon. I watched it last night in the same spot, but in the darkness, and it was almost surreal.
Man, I love my porch. I live outside though. Can't do walls. No, sir. You'll often find me huddled in a blanket and robe in the winter, writing on the porch. I'll go back in to warm up, then I'm right back out again. Winter...bleck. Someday, it will be porch weather all year. Can't do walls.
This evening, Rachel and I are off to serve dinner to the families on the Hospice floor at the hospital. Hope they like spaghetti and garlic bread! Thank you, Mom, for staying home with the kids, so as not to overwhelm the small group that will be there. Three years ago this July, they so lovingly took care of Tim for his last three days. Those poor people...there were anywhere from ten to sixty of us up there at any given time of day or night. We are all so grateful to have been afforded that opportunity without an issue. Acoustic guitars and voices and all. Thank you, Hospice. It takes a very, very special kind of person to do what you do.
Enjoy the rest of the day, everyone. And by the way, thank you to everyone who has been in support of this project: those that read the daily posts, those who have shared this link on their Facebook pages, those who care. This year-long project is so, very important to me, and I'm glad there's been some interest. Thank you, thank you.
Be The Change...
What a great feeling. It would have been enough of a pleasure to have taken those things by myself, knowing that people who really need a taste of home would be getting them; when your children are a part of it, the feeling goes a lot further. I'm unbelievably proud of my kids.
Later that afternoon, I saw the wise neighbor I had put in a word or two about in yesterdays blogs. I was sitting with a friend of mine I hadn't seen in ages and introduced them. She said, "Oh, you're the wise neighbor...I read about you on her blog!" He laughed. "You wrote about me?" "I sure did," I told him, at which point he said that he has to read it now. We laughed as I gave him the web address.
The weather has been beautiful, though I'm hopeful for a little rain soon. I won't complain if there's a thunderstorm soon....ah, how I love a good thunderstorm. The louder the better...with a good light show, if possible...and hours of heavy rain. Ideally, it would roll in after the kids are asleep (they'll sleep through anything, but if they know it's coming, it's madness), I'd get to watch it for a couple of hours before going to sleep to it. Never do I sleep as peacefully as during a thunderstorm. But alas, not a cloud in the sky as far as I can tell. Appreciate what you have...and be careful what you wish for :-)
Right.
It's a lovely day. The freakishly big fish are breaching like baby whales every few minutes- a sound I've come to wait in silence for some days. This perfect breeze has kept up for two days now. I was so taken with it all yesterday afternoon, that I shot a five-and-a-half minute video of the nature in front of me. It was so calm. I panned ever so slowly across the water and along the tree line, noting the chirping of the birds, twenty of the hundred geese we have sunning themselves without a sound, and the willow tree. That willow tree. I figured that someday I'd want to really remember this place, and I wanted to remember it exactly how it was yesterday afternoon. I watched it last night in the same spot, but in the darkness, and it was almost surreal.
Man, I love my porch. I live outside though. Can't do walls. No, sir. You'll often find me huddled in a blanket and robe in the winter, writing on the porch. I'll go back in to warm up, then I'm right back out again. Winter...bleck. Someday, it will be porch weather all year. Can't do walls.
This evening, Rachel and I are off to serve dinner to the families on the Hospice floor at the hospital. Hope they like spaghetti and garlic bread! Thank you, Mom, for staying home with the kids, so as not to overwhelm the small group that will be there. Three years ago this July, they so lovingly took care of Tim for his last three days. Those poor people...there were anywhere from ten to sixty of us up there at any given time of day or night. We are all so grateful to have been afforded that opportunity without an issue. Acoustic guitars and voices and all. Thank you, Hospice. It takes a very, very special kind of person to do what you do.
Enjoy the rest of the day, everyone. And by the way, thank you to everyone who has been in support of this project: those that read the daily posts, those who have shared this link on their Facebook pages, those who care. This year-long project is so, very important to me, and I'm glad there's been some interest. Thank you, thank you.
Be The Change...
13 June 2012
Wisdom, Good Deeds, and Goose Poop
Well, the park turned out to be an interesting experience today. My son and I did, in fact, take a lunch there; and we did, in fact, throw our trash away when we were done, but....those geese!! I'm used to Canadian Geese- toward them I have no ill will. They usually leave people pretty well alone. But those big ones...the ones that weigh forty pounds with orange beaks of steel...they're another story altogether. I'll bet Evan and I sat perfectly still at the picnic table for close to ten minutes. We were surrounded. They were hungry. There were at least a hundred geese total, and maybe twenty of them were those tragically brutal ones. They have an air about them. They're in it to win it. They creeped over, ever so slowly, but in a gaggle, in a semi-circle, leaving us nowhere to run but perhaps up and over the picnic table- at which point, we were sure they would follow. And they're faster than they look.
"Mom....Mom....um....I'm...." he trailed off out of the corner of his mouth.
"I know," I whispered. "Just don't freak them out. Patience. For once in your life, you just have to sit perfectly still, babe." He giggled quietly. "Shhhhhh..." I giggled back.
It was intense! They finally got bored of being ignored and moved on, at which time we slowly gather our trash to leave the pavilion, but then...."Run!" We ran to the car, unlocked the doors, and sat inside until Evan got so disappointed that he hadn't gotten to play yet. "Okay, well, we don't have any food on us, so we'll just book it to the other side of the lake. You go ahead of me...I'll hold them off." And that's what we did, but through what we semi-lovingly referred to as The Poo Gauntlet. It was a lot funnier on the way back to the car when they didn't care about us anymore.
After the playground, we had to sidestep a good few hundred piles of goose poop on the path. We had no choice...and we laughed the whole time. There is a photo in Galleries of what Evan called The Sand Castle of Goose Poop, as it had a goose feather on top of it. Had it been dog poop, I may have called a cab, but goose poop isn't so bad...just everywhere! It was an adventure, indeed.
I have to end with what was supposed to be the purpose of this day in the first place: Evan the anti-litterbug. It had been his suggestion to go to this particular park to pick up trash, and that's what we did. Well, that's what we did when we weren't running from the feather mob. We got what we could, though Evan said he didn't think we did enough. I told him that every little bit helps, and it's the the fact that he wanted to at all that matters. We got what we saw as we walked, and though that park has a long way to go, there is less litter there today than there was yesterday...and that's a beautiful thing.
Thank you, Evan. Even at six, your heart is as big as that of your favorite dinosaur.
The day turned out to be far better than what I had anticipated in my morning yuckiness. A wise neighbor started it off in a better direction, my son helped it make a leap even further that way, coffee with Rachel was really pleasant and necessary. The voice lesson I give went well, and I came back home to tee-ball with Mark and the kids. My mom showed up with a trunk full of donations for the shelter to take in the morning, the little ones are asleep. I have fresh coffee (my favorite evening routine), conversation with Mark about life and such, I'm blogging (which I'm really coming to love), and the night is quiet and peaceful.
I bid you all, adieu.
Peace and love.
"Mom....Mom....um....I'm...." he trailed off out of the corner of his mouth.
"I know," I whispered. "Just don't freak them out. Patience. For once in your life, you just have to sit perfectly still, babe." He giggled quietly. "Shhhhhh..." I giggled back.
It was intense! They finally got bored of being ignored and moved on, at which time we slowly gather our trash to leave the pavilion, but then...."Run!" We ran to the car, unlocked the doors, and sat inside until Evan got so disappointed that he hadn't gotten to play yet. "Okay, well, we don't have any food on us, so we'll just book it to the other side of the lake. You go ahead of me...I'll hold them off." And that's what we did, but through what we semi-lovingly referred to as The Poo Gauntlet. It was a lot funnier on the way back to the car when they didn't care about us anymore.
After the playground, we had to sidestep a good few hundred piles of goose poop on the path. We had no choice...and we laughed the whole time. There is a photo in Galleries of what Evan called The Sand Castle of Goose Poop, as it had a goose feather on top of it. Had it been dog poop, I may have called a cab, but goose poop isn't so bad...just everywhere! It was an adventure, indeed.
I have to end with what was supposed to be the purpose of this day in the first place: Evan the anti-litterbug. It had been his suggestion to go to this particular park to pick up trash, and that's what we did. Well, that's what we did when we weren't running from the feather mob. We got what we could, though Evan said he didn't think we did enough. I told him that every little bit helps, and it's the the fact that he wanted to at all that matters. We got what we saw as we walked, and though that park has a long way to go, there is less litter there today than there was yesterday...and that's a beautiful thing.
Thank you, Evan. Even at six, your heart is as big as that of your favorite dinosaur.
The day turned out to be far better than what I had anticipated in my morning yuckiness. A wise neighbor started it off in a better direction, my son helped it make a leap even further that way, coffee with Rachel was really pleasant and necessary. The voice lesson I give went well, and I came back home to tee-ball with Mark and the kids. My mom showed up with a trunk full of donations for the shelter to take in the morning, the little ones are asleep. I have fresh coffee (my favorite evening routine), conversation with Mark about life and such, I'm blogging (which I'm really coming to love), and the night is quiet and peaceful.
I bid you all, adieu.
Peace and love.
How About That
I will admit straight off that I woke up this morning feeling utterly crappy. Just plain gross. I haven't felt particularly well for over a week now, and I woke up in that mood where you absolutely do not want to see or speak to another human for at least an hour or two. But of course, my kids were up running around at 6 this morning, a good hour-and-a-half before they normally get up, after having taken thrice as long to fall asleep last night as is typical. Uh huh. I'm pretty sure they got a good glimpse of Cookie Monster after having gone days without a cookie. There was a distinct lack of cheeriness involved. It wasn't pretty.
I calmed down enough to keep from turning them against me, but that feeling just wouldn't go away. Honestly, my first (and subsequent hundred) thought was, this is the week of kindness...Monday was incredible...how can I feel like this?? But alas, there it was. Still. The original plan for today was nixed early this morning- I suppose things really do change constantly. I saw my neighbor (our favorite, honest, full-of-life neighbor), explain to him this crappiness, and said that I was going to ask my son what he thought would make someone's day today...he's always full of kind ideas. My neighbor quickly said, "Or maybe what you can do to make his day today..."
Ah. Yes. I see.
I came inside, got Evan up on my lap, and apologized for the hungry Cookie Monster business. Naturally, he said something along the lines of, "It's okay, Mom...I know...it happens...", and the like. There was hugging. Then he asked if I was still going to do today what I had planned. I told him that things had changed. I asked what would make his day today, and he said:
"Let's go to the park! Well, you know, we could go to the park and play and pick up litter! How about that, Mom? We'll, like, play and stuff, and if we see trash on the ground, we can throw it away. Remember that really messy park with the cool lake and swing set? How about we go there?"
And just when you think he's finished....
"Oh! We can pack a lunch, so you don't have to spend money, 'cause I know you don't have very much, and then throw our trash away when we're done! How 'bout that??"
Single tear. Okay, maybe two or three.
Physically speaking, I still feel yucky. Spiritually speaking, I feel like my son is made of flowers and light and positivity and sunshine and a gentle breeze and...well, frankly, it makes me feel a little more that way too. Even just for a day. Credit where credit is due- children are spreading the kindness today. Time to go to the park.
I calmed down enough to keep from turning them against me, but that feeling just wouldn't go away. Honestly, my first (and subsequent hundred) thought was, this is the week of kindness...Monday was incredible...how can I feel like this?? But alas, there it was. Still. The original plan for today was nixed early this morning- I suppose things really do change constantly. I saw my neighbor (our favorite, honest, full-of-life neighbor), explain to him this crappiness, and said that I was going to ask my son what he thought would make someone's day today...he's always full of kind ideas. My neighbor quickly said, "Or maybe what you can do to make his day today..."
Ah. Yes. I see.
I came inside, got Evan up on my lap, and apologized for the hungry Cookie Monster business. Naturally, he said something along the lines of, "It's okay, Mom...I know...it happens...", and the like. There was hugging. Then he asked if I was still going to do today what I had planned. I told him that things had changed. I asked what would make his day today, and he said:
"Let's go to the park! Well, you know, we could go to the park and play and pick up litter! How about that, Mom? We'll, like, play and stuff, and if we see trash on the ground, we can throw it away. Remember that really messy park with the cool lake and swing set? How about we go there?"
And just when you think he's finished....
"Oh! We can pack a lunch, so you don't have to spend money, 'cause I know you don't have very much, and then throw our trash away when we're done! How 'bout that??"
Single tear. Okay, maybe two or three.
Physically speaking, I still feel yucky. Spiritually speaking, I feel like my son is made of flowers and light and positivity and sunshine and a gentle breeze and...well, frankly, it makes me feel a little more that way too. Even just for a day. Credit where credit is due- children are spreading the kindness today. Time to go to the park.
12 June 2012
A Pile of Good Energy
I decided to spend most of the day with my son today. He leaves soon to spend a long while with his dad, and I'm starting to panic a little, so time with him is good. I wanted still to continue with the message of the week, so I started gathering things from our house to donate to the local battered women's shelter. I'm delivering them Thursday, after getting donations from people in our neighborhood (I already have a bag of food from a family member). It's so rejuvenating to get rid of things...even more to give them to people who not only need them, but really appreciate them. I can't even imagine what it must be like to run in fear to a new place, surrounded by unfamiliar sights and sounds and routines, especially with children in tow. Resilient as they may be, it surely can't be easy. That said, a little home-y flavor is always a good thing, so take the time once in a while to give things you no longer use or need to people who really do need them.
My son left a really lovely comment on yesterday's blog post while at my mom's house. I cannot describe in words what it feels like when your child is proud of you. I can only think to say that it is better than when your parents are proud of you, and that's a great feeling. Today, while cuddling on the couch, he said, "So, explain to me again what this project thing is about."
"Well, I'm just trying to do the things I feel like I'm supposed to be doing. I'm trying to be a better person, and maybe help the world be a little better too."
"Yeah, your heart's good. You've always been a lot like me, Mom."
What can you even say to that? I giggled and told him that if I'm a lot like him, I really should be proud of myself. He smiled. We cuddled more. Please don't grow up....
While chopping veggies, making dinner, and dealing with simmering black beans that seemed never to be "at the desired level of tenderness", I asked my kids to go through their room and see what they could come up with to donate. They were (semi-surprisingly) so excited to give things away, they called me in to see their progress every two minutes, which explains the ring of dried black bean juice around the eye of my stove. Within fifteen or so minutes, they had put together a pile of toys in the middle of their bedroom floor. They went through every, single thing with me, explaining why another child might like to have it, and why they no longer need it. It was awesome. Yes, they took a few things back out of the pile when they realized what they were doing (haha), but they also added a few toward the end. They felt so good about it! I'm really proud of them, and the attitude behind it. I could hear them talking from the kitchen, Evan explaining over and over again to Ayla the principle of the thing; Ayla would agree, find something, and ask him if another kid would want it. "Absolutely!" he would say. Together, they have made someone's day, and they'll never even see that child's face to confirm it. They did it, because they knew it was the right thing to do.
The photo of them says so much. I asked them to lay on their bellies next to the pile they put together, so I could post it on my blog (they have no idea what a blog is, and though I attempted to explain it to Evan, even the internet is still a strange concept). Evan promptly put up peace signs, which Ayla saw him do, and was in the process of displaying as I snapped this photo. Perfect. Just perfect.
Look in Galleries to see this photo...
A pile of toys is so much more than that. In this case, it was a pile of good energy.
My son left a really lovely comment on yesterday's blog post while at my mom's house. I cannot describe in words what it feels like when your child is proud of you. I can only think to say that it is better than when your parents are proud of you, and that's a great feeling. Today, while cuddling on the couch, he said, "So, explain to me again what this project thing is about."
"Well, I'm just trying to do the things I feel like I'm supposed to be doing. I'm trying to be a better person, and maybe help the world be a little better too."
"Yeah, your heart's good. You've always been a lot like me, Mom."
What can you even say to that? I giggled and told him that if I'm a lot like him, I really should be proud of myself. He smiled. We cuddled more. Please don't grow up....
While chopping veggies, making dinner, and dealing with simmering black beans that seemed never to be "at the desired level of tenderness", I asked my kids to go through their room and see what they could come up with to donate. They were (semi-surprisingly) so excited to give things away, they called me in to see their progress every two minutes, which explains the ring of dried black bean juice around the eye of my stove. Within fifteen or so minutes, they had put together a pile of toys in the middle of their bedroom floor. They went through every, single thing with me, explaining why another child might like to have it, and why they no longer need it. It was awesome. Yes, they took a few things back out of the pile when they realized what they were doing (haha), but they also added a few toward the end. They felt so good about it! I'm really proud of them, and the attitude behind it. I could hear them talking from the kitchen, Evan explaining over and over again to Ayla the principle of the thing; Ayla would agree, find something, and ask him if another kid would want it. "Absolutely!" he would say. Together, they have made someone's day, and they'll never even see that child's face to confirm it. They did it, because they knew it was the right thing to do.
The photo of them says so much. I asked them to lay on their bellies next to the pile they put together, so I could post it on my blog (they have no idea what a blog is, and though I attempted to explain it to Evan, even the internet is still a strange concept). Evan promptly put up peace signs, which Ayla saw him do, and was in the process of displaying as I snapped this photo. Perfect. Just perfect.
Look in Galleries to see this photo...
A pile of toys is so much more than that. In this case, it was a pile of good energy.
11 June 2012
Did You Just Pass It On?! I Sure Did!
Before I say what I'd like to say, this is what my friend, Rachel, had to say about today's adventure:
This morning, walking around Columbus in the rain passing out those cards to people was honestly more amazing than I could have hoped for. It was one of those experiences that I was truly proud and happy to be a part of. To see people's faces light up by something so small and simple, was a lifting feeling. Of course there were negative reactions, but that was completely blown away by the positive reactions we got. Who knew that by making someone smile, if even for a moment, could make you feel (as Bre put it) "better than any drug". -Rachel
As I said in today's earlier post, Rachel and I headed to downtown Columbus to try to spread a little joy. With our Happy Cards in tow (saying "Smile...Pass It On", "Have a Great Day!", or "Just Sayin' HI" on one side, and "Be The Change..." on the other), we took to the streets. We knew beforehand that some people probably wouldn't want them, and too that there would be people who would look at us like we were crazy- trompin' around, smiling, and giving nothing but a little piece of posterboard away. We gave out 246 cards in 45 minutes, and the reception was unbelievable.
First, we parked way too far from where we actually wanted to be (sorry, Rach), and it was raining...just drizzling at first, but full on raining for the last twenty minutes of it. When we started walking into the thick of downtown, we said, "Where are all the people?!" I'll bet we saw maybe a dozen human beings in the first five blocks headed that direction. "Ohhh...they're all in the Nationwide cafeteria!" Passing a string of windows, there were nine million people eating their lunch indoors. Poop. We were so hopeful that we were picking a great time to be there- lunch hour on a Monday. Not so much. For the first and last ten minutes, it was a struggle to even find someone to give a card to. We hit as many as we could- guys dressed as hot dogs, people waiting for the bus, construction workers, homeless people, grandmas, parking attendants, a fitness center receptionist, petition walkers, environmental activists, professionals, a security guard.
When we got where we wanted to split up (take opposite sides of the street), I had my first encounter with a genuine smile, before I had even given a card away. While waiting for my turn to cross the street, Rachel gave her first one to a woman she passed on the crosswalk, headed toward the guys dressed as hotdogs. As Rachel kept walking, the woman hesitated for a moment when she reached the sidewalk near me. Looking at the card, and then putting it in her pocket, her smile was so gentle, appreciative. Indeed. That's why we're here...game on.
My first encounter in the crosswalk was a man who waved me on, wanting nothing to do with my joy. Well, fine. A little disconcerting to start, but we press on. I walked toward a security guard on patrol near an office building. "I can't take anything while I'm on duty," he said firmly. "It just says 'Have a Great Day!'" "I understand, but I really can't take anything..." He looked down at the front of the card I was holding, reached for it, then pulled back. "I'm sorry, I can't," he said sadly. "Okay. Well...have a great day!" I said as I turned to move on. He yelled from behind me, "Thank you! You too! Really, have a great day! A great day!" I turned back around to wave, as he did the same. I sigh even now as I write this. It was fantastic.
Though there were many people who veered away from us in crosswalks, or turned their heads, or scowled, or waved us on, there were far more people who were undeniably affected in a wonderful way. A homeless woman cried, when she read her card that said "Just Sayin' HI". Countless people yelled, "God bless you!" as we smiled and walked on. Several stopped abruptly, looked up and said, "I really needed this...thank you." We got more smiles than we thought possible. I even ran into a man later who had already gotten one and thanked me again. I gave a card to a college student who was petitioning for environmental protection, and upon reading "Be The Change" on the back of the card, he asked my name and introduced himself. He said, "We do something a lot like this on campus. People need this. You keep on doin' it." We will certainly do this again.
A man was standing outside a teeny little cafe-type restaurant on a cell phone. I handed him a card, and as I walked away, he yelled, "No, come back! You come in, please!" I was thinking instantly about how I didn't have any money to spend in this place...I felt terrible. As I walked up to the door, I said, "I'm sorry, I really don't have any money to get anything- I wish I did." His partner working behind the counter began pouring something in little Dixie cups and said, "No, no. We give you something, because you give us something. Here you go- for you and your friend." I couldn't believe it. He wanted nothing. He had just made banana smoothies and wanted us to have something in return. "Have good day! Happy juicing to you!" he yelled as I thanked him and went to give a cup to Rachel. I believe the place was called L'Arrat, on a corner on Front St near the convention center. Wonderful guys.
We hit the North Market on our way back, and as I was handing cards to three teenage girls standing together in front of a counter, the man behind the counter handed one to the third girl before I got to her. Rachel had obviously already given him a card. It said "Smile...Pass It On". I said, "Did you pass that on?!" He replied, "I sure did!", smiling broadly. We high-fived, of course. I couldn't help but see that it was already working. People really did care...a lot.
We made our way back to the car just before the meter ran out, soaking wet, blisters on my feet (stupid flip flops). We talked about how great it was when people gave back to us what was on the card they got- a big, flashy smile from a smile card, which always made us laugh, "Well, hi! Thank you!" from a hello card, and "YOU have a great day!" from our cards wishing that for them. It was phenomenal. As I started the car, the radio was on, and a popular song came on in the middle of the chorus. He sang:
Ain't got no money, but we got heart
We're gonna rattle this ghost town...
[If you, or anyone you know, received one of these cards in Columbus today, I'd love to hear from you. Thank you to all the wonderful people in downtown Columbus who made our day. Peace and love to all.]
Be The Change
This morning, walking around Columbus in the rain passing out those cards to people was honestly more amazing than I could have hoped for. It was one of those experiences that I was truly proud and happy to be a part of. To see people's faces light up by something so small and simple, was a lifting feeling. Of course there were negative reactions, but that was completely blown away by the positive reactions we got. Who knew that by making someone smile, if even for a moment, could make you feel (as Bre put it) "better than any drug". -Rachel
As I said in today's earlier post, Rachel and I headed to downtown Columbus to try to spread a little joy. With our Happy Cards in tow (saying "Smile...Pass It On", "Have a Great Day!", or "Just Sayin' HI" on one side, and "Be The Change..." on the other), we took to the streets. We knew beforehand that some people probably wouldn't want them, and too that there would be people who would look at us like we were crazy- trompin' around, smiling, and giving nothing but a little piece of posterboard away. We gave out 246 cards in 45 minutes, and the reception was unbelievable.
First, we parked way too far from where we actually wanted to be (sorry, Rach), and it was raining...just drizzling at first, but full on raining for the last twenty minutes of it. When we started walking into the thick of downtown, we said, "Where are all the people?!" I'll bet we saw maybe a dozen human beings in the first five blocks headed that direction. "Ohhh...they're all in the Nationwide cafeteria!" Passing a string of windows, there were nine million people eating their lunch indoors. Poop. We were so hopeful that we were picking a great time to be there- lunch hour on a Monday. Not so much. For the first and last ten minutes, it was a struggle to even find someone to give a card to. We hit as many as we could- guys dressed as hot dogs, people waiting for the bus, construction workers, homeless people, grandmas, parking attendants, a fitness center receptionist, petition walkers, environmental activists, professionals, a security guard.
When we got where we wanted to split up (take opposite sides of the street), I had my first encounter with a genuine smile, before I had even given a card away. While waiting for my turn to cross the street, Rachel gave her first one to a woman she passed on the crosswalk, headed toward the guys dressed as hotdogs. As Rachel kept walking, the woman hesitated for a moment when she reached the sidewalk near me. Looking at the card, and then putting it in her pocket, her smile was so gentle, appreciative. Indeed. That's why we're here...game on.
My first encounter in the crosswalk was a man who waved me on, wanting nothing to do with my joy. Well, fine. A little disconcerting to start, but we press on. I walked toward a security guard on patrol near an office building. "I can't take anything while I'm on duty," he said firmly. "It just says 'Have a Great Day!'" "I understand, but I really can't take anything..." He looked down at the front of the card I was holding, reached for it, then pulled back. "I'm sorry, I can't," he said sadly. "Okay. Well...have a great day!" I said as I turned to move on. He yelled from behind me, "Thank you! You too! Really, have a great day! A great day!" I turned back around to wave, as he did the same. I sigh even now as I write this. It was fantastic.
Though there were many people who veered away from us in crosswalks, or turned their heads, or scowled, or waved us on, there were far more people who were undeniably affected in a wonderful way. A homeless woman cried, when she read her card that said "Just Sayin' HI". Countless people yelled, "God bless you!" as we smiled and walked on. Several stopped abruptly, looked up and said, "I really needed this...thank you." We got more smiles than we thought possible. I even ran into a man later who had already gotten one and thanked me again. I gave a card to a college student who was petitioning for environmental protection, and upon reading "Be The Change" on the back of the card, he asked my name and introduced himself. He said, "We do something a lot like this on campus. People need this. You keep on doin' it." We will certainly do this again.
A man was standing outside a teeny little cafe-type restaurant on a cell phone. I handed him a card, and as I walked away, he yelled, "No, come back! You come in, please!" I was thinking instantly about how I didn't have any money to spend in this place...I felt terrible. As I walked up to the door, I said, "I'm sorry, I really don't have any money to get anything- I wish I did." His partner working behind the counter began pouring something in little Dixie cups and said, "No, no. We give you something, because you give us something. Here you go- for you and your friend." I couldn't believe it. He wanted nothing. He had just made banana smoothies and wanted us to have something in return. "Have good day! Happy juicing to you!" he yelled as I thanked him and went to give a cup to Rachel. I believe the place was called L'Arrat, on a corner on Front St near the convention center. Wonderful guys.
We hit the North Market on our way back, and as I was handing cards to three teenage girls standing together in front of a counter, the man behind the counter handed one to the third girl before I got to her. Rachel had obviously already given him a card. It said "Smile...Pass It On". I said, "Did you pass that on?!" He replied, "I sure did!", smiling broadly. We high-fived, of course. I couldn't help but see that it was already working. People really did care...a lot.
We made our way back to the car just before the meter ran out, soaking wet, blisters on my feet (stupid flip flops). We talked about how great it was when people gave back to us what was on the card they got- a big, flashy smile from a smile card, which always made us laugh, "Well, hi! Thank you!" from a hello card, and "YOU have a great day!" from our cards wishing that for them. It was phenomenal. As I started the car, the radio was on, and a popular song came on in the middle of the chorus. He sang:
Ain't got no money, but we got heart
We're gonna rattle this ghost town...
[If you, or anyone you know, received one of these cards in Columbus today, I'd love to hear from you. Thank you to all the wonderful people in downtown Columbus who made our day. Peace and love to all.]
Be The Change
Happy Cards
This week: Not-So-Random Acts of Kindness
Next week: Prep Week- Health and Wellness
My tag-line as a teenager was, "If only people would just smile and say, 'hi'..."
I got back not long ago from Columbus, having handed out cards to people on the street. My friend, Rachel, came with me, and we hit opposite sides of the street to cover more ground. A third of the cards said "Have a great day!", a third said "Smile...Pass It On", and the other third said "Just Sayin' HI". On the back of all the cards, it read "Be The Change..." In 45 minutes during Monday's lunch hour downtown, we gave away 246 cards between the two of us.Oh, and it was raining the whole time :-)
It was incredible.
Not-So-Random Act of Kindness #1 was meant to make people feel a little better, a little more loved, even for just a moment. At least fifty people turned away, wanting nothing to do with us (I imagine city-dwellers are often asked for money, donations, time to sign something), but we just kept walking. Somebody out there needed one of these cards...we were just sure of it. The reception we got was amazing- inspiring, really. People did need those cards, and we needed what they gave back to us. It was a better feeling than I could ever describe in words.
I have very little time to write just now, but after my children retire to their beds this evening, I will return to share with all of you some of the beautiful stories from the afternoon. We laughed (A LOT); some people cried; there was a lot of smiling, fist pumping, and even a high five :-) If doing something like this doesn't give you a little more faith in humanity, I don't know what would.
Until then, friends...
Breana
The Jouney Begins
This Week (Week 1): Five Not-So-Random Acts of Kindness
Next Week: Prep Week- Health and Wellness
Good morning! It is 2am, and this project begins tomorrow (today)! I am exhausted, admittedly, but so looking forward to getting this off the ground. This first Open Door will include five weekdays of planned excursions and experiences that will benefit others. The intent is often to brighten someone's day, and make life a little less stressful for a while, and be kind to the planet. I'll post along the way, and all comments are welcomed! To everyone who has made this possible and continues to be supportive, I am more appreciative than you know. Join me Monday evening for the first (official) thoughts and experiences of this momentous week for me!!Peace and love to all...
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