BSUR

     "BSUR, SUC, SIMIM*."
     I can always count on a James Taylor song for theme music in my life.  Do you get it?  No?  Read the letters individually.
     Whenever I get to thinking I need to do more to make a difference, life shakes me up, brushes me off, and sets my thought aright again.  It was the day before Thanksgiving when I heard a knock on my door.  It was my young neighbor, Juan, with a beautiful floral arrangement for me.  
     "This is from my grandmother.  She says you are so wonderful, and she wanted you to have this."
 Juan and his grandparents, Luis and Maria, are from Puerto Rico.  Juan is bilingual; Luis and Maria speak sólo españoles; I speak English and really poor French.  I gave them some tomatoes from my garden when they moved in this summer,  and I smile and wave hello when I see them; that's as far as we can get.  Luis is retired with a heart condition.  He looks and walks like Thich Nhat Hanh.  But to keep busy he repairs the home he rents, rakes his leaves...pulls out the grass in my driveway cracks, brings in my garbage barrel, rakes my leaves...his generosity is stunning.  All I can do is offer effusive Italian hand gestures akin to throwing kisses and bake oatmeal cookies.  So what the heck was Maria thinking?
     "Juaaaaaaan!"  I said after picking my jaw up off the ground.  "I don't do anything for your grandmother!  My Lord, this is so beautiful!"
     "No, no.  She thinks you are so good.  She wishes she could talk to you, though."
     I looked up and saw her standing on the second floor deck.  Barefoot, I ran across the driveway and up the steps to give her a big hug and kiss.  "Merry."  You thought the word was used only with "Christmas," didn't you?  Maria is "merry" personified.  She just beams when she is delighted, and chuckles they way my Grandma Daddona did; they are so much alike.  Juan followed up behind, and I made him translate for me:  "Tell her I will write her letters.  I can translate them on the computer and put them in your mailbox.  Then she can write back, put her letters in my box, and I'll translate those."  He did so, and Maria got even merrier.

My beta apple vs Maria's alpha apple

     But wait, there's more!  Two hours later there was another knock on my door.  This time it was Luis with a bulging plastic shopping bag.  Again, the language barrier being what it is, I relied on facial expressions to go through the gamut of "hello," "what's in here?" "oh my stars," and "thank you."  I think I managed "gracias" for the latter.   Then, with peace as every step, the Latino Buddhist monk glided back across the driveway.  Inside were three apples, six bananas, and three sweet potatoes each the size of a basketball.  I'm serious.  One apple could feed a family of four.  I'm betting that in a former life Luis and Maria were the ones responsible for the loaves and fishes when Jesus fed the multitude.  Did their generosity know no bounds?  Apparently not.  And what the heck did I do to deserve it?
     Well, it seems just being as I am is all it took.  Seeing them, smiling to them, and making silly gestures tell them that this middle-aged American white woman is safe, accepting, and enjoys talking with their beloved grandson.  Seeing myself through the eyes of another culture tells me that an open heart is more valuable than a job title or how much education I have or how I maintain my driveway.  Without language, we can sense the best in each other, because we hear with our hearts.  And so they inspire me to BSIM in the best way possible all the time.  As do you, my Gentle Readers.

Pax tecum.

*From the album Flag