Party Like It's 1939

ER  hosting Easter egg hunt at White House

     It was my belief that back in the Great Depression there was a lot more generosity going around than at any time in my life.   The 70's were "me" focused and fashion challenged.  The 90's brought the scourge of greed and technology.  The millennium and 9/11--the world's axis shifted, and nothing has been the same since.  

     But whenever my parents, aunts, and uncles--second generation Americans--spoke about the Great Depression in which they grew up, they always mentioned people's generosity.  They didn't gloss over the hardships.  But stories of sharing and invention abounded.  So you can understand why the 1930s, as grueling as they were, still stand out in my mind as kinder days than those I've lived through.  Until now.

     While greed and indifference exist in abundance to be sure, I am heartened by what doesn't make the headlines because, as they say in the news biz, it doesn't bleed.  I am seeing a lot of caring folks in the world who make a difference for the better.  And I try daily to amplify that generosity every chance I get.  Life is beautiful when I do.  I sport a perpetual smile on my face, and other shoppers respond in kind.  I stop and talk to strangers for no good reason other than to connect with them for a moment, and they light up.  I do things I love, saying "yes!" to people ask to use my talents.  It proves to me that how we show up in the world actually affects our environment.  So how do we want to do that?  With cynicism?  Fear?  Suspicion?  Exhaustion?  

     If you read my last blog (you did read it, didn't you?), you know I am imperfect.  But I'm telling you, the extra effort I make to show up as my better angel is paying off.  My friend Audrey Lin echoes this experience.  At a recent conference, she was losing energy.  The trip, the sitting, the shlepping of stuff, all the talk talk talk.  So she and a friend decided to perform random acts of kindness.  As she enthusiastically describes it in a recent blog posting of her own: 

“As we went around giving out snacks, something shifted, in me and in the people we were interacting with. Suddenly, it was as if we were all becoming family. Giving out snacks, giving group hugs, learning each others' names-- there is something powerful about connecting over kindness rather than connecting over a project or ideology or agenda. When you connect with someone over an act of kindness, you make a heart-to-heart connection--a human connection-- that is a reflection and reminder of the human spirit. Of our interconnectedness!”

(Read more)

     So given all I've told you, you are hereby invited to a virtual party!  I invite you to commit random acts of kindness for the next few days.  You don't have to volunteer in a soup kitchen or write out a check.  Just pay attention!  Yes, that means getting off your devices--and you know I'm all for that.  What is going on around you that allows you to make a moment of positive impact?  Carry little toys in your pocket for restless children in a doctor's office.  In a check-out line turn around and compliment someone on her scarf.   Walk around your street and pick up garbage.  Need more ideas?  Go to HelpOthers.org, a great website!
     Then--THEN--come back here and tell us what you did, and what the experience did for you.  If you do this often enough, you'll notice how you are transforming.  You are becoming a change agent in the world.  But you have to come back and comment about it, or we won't have a party.  And you don't want to be a party pooper, do you?  In fact, forward this posting and bring others along with you.
     Just think.  If this were 1939, you might be sharing sugar rations or tomatoes from your victory garden.  Gee, isn't it swell?  Everything old is new again.  

Pax tecum.

 

     

Accepting Angels as We Find Them

    Today's theme harkens back to previous ones on giving and receiving.  But this time it's with an uncomfortable twist.
     You may recall Maria and her husband Luis (the Latino Thich Nhat Hanh).  It is so easy to love them.  They are quiet, generous, and the language barrier creates a boundary we can step in and out of, but it is a boundary just the same.  I've always said, boundaries are my friends.  I love boundaries.  They give me control.  Like floodgates, when I need watering I open them; when I'm drowning I close them.
     On the other side of my house is "Jack."  Jack is an elderly man with an alcohol problem and few friends.  I've seen a couple of what look like social workers, family members, and fellow alcoholics.  But even their visits are infrequent.  His eyes are perpetually glazed over, he can be coherent but more often than not he isn't, and he is often seen in his bathrobe.  He lives next door one floor above me.  It is important for you to understand this.  This photo is taken from my second floor porch.  My car is ground level...obviously.  But it is from this porch that Jack makes his presence known to me in the most unnerving manner.
     "HEY LADY!!! HOW YA DOIN'?"  The size of the font does not do justice to the sound of his voice blaring out from above me when I least expect it, from dawn to black of night.  If he is sitting on his porch when he sees me, he'll treat me to this most upsetting greeting.  It's upsetting because a) I can't see him, so it catches me off guard, b) my mind is generally on something else, and I'm jarred out of my thoughts, and c) there's no privacy from him.  I spent half the summer trying to catch a glimpse of his porch before heading out.  If I saw him, I'd wait for a more opportune moment to dash to my car and beat it out of the driveway.  I felt like an escapee from my own home.
     But being on Service Space has opened my mind to being in the world in different ways.  So when Thanksgiving came with Maria's 20-pound apples, John and I decided to share some with Jack.  John volunteered to go up to his apartment and deliver them.  Jack was so appreciative that he reciprocated an hour later by showing up at my front door barefoot and in his bathrobe with a carton of Borden's--Borden's--egg nog.  "I don't buy no cheap stuff," Jack assured me, and insisted we join him for a fortified glass of it.  We thanked him but made our excuses.
     And that's when I started to thaw a bit.  I realized that in his own way, Jack wants to be a part of our neighborhood.  He wants friends.  I still want boundaries, but I can be open to his greetings now without jumping out of my skin.  The scales really tipped just last week when he called out to me again, this time adding, "I'm always looking out for you!"  And in that moment, I was deeply touched.  Jack makes me uncomfortable because he breaches my boundaries, but he is looking out for me just the same.  He is another neighborhood angel who cares about me and wants to be cared about in return, even if I can only do it for a moment or two.  Angels may be drunk or dirty or noisy, but they are still angels.
     As I was taking my walk past his house yesterday, he yelled out to me, "I got it!"
     "What, Jack?" I asked.
     "It's a secret!"
     "Ok, I'll talk to you later."  And later, he showed up at my door, decked out in his bathrobe with two cartons of Borden's egg nog!  He mumbled something sotto voce that made no sense to me at all, but I genuinely smiled and thanked him; and he went on his way.
     So, egg nog anyone?

Pax tecum.

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