Eating Disorders

Of all of my household chores, I hate going to the grocery store the most.  For me, grocery shopping is a tedious, agonizing, and stressful experience.  I usually don’t go to the store until I have absolutely nothing edible left in my kitchen.  I will gladly dust the furniture, mop the floors, and scrub the toilets, but I normally have to psyche myself up to go grocery shopping.  I actually don’t “shop.”  I refuse to walk up and down every aisle and look at all the shelves packed full of cans, small boxes, and plastic bags.  I basically race through a limited number of aisles and only grab the items I absolutely need.  I usually refuse to use a large shopping cart.  I limit myself to one of the handheld baskets.  Once that is full, I’m done even if I did forget the bread, milk, or eggs.  It’s too late…the basket is already full…time to go.  I drag myself through the grocery-shopping task while I internally whine and complain like a bored four-year-old child.  Believe me, I whined all around the grocery store last Monday as I picked up a few staple foods.  Promising myself that I would be in and out of the store within fifteen minutes, I walked in the door, grabbed a small basket, and started to race for the bread section.  I grabbed a loaf of wheat bread and then headed towards the produce department.  After grabbing a few apples and bananas, I added fresh broccoli and a bag of baby carrots to the basket.  Due to the close proximity, I decided to dash over to the Health and Beauty/Pharmacy section next to grab some shower gel.  I just needed to grab the shower gel, shampoo, maybe a box of crackers…and I would be finished.  Another successful grocery shopping adventure completed.

However, something unexpected suddenly brought me to a complete stop…

I reached up to grab a bottle of shower gel and as I pulled it from the shelf, I saw a small square box fall to the floor and land between my feet.  I bent down quickly and picked it up.  I was shocked at what I now held in my hands.  It was a small, thin cardboard box of laxatives.  The box, however, was empty.  The container had been opened and the laxatives had been removed.  I looked quickly around the shelves but didn’t see the actual product anywhere.  I sighed heavily as I stared at the empty box.  I knew exactly what this meant.  The behavior of stealing laxatives from stores is a known habit of anorexics.  Believe me, I know….

Now, I never reached the point where I actually stole laxatives from grocery stores.  However, I do admit that my unhealthy habit began by pilfering laxatives from my mother’s medicine cabinet.  I started out by just taking two a day.  I didn’t think Mom would notice if just two small squares were missing from the pack.  However, after a few months, the routine became worse.  I began to take the whole box out of the cabinet and hide it in the top drawer of my dresser.  At the beginning, I carefully rationed out the small chocolaty squares.  At this point, I was taking about six laxative squares a day.  It wasn’t until I moved into my own apartment that my actions began to get a little weird.  Some days when I even asked myself how I had reached this point as I made a meal out of a full box of laxatives.  I would eat the entire box in one setting.  I would ask myself how I came to have this behavior.

This is what I can say: I was a fat child who was teased and ridiculed a lot by my friends, siblings, and classmates.  My mother continually put me on diets by secretly giving me smaller portions of food.  I never really noticed that she was cutting back on my dietary intake.  Her system seemed to work, though.  I remember glowing with pride at the age of twelve when several of my friends commented on my surprising weight loss.

Unfortunately, though, mom’s method didn’t always work.  My weight continued to yo-yo until I was in high school and reached my all time high of 150 pounds.  Did the weight fall back off again?  No, this time, it just seemed to sit on my body like a 50-pound fleshy ball and chain.  I was unpopular in high school, depressed, and stressed, and the fat seemed to take full advantage.  I just couldn’t seem to shake the weight off.

Once I graduated from high school and started working my first job, I decided that something needed to be done.  I was tired of being bullied and tormented over my size.  I was tired of looking at pictures of myself and seeing fat rolls and multiple chins.  I was tired of not being able to wear the beautiful, frilly dresses that my sisters were wearing.  I was still trapped in large, unfashionable, ugly tents that seemed to just enhance my large size.

Besides the constant jokes about my bulk, there was a deeper, darker reason why weight loss had become so important to me.  Like most young women who are molested at an early age, I thought all of the incidents were my fault.  I needed to be punished.  What better way to punish myself than to take away the very thing I needed to survive.  I had no right to food.  I had no right to eat.  I not only needed to be punished, but I also wanted to make sure that I did not develop breasts or hips.  I needed to destroy my very feminine sexuality in order to survive…something needed to be done…something very DRASTICALLY needed to change…

I started trying to make myself throw up after every meal and snack.  I would kneel over the toilet in the bathroom with my finger down my throat trying to force the nasty food to work itself back up and out of my body.  I was only successful with this activity a few times.  Though I really wanted to vomit and clear my system of all the junk I had just shoved into it, puking was just disgusting to me.  I couldn’t stand the aftertaste of the bile and the way it seemed to coat my teeth and tongue even after I would brush and use mouthwash.  I seemed to have a mental block that stopped me from throwing up everything I ate.  That didn’t stop me though from spending many hours sitting in the bathroom with a spoon shoved down my throat.  Without much success, I realized there had to be a better way.

That’s when I discovered laxatives.  Laxatives would certainly be an easier avenue to weight loss, I reasoned.  All I had to do was eat a few small squares of chocolate and all the nasty food with its hideous little calories would come flooding out of my body.  What could be easier than that?  But it wasn’t so easy.  Many times I would miss important lecture information in my college classes or time at work because I could not leave the bathroom.  The constant laxative use created endless diarrhea, gas, and severe stomach cramps…but if I was losing weight, if I was losing a lot of disgusting fat, wouldn’t that be healthy, too?  I reasoned.  Besides, my body would now be flat-chested without hips or a bottom…and I would be safe.  The weight loss absolutely needed to happen and I was willing to go to any lengths to protect myself from the teasing and the agony of molestation.

Laxatives, I began to realize, were not enough.  Maybe I needed to stop the food from even entering my body.  I began to practice the ole “chew and spit” routine.  For all of my meals, I would place a small plate of food and an empty cup on the table.  I would place the food into my mouth, chew for a moment and then, instead of swallowing, I would spit the chewed food into the cup.  I perfected this custom.  Take a bite, chew, spit, wipe my mouth, take a bite, chew, spit, wipe my mouth, take a bite…

However, I wasn’t losing weight as quickly as I had hoped.  Maybe I just wasn’t moving around enough.  I became fanatical about exercising.  I would exercise for two hours every day…running, walking, jogging, endless calisthenics.

Ugh….it just wasn’t working!  I was 5’6” and still weighted 110 pounds.  A 110 pounds!  Really?  I couldn’t believe it.  I would cry every time I stepped on the scale which I did every two to three hours.  I wanted to be a hundred pounds.  My mother was an attractive woman.  She was small and delicate.  She was barely 5 foot and weighed around 89 pounds.  Everyone seemed to think her tiny size was cute and adorable.  I thought she was beautiful.  I wanted to be cute and beautiful just like my mother.  Not even considering our height difference, I believed that for me to be attractive, I had to be less than 100 pounds.  The last ten pounds that hung around my body and stopped me from reaching my goal caused endless stress and anger in me.  What was I going to do?  I had to lose those last 10 pounds in order to be loved.  I had to reach that goal.

I had to stop eating.

I would “fast” for a two or three days at a time.  I called it “fasting” when the truth is I just refused to eat.  When I did decide to eat, I would feast at the “Sam’s Club Buffet.”  My mother had given me one of her Sam’s Club membership cards.  On days that I thought I deserved to eat, I would go into Sam’s Club and partake from their sample carts.  One piece of each sample would go into my body.  That would be my food intake on a good day.

I was no longer living at my parent’s home, so I don’t think Mom exactly knew what I was doing, but she did seem to worry about me.  “If you get any smaller…” she would say as she whacked me on my non-existent rear end even though I believed I could feel my glut muscles jiggling endlessly from her gentle slap.  Mom began bringing food to my apartment every couple of days.  She would bring over bread, milk, eggs, bacon, lunchmeats, crackers, and soup.  The food would sit in my refrigerator and cabinets for a few days while I furiously exercise and swallowed laxatives to lose a few pounds.  If my weight remained the same, I would package up all of the food in trash bags and throw it into the dumpster.  Actually, I think I threw away the food regardless…I still had not reached the goal of a hundred pounds.

Friends, relatives, and even strangers began to make weird and unusual comments to me.  I could never figure out what they meant.  For example, one afternoon, I had gone into a video store to rent some DVDs.  I selected two DVDs and placed them on the front counter.  I thought the DVDs were two dollars each so I casually laid out four dollars on the countertop.  The heavyset, female clerk looked at the money for a moment and then picked up two of the bills.  “These are just a dollar each,” she said cheerily.  But then as she handed me back the money, she looked me up and down and then sneered, “Now, I guess you can go buy yourself a sandwich.”  I grabbed my money and the DVDs and walked out of the store in a daze.  Why would she say that to me?  I wondered.  In my mind, I assumed she was commenting that I was fat and would now have money for more food.  I cried all the way home.

One day, I ran into a friend I hadn’t seen for a while.  We chatted happily for a few minutes before he suddenly said to me, “Well, you seem in a much better mood.  Are you eating now?”  I stared at him in completely confusion.  Honestly, he was not the only person who would ask me that question.  Am I eating now?  Of course, I was eating!  I had the Sam’s Club Buffet a few days a week.  Plus, I would choke down a few pieces of fruit and vegetables whenever I couldn’t stop from giving in to my hunger pangs…and then, I would exercise for two hours while crying and cussing myself for giving into my weakness.

I realize now my behavior was odd and terrifying and it didn’t stop there.  I would develop endless panic and anxiety attacks.  I would have days when I wouldn’t stop crying for hours.  I would be short tempered and cruel.  It wouldn’t take much for someone to suddenly be ripped apart by my viciously snapping tongue and rolling eyes over some minor, unimportant action.  I had read once in a book on eating disorders, that many anorexics and bulimics develop OCD habits and anxiety due to the lack of nutrients and fluids getting to the brain.  Maybe that’s where my OCD habits began…I don’t know…that couldn’t be right though…because at the time I was developing anxiety and OCD habits, I was still snacking on fruits and vegetables occasionally.  I certainly didn’t have an eating disorder.  In fact, I believed at the time I couldn’t stop overeating… and that lead to more punishment.  There would be additional exercising.  I allowed the numbers on the scale to tell me if I could eat or not.  If the numbers were low, I could have an additional broccoli floret.  If the numbers were high, not a single bit of food would go into my body.  Unfortunately, I also allowed the scale to regulate my moods.  If the numbers were low, I was going to have a great day.  If the numbers were high, I was going to have a horrible day.  I’m writing “numbers” because I would weigh myself multiple times throughout the day.  I actually weighed myself any time I saw a scale…at home, at the gym, in a friend’s bathroom…I would carefully analyze the numbers and determine if it was going to be a good or bad day.

Twenty years later, two things still continue to determine my food intake: 1) my current weight and 2) the kind of day I’m having.  If my weight is down and I’m enjoying my life, I will eat.  Yes, I am eating now.  I eat regular meals.  No more Sam’s Club Buffets.  My life is better and, as I’ve grown older, I feel better about myself.  My laxative use is under control.  Though I still feel the urge to use laxatives for weight control, I haven’t eaten any of the little chocolate squares in over a year.  My anxiety attacks and OCD continue to be a problem no matter what or how I eat.  I wonder sometimes if I’ve done lasting, permanent damage to myself.  My digestive track is a complicated mess.  I have to be careful with gastric reflux.  I still feel bile rising up in my throat with many of the things I eat or drink.  I’m usually sick to my stomach and suffer from sharp abdominal pain.  My hair turned prematurely gray and has thinned.  I’m just so thrilled it didn’t all fall out.

However, I still cannot stand to look at, touch, prepare, or shop for food.  Seeing pictures of people’s food posted on Facebook makes me gag and I immediately have to delete the post.  I don’t like anyone to touch or talk about my food.  Grocery stores are still a nightmare for me.  I can’t stand to look at all of that food and think that I will be eating some of it.  I can’t put one single item in my basket without fully reading the nutrition label and checking the calorie and fat intake.

One day last year, I ventured into a local grocery store thinking my food issues were all behind me.  I was really feeling good and healthy as I filled up a shopping cart (not a just basket!) with fruits and vegetables and other non-fat, threatening foods.  As I waited in the checkout lane, an elderly woman standing behind me suddenly commented, “You are moving awfully slow putting your things on the counter.  Here let me do it.”  She suddenly reached into my cart and grabbed a few of my yogurt cups and bread.  “No, stop!”  I told her as I took the items from her hands.  “Please, stop!”  She looked at me for a moment as if I was crazy before moving to the next checkout lane.  And God, maybe I am crazy.  I could not bring myself to buy and eat the food the woman had touched.  I had to set the food far off on the other side of the counter, refusing to let those items near my other groceries.

One day, I was on my lunch break at work.  I had purchased a ham and cheese sandwich from the grocery store next door.  I sat on an outside bench at my workplace to consume the sandwich.  I don’t like to be in the break room where my coworkers can watch me eat.  As I started to nibble on the sandwich, an elderly gentleman and his wife walked by me.  The man looked at me for a moment before saying, “Are we in time for lunch?”  He chuckled and then said, “What are you eating?  Do you have more for us?  What is it?”  I had no response other than to stand up and throw the sandwich in the nearest trashcan.  I couldn’t eat anything for the rest of the day.

I cannot discuss food.  I don’t want to talk about what I eat.  If I go to a banquet or a luncheon, I cringe whenever anyone ask me what was served.  I just can’t find the words to talk about food.  I don’t want to tell people what I had for lunch.  I don’t want to discuss what I will have for dinner.  Yes, I am eating now but please don’t ask me what my favorite foods are.  I don’t want to talk about it.

But I will say this…my life has gotten better.  I am more comfortable in my body now than I have ever been.  I do eat good meals now, though I still go to the gym five times a week and check the food labels on all products before I buy them.  I enjoy my life so I’m beginning to enjoy some favorite foods.  But please don’t ask me what they are.  I really can’t talk about food without feeling nauseous.

Now, I slowly placed the empty laxative box back on the shelf and grabbed the rest of my groceries while drifting through the store on autopilot.  I know I have to eat.  I do want to stay alive.  I just still can’t appreciate food.  Feeling anxious, I quickly grabbed the rest of the items I needed and headed up to the register.  I didn’t feel any relief until I had paid for my things and left the store.  Once I was home and all the groceries were hidden away in the cabinets and out of my view, I was finally able to take deep breaths again.\

…Oh, and whoever stole the laxatives and left behind the empty carton….Please know you are not alone…So many of us know how you feel…please reach out to someone…I continue to pray for you…

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Tolerance and Hope

For a quiet moment, I stared anxiously at the beautiful black and white photo that was printed on the small plastic white card I held reverently in my right hand.  I couldn’t stop staring at the face of 13-year-old Helen “Potyo” Katz.  I couldn’t seem to turn away from the haunted look in her large dark eyes.

“Bring your card over here,” I suddenly heard the young museum docent say to me.  “If you place the card into one of the computers, you’ll get a print out about your child.”

I smiled and followed the young woman over to one of the computers that was lined up against the far wall.  I placed the card into the slot on the front of the computer.  A few second later, I picked up the single sheet of paper that had seeped out of a nearby printer.

Helen “Potyo” Katz

The same black and whiter photo of the young girl with the large dark eyes stared up at me from the page.  I quickly read through the text that was printed on the pure white paper.  I suddenly found myself choking back tears as I read the last two paragraphs.

“Potyo and her mother were immediately separated from her brother and sisters, and they were murdered.  Potyo was 13-years-old.”

“Potyo was one of 1.5 million Jewish children murdered by the Germans and their collaborators during the Holocaust.”

I took a deep breath and looked at the three tall card dispensers that were stationed at the front of the room. Each dispenser held stacks of white plastic cards.  Each card presented a picture and name of a child murdered during the Holocaust…

1.5 million children…

Looking at the stacks of cards I still couldn’t seem to wrap my head or my heart around that number.  I was still contemplating this fact when my friend, Allison, walked up beside me and asked if I wanted to go downstairs and attend the presentation by the guest speaker. Affirmatively shaking my head, I quickly followed Allison to the elevators and we rode in silence down to the lower level.

Allison and I had decided to tour the Museum of Tolerance in Los Angeles, California, because we both have a huge interest in the Holocaust, World War II and the events of the 1940s.  The exhibits at this museum were beautifully and respectfully designed to honor the people of the Holocaust.  I was pleased to see though that the museum also paid tribute to all people who were targets of hate crimes. All minorities that have suffered violence and discrimination are respectfully honored at the Museum of Tolerance.  Looking at the displays was a sobering and profound experience.

Allison and I took our seats in the large back room on the second floor that had been set aside for presentations.  As I sat comfortably in the plastic seat on the end of the third aisle and waited patiently for the presentation to begin, I glanced anxiously around the room.  I was pleased to see that the audience contained many young people.  A large majority of them were with a school group.  Others were sitting next to their parents.

A few minutes later, a short, slender man with dark hair walked up to the front of the room.  He introduced himself as Michael though he was known to his family as Miki.  For the next hour, I sat riveted to the presentation as Miki spoke of his experiences in the Auschwitz concentration camp during the Holocaust.  I found myself swept away as he talked about the separation of his family, the condition of the concentration camps, and the brutality he witnessed on a daily basis.  Listening to Miki’s words, I couldn’t keep the tears from flowing down my face.  I wanted to scream.  I wanted to cry out loud at the details of Miki’s horrific life story.  I had to continually turn my head to the open space on my left and forcibly breathe out to keep myself from screeching.

I was not alone in this grief.  Miki’s story was so intensely horrific that the audience reacted in shock and despair.  I looked around the room and saw many people in tears.  I struggled to hold in my sobs as I noticed a young blond boy gripping his mother’s hand and patting her arm as tears ran down both their faces.

When his hour was over, Miki still had not completed his entire story.  As terrifying as the story was, I didn’t want Miki to stop talking.  This moment was so incredibly enriching to my soul, I didn’t want it to be over.  I have read many books about the Holocaust, but hearing a first-hand account made the events more personal and realistic.  I wanted to remain connected to the people in that room, who were joined together to honor the tragedy and awesome courage of another person’s life.

When Miki had to end his presentation, Allison and I stood in the line of people walking to the front of the room to thank Miki for telling his story.  Allison and I patiently stood by as we watched audience members move up to Miki one at a time.  Now, I didn’t fight back my tears as I watched the young blond boy and his mother approach Miki.  Miki asked the boy how old he was to which the boy responded “Thirteen.”

“Thirteen!” Miki repeated.  “Aaahhh…that’s the age I was when I was sent to the Auschwitz concentration camp.”

Now the boy and the man stood staring at each other for a moment of profound silence.  Then, the boy suddenly threw his arms around Miki and held him in a long embrace.  I watched as the two generations held onto each other, trying to find some peace and understanding in life’s atrocities.  When the two separated again, I watched in awe as other young kids—13-, 15-, 17-year-olds—each took a turn to shake hands or hug Miki while thanking him for sharing his story.  I watched as one young girl with long dark hair offered her hand to Miki.  Her chin quivered violently as she tried to hold back the tears that were swimming in her eyes.  Miki took her hand looked into her eyes and said, “It’s okay to cry.”  He paused and then added, “And it’s okay to laugh.  We are all just human.”  The young girl’s tears now spilled down her cheeks as she embraced Miki quickly and then ran from the room.

Allison and I were the last in line and now we stood in front of Miki.  As Allison talked to him, I addressed the short, dark haired, elderly woman standing beside him.  Miki’s wife and I stared at each other for a second before embracing.  As we held onto each other, words just slipped out of my mouth.  I whispered to her, “You are beautiful.”

The woman pulled away and stared at me for a minute.  “Oh, no, not me,” she now said with a gentle laugh as a sweet blush eased across her cheeks.  Her suddenly rosy face and shy smile gripped my heart.  “Of course, you are,” I answered as the woman embraced me again.

I turned then to Miki and choked on my words as I said to him, “It was an absolute privilege to hear your story.”  Miki and I shared a gentle hug.

As I pulled away and turned towards Allison, I suddenly heard Miki’s wife excitedly say to him, “Did you hear what she said to me?  Did you hear what she said?!”

I turned back around to find the woman beaming joyfully at me as she stood next to her husband.  She seemed to be waiting anxiously for me to repeat the words.  “I told her she was beautiful,” I said even though my tears caused me to choke on the last word as the woman’s smile suddenly radiated out around the room.  I wanted to run back to her, take off the big white sunglasses she was wearing, stare into her eyes and ask, “Hasn’t anyone ever said that to you before?”  The woman seemed so pleased to be addressed in such a manner.  I suddenly realized that it was not ego that made her want my words repeated, but a deep aching need that we all have to be acknowledged and humanized.

I turned around then and followed Allison out the door and down the hallway to the bathroom.  I stepped into one of the stalls, leaned my head against the wall, and cried.  I don’t think I’ve wept that hard in a long time.  After a few minutes, I stepped out of my stall at the same time Allison came out of hers.  For a moment, we stood staring at each other as we noted our tears…

And then suddenly we smiled…

And then we started to laugh.

Because it really is okay to cry…

And it is okay to laugh.

Allison and I walked out of the bathroom and back into the main hallway.  We looked at a few more exhibits until the museum closed at 5 pm.  I didn’t want to leave.  I loved being at the Museum of Tolerance.  I certainly wouldn’t say it is the place that make me the happiest.  I certainly wouldn’t say it is the place that makes me feel the most alive.

The Museum of Tolerance, instead, is the place that makes me feel the most human…

I was always concerned that in years to come people would forget about the Holocaust, that it would simply over time just fade away into the pages of dusty old history books.  I think about the evil that people continue to do to each other.  I worry about the disrespect we, including myself, demonstrate to each other on a daily basis…

….but then I think about all of those young people who cried, and laughed, and honored a Holocaust survivor…

And I know there’s hope for the next generation.  Oh, yes, there is tremendous hope for the generations to come.

Memorable Moments

When I started writing my blog last year, I had actually planned to write a travel journal.  I thought I would be writing about my expeditions around America, my travels overseas, and my day trip excursions.  However, over the past year, my blog had morphed into something entirely different.  I am writing instead about out-of-the-blue experiences that happened to me throughout my ordinary days.  Instead of writing about traveling, I am writing about everyday life lessons.  I am recording the sudden insights and moments of joy that occurred during the quiet moments of my life.  So instead of writing about my recent trip to Vegas, here again is a surprising moment that occurred in my life last week.

I had just finished instructing my morning class at 11:30 am on Thursday, May 28, 2015.  I was happy it was Thursday.  This week was the first week of a new term and it had been exhausting.  I decided that I needed to get off campus for a while and decompress before my next class began.

I just went across the street to a small restaurant.  It wasn’t until I had received my glass of unsweetened iced tea and immersed myself in the pages of the latest novel I was reading that I finally began to breathe and relax.  I hadn’t realized I had been holding my breath until this moment.  Yes, the week had been very stressful and I’m afraid my appearance had put my exhaustion on display.  I was dressed in a pair of old black slacks, a red sleeveless shirt, and a pair of blue flip-flops.  I wore very light makeup and my large purple plastic framed glasses tilted sideways across the bridge of my nose.  I had been too exhausted all week to put contact lenses into my eyes.  I knew my hair had been tossed around by the wind when I left campus just a few minutes earlier but I didn’t stop to brush it again.  The sad thing was that I just felt too exhausted to care.  (Hey, I’m not writing a fashion blog for good reason!)

It felt good to relax especially since I would not be heading back home until 10:30 pm when my night classes were over.  I decided to take full advantage of this moment.  I was just going to sip my tea, read my book, and not worry about anything.

A few moments later, however, a movement at the front of the restaurant caught my attention and I glanced up over the top of my book.  I watched as a very small, adorable, elderly woman entered the restaurant.  The woman was dressed as eccentrically as I was.  She wore a pair of old jeans, a purple long-sleeved knit shirt, and a pink puffy vest even though the end of May temperature outside was approaching 100 degrees.  A little, beige, knit cap covered her short, dark, curly hair.

I know it’s not polite to stare but I watched as she shuffled slowly up to the front register and placed her lunch order.  Then the woman slowly turned around and ambled over to a table in the back right hand corner of the room.  I was a little concerned about the elderly woman.  She had a small hump at the top of her back that caused her head to hang a little lower than her shoulders.  Her neck was slightly bent in order to keep her eyes up.  Her legs seemed to be a little wobbly as she moved slowly between the tables to the booth.

I watched her for a moment as she settled into her seat.  When the clerks called out the number of her food order, I started to stand up, but relaxed back down in my seat when one of the workers left the counter and carried the tray of food over to the woman’s table.  The elderly woman, however, refused to be helpless.  As the clerk placed the tray on the table and walked away, the elderly woman stood up and shuffled over to the condiment counter.  I know that I shouldn’t have been staring, but the gentle rocking motions of her gait was like an intriguing dance, a shamble of endurance and grace.  As the woman picked up some napkins and hot sauce and started walking back to her table, I turned my attention back to my book.  I didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable because I had been watching her.

I read just a few words before I was distracted.  A slight movement caught my attention.  I looked up to find the elderly woman now standing beside my table.  I smiled up at her…and then nearly fell out of my chair!

The woman looked at me and said, “You are so pretty!”

I stared at her with my mouth hanging open in surprise.  “Th-th-thank you,” I stuttered.  I was shocked.  I didn’t know what to say.  I took a breath and stated, “So are you,” for I was stunned by the woman’s incredibly deep blue eyes and smooth shiny skin.

The woman waved her hand at me before saying, “No, not me.  But you are really pretty.  Your skin is so smooth…”

Again, I could only stammer a “th-th-thank you” before the woman continued.  “I am 91-years-old,” she stated.  Ninety-one?!?  This woman with the bright blue eyes, treating herself out to lunch all alone, was 91-years-old?!  Before I could make any comment, the woman continued, “I am 91.  At my age, I have seen many beautiful things.  I know beauty…and you, my dear, are beautiful!”

And with that finally pronouncement, the woman turned away from me and ambled back to her table again.  Her head seemed to be held up a little higher and her gait suddenly seemed to be a lot lighter as she moved away from me with an amazing amount of dignity and elegance.

I tried to turn my attention back to my book after this encounter but I couldn’t concentrate.  I suddenly felt myself changed by this moment and I was too excited to sit still.  I got up from my table and refilled my tea cup.  Then, as I walked towards the exit, I detoured over to the woman’s table.  I thanked her again for her compliments and wished her a great day.

“Oh, you, too, my dear,” she answered as her right hand waved joyfully.

I left the restaurant and walked over to my car.  I sat for a few minutes and contemplated what had just happened and the connection I felt to this elderly woman.  I glanced around the parking lot for a moment wondering where the woman came from.  Did she drive herself to the restaurant at 91 years of age? How amazing! I knew then that God had once again sent another person into my life to bless me.

I know that this moment may not mean anything to anyone else.  I know it’s not adventurous or overly interesting.  However, I know that these out-of-the-blue moments, these sudden connections with kind strangers are the elements that gives meaning to my life.  I know that I will always remember the times I’ve driven cross-country or traveled overseas.  But will I always remember random acts of kindness?  I write about these events because random these are the moments I really hope to remember.  I know that random acts of kindness are the moments that make my life extraordinary!

Human Chain

Last Monday, during a two-hour break between my classes, I decided to drive over to Clark’s, the local health food store and grab some healthy snacks.  I really enjoy shopping through all of the bulk bins that are at the front of the store.  I grabbed several plastic bags and began to fill them up with sesame sticks, blueberry granola, and unsalted peanuts.  Once I had chosen my snacks, I walked over to the registers and got in line.  A few minutes later, the clerk was scanning my purchases while I searched in my wallet for my credit card.  Suddenly, I heard a voice loudly saying to me, “What are you going to do with all of these peanuts?”

I glanced over to see my bag of peanuts suddenly dangling in front of my face as I heard a deep rumble of laughter.  At first, I was a little aggravated.  I don’t like to have my grocery selections questioned or my food touched.  I don’t always like strangers shouting at me, mocking me, or teasing me.  I never know how to respond.  So, yes, I could feel myself becoming irritated.  I looked up from my wallet and suddenly found myself looking into the face of a young man with the most dazzling, happy smile I had ever seen.  The smile was so kind and endearing, I couldn’t be upset.  I stared at the man whose eyes behind his thick glasses were slightly crossed and the look of Down’s syndrome graced his face.  The young man was wearing a green Clark’s apron.  The nametag on the apron had the word “Volunteer” stamped on it.  How cool!

Suddenly, I heard the female clerk’s voice laugh as she said, “Well, she is going to eat them.  What did you think she was going to do with all those peanuts?”

I started to laugh now.  “Do you like peanuts?” I asked the volunteer.

He shrugged his shoulders and said, “I like them.”

“I do, too,” I answered.   “I think they’re really good.”

“Yeah,” the volunteer answered, “that’s why you have a whole bag of them.”

“Yeah,” I laughed at his observation, “you’re right.  I guess that’s why.”

The clerk interrupted us then as she ran my credit card and asked if I wanted paper or plastic.  I told her I didn’t need a bag at all.  The clerk turned to the volunteer then and smiled, “She doesn’t want a bag, Mike.  Just hand her the items.”

But the volunteer still seemed fascinated with the bag of peanuts.  Suddenly, his face lit up.  “Hey,” he said then, “I know what you can do with all these peanuts!”

“What?”  I asked him as the clerk listened in on his suggestion.  “What should I do with all these peanuts?”

“You can make peanut butter!” he said triumphantly.

The clerk and I laughed then, “Yes,” I told him.  “That’s a great idea!  I just might do that!”

The volunteer handed me the plastic bags of peanuts and sesame sticks as I told him thank you and have a good day.  He smiled at me and wished me the same.  I walked out of the store and started walking over to my vehicle.

As I reached my car, I suddenly noticed a middle aged, blond woman in a silky short black dress and high black heels walking across the parking lot.  The woman was taking very small tentative steps as she pulled at her dress.  She continued to fret with the skirt of her dress, awkwardly pulling it down her legs to her knees as her fingers slipped and tangled in the loose flowing material.  I watched her for just a moment.  The woman walked a little sideways on the balls of her feet as if she was afraid she was going to fall.

As the woman approached me, I smiled and called out to her.  “You look really nice.”

The woman stopped and stared at me for a moment.  Then she smiled as she blinked several times as if to block tears.  “Oh, thank you so much,” she said.  “You look so nice, too.”

I smiled and blushed a little at her words.  I was wearing what I normally wear when I teach my classes.  I want to be comfortable so I wear a long skirt, simple shirt, and flat sandals.  And though I do think the woman was only trying to be nice to me, there was a hint of sincerity and kindness in her words that I don’t usually hear from a lot of people.

I smiled at the woman and said “Thank you.”  I was grateful for her kindness.  The woman stopped walking for a moment as I stood by my car door.  She hesitated as if she was going to say something more to me.  I waited, but she just stood awkwardly still, looking at me with a shy smile as her fingers tugged at the hem of her skirt.  We smiled at each other for a moment more before I said, “You have a great day!”

“Oh, thank you so much,” the woman said as she began to take awkward steps again.  “You, too.  You have a great day.”

I got into my car then and watched as the woman shuffled her way across the parking lot and then stepped inside of the sliding front doors of Clark’s.  As I watched the doors close behind her, I smiled as I thought of all the unusual, amazing people God had brought into my life that day.  I had the greatest feeling that the people I had encountered were in my life for a reason.  Just these brief encounters made me feel incredibly blessed.  I hoped that I had been an inspiration and blessing to other people as well, too.

I drove back to the campus feeling incredibly connected to the Oneness that bonds all souls.  I thanked God for allowing me, in some brief way, to be a link in His amazing human chain.  I don’t want to be the weak link in this chain!  I want to love and be kind to people.  It is always return to me. It comes back around.  For I love myself the most when I love other people.

Mother’s Day

“A queen is wise.  She has earned her serenity, not having had it bestowed on her but having passed her tests.  She has suffered and grown more beautiful because of it.  She has proved she can hold her kingdom together.  She has become its vision.  She cares deeply about something bigger than herself.  She rules with authentic power.” –Marianne Williamson

My mother has always been my best friend.  Maybe because we saw the world in a way that other people around us didn’t understand.  Mom and I shared visions and predictions.  We would get into long conversations about spirits, reincarnation, out of body experiences, and angels.  My mother would grip my hands, stare into my eyes, and say, “I can’t talk to anyone else the way that I can talk to you.”

You see, my mother was a seer, a psychic, a sensitive, a traveler, a seeker…and, for her, it was a horrible burden.  She would continually be misunderstand, mocked, and criticized.  She would suffer through 40 years of domestic abuse that left her depressed, bitter, and broken.  She would only regain her spirit after my father passed and my mother suddenly found herself alone and free to be the woman she was meant to be.  She began to reclaim her life.  She would then tell me the most amazing stories about God and the universe and I was always so eager to hear and to understand.

I share my mother’s gift.  I carry the same burden.  It was a tremendous relief for me when my mother finally found the strength to reveal her true self, even though there were still days that it left her lonely and confused.  Her visions and intuition had caused her to be lonely and isolated.  Being a sensitive, my mother was always aware of the thoughts and feelings of the people around her.

One night, I was with my mother in a hotel room in Atlantic City.  We had just spent a long week traveling through the northeast together, exploring Ellis Island, the Statue of Liberty, and Niagara Falls.  I don’t know if it was exhaustion or exhilaration from our 8-week wander through America, but my mother sat on the bed with her legs tucked up under her.  She started to talk about her life, her visions, and the suffering she endured.  She began to say to me, “I know people don’t like me.  I know most people laugh at me.  But I can only be who I am.  I can only be me.”  Though her voice was strong and her declaration clear, the tears running down her face were breaking my heart.  I sat down on the bed beside her and wrapped my arms around my mother and together we shared tears and strength and visions until mom became silent and drifted off to sleep.

The next morning, mom was up early.  She was dressed, packed, and ready to continue our journey through America.  I was so happy that I was able to share this adventure with her.  I was so glad I got to live with her every day for the last nine months of her life.  Though my mother always doubted herself, she taught me to be strong; she taught me to be proud of my visions; she taught me to enjoy all of the wonders of the universe, both on earth and in heaven.  And this I can say with deep love in my heart and joy in my soul: My Mother was the greatest woman no one ever knew.

Happy Mother’s Day, Momma.  I love you.  I miss you every day.

And to all of the mother’s, all over the world, who love their children, who teach their children respect and kindness, who hold their children close to their breast and even closer to their hearts, who give their children strength to stand on their own two feet and yet pick them up when they fall…

To all the mothers who give of themselves without asking for anything in return; who stay in the shadows and allow their children to shine…

To all the mothers who are proud of their children even when sing off-key, miss a dance step, or strike out every time they are up at bat…

I know who you are…

I had a mother just like you…

And though it may not always be said, you are always loved and honored…if not by family, if not by neighbors, if not by friends…

You are held in the greatest admiration of God and the Blessed Virgin…

They see your suffering; they know your heart; they understand your deepest intentions and listen to your continuous prayers….

Giving birth was a blessed event and a blessing event…

You are honored…

I wish you all a very Happy Loving Mother’s Day….

Spot on the Sun–A Short Story

Something strange happened to me last week.  I don’t know why or exactly how it happened.  All I know is that it did.  It all started this way.  It was Monday, just a Monday, like any other Monday ever since time began.  This Monday was behaving the same as any Monday would.  I am used to it, but, I have to admit, I wish that Mondays would behave like other days of the week.  I would like Monday to become more like a Sunday, reverent, quiet, and lazy.  Or maybe Monday could become more Friday-like, with wild, carefree fun.  But Monday can’t be anything other than a Monday.  And I can’t be anything more than what I am.  I am Stephanie, a quiet woman, a philosopher, a poet, an explorer…the one who looks underneath while everyone else is over the top.  I see things most people don’t see…and that’s exactly what happened last Monday.

It was a typical, sad, lonely Monday, a day of little energy and, even worse, little emotion.  Nobody cares about anything on a Monday.  Everything felt off balance like it normally does on a Monday.  So, this particular morning of hazy sunlight and visible rain didn’t really make an impression on me.  I would expect a Monday to be like that.  I wasn’t really happy about it.  But again, what am I gonna do?  Mondays are going to come around again whether I want them to or not.  They are just always there like an unwelcomed relative.  At least, Mondays know when they have overstayed their welcome and leave after 24 hours.

That certainly isn’t like my cousin John who came to visit me one afternoon, and now, two months later, is still sleeping on my living room couch.  I could hear him snoring as I got out of bed and walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  I could usually hear him snoring anywhere I was in the apartment.  The noise never ends.  He is loud and obnoxious and I wish he would stop.  But he doesn’t.  I almost prefer to hear him snore because then, at least, I know where he is and what he is doing.  It’s when he’s quiet that I panic.  He likes to sneak up on me.  I don’t know why he does that and I really wish he would stop.  Sometimes, I don’t think he realizes that he is doing it.  John just seems to exist wherever John is.  He doesn’t think about anything.

So this particular Monday, I woke up around seven in the morning, rolled out of bed, and walked into the bathroom.  I needed to get ready for work.  I used the toilet and then quickly showered.  After drying myself off with the one good clean towel, I got dressed.  Getting ready on a Monday doesn’t take much thought.  I just put on the same clothes I wear every Monday.  Life is easier that way.  Why complicate a Monday with concerns about what to wear?  Monday will always be Monday regardless of whether I wear pants or a skirt.  Why do people stress over what to wear or what day it is?  Very simply, it was Monday, so I would wear my comfortable black pants, white short-sleeved blouse, and black pumps.  I sighed as I looked at myself in the mirror.  Monday was a cruel manipulator.  It always dictated what I wore and how I felt.

So, even though, it appears that I was off to a great start, it honestly takes me a little longer to get going on Mondays.  I’m always late for work every Monday.  It’s not that I’m lazy or hate to work.  No, it’s just hard for me to get focused after the weekend.  I have a hard time getting in the mindset to go to work on Mondays.  I get easily distracted.

For instance, last Monday, I was twenty minutes late because I stopped to watch a leaf floating in an inch of water in the storm drain down the street.  I can’t tell you why this actually caught my attention but it did.  I just stood there on the sidewalk and watched the leaf swirling around in the dirty water until it was finally swept down into the storm drain with the excess fluid.  Though my body moved on, my mind was still stuck.  I walked to work contemplating how the leaf had fallen so far from the tree and ended up in the storm drain never to return.  So, that’s what happened.  I was twenty minutes late to work last Monday because I was watching a leaf.  The week before I was counting the cracks in the sidewalk and before then I was noticing how much the grass had grown in the courtyard outside my apartment.  So, yes, I’m always late on Mondays.  I usually am not completely focused until Wednesdays.  Then I’m usually fifteen minutes early to work for the rest of the week.  But come Monday, I am late again, and people in the office are beginning to notice.

That Monday, Linda, who works at the desk next to mine suddenly looked at me when I walked into the office and commented, “Well, I guess some of us need extra time to recover from the weekend.”

I hate Linda.

I wish I didn’t have to work next to her.  She is very mean to me.  She constantly makes rude comments to me since I became the Administrative Assistant to Mr. Davis at the law office a year ago.  Maybe she’s afraid I’m going to take her place as Senior Administrative Assistant, as if that is something I really aspire to be.  Maybe she thinks I’m not smart enough for my job.  But whatever the reason, she is always making rude comments.  The data entry clerks in the office are always laughing at the comments Linda makes at me.  I don’t know why the two clerks always laugh at Linda’s remarks.  The comments are never funny.  I think the women are just terrified of Linda.  She can be really scary…

And she loves to eat.  There are always snacks at her desk.  Linda especially loves to eat corn chips.  I can hear her crunching throughout the day.  The smell is disgusting.  I never know what to say to Linda about the food or her rude comments.  One day, I’m going to tell her to stop and leave me alone, but for now, I just prefer to keep my distance.

I pulled my long blond hair back in a loose ponytail and put on a few splotches of make-up before picking up my wide red plastic-framed glasses and sliding them onto my face.  When I was ready, I opened up the bathroom door.  I walked back to my room and grabbed my purse and keys.  I guess I was ready to go.  Maybe I could make it to work on time today.  But it was Monday, and it had been raining since early this morning.  Who knows what manifestations may distract me on my walk to the bus stop today?  Anything can happen, though, I guess.  Maybe that’s what makes life so interesting.  I sighed deeply as I walked out of my room, down the hallway, and…

“AAAHH!”  I suddenly screamed jumping back.  I took several deep breaths and stared at John who stood directly in front of me.  God, I was so caught up in my thoughts about Monday and Linda, I hadn’t noticed that the snoring from the living room sofa had stopped.  John was standing quietly in front of me.

“Geez, Sis,” he stated, tossing back the long, straggly, blond hair that was hanging in his face.  “You need to calm down.  What’s wrong with you, Sis?  You need to relax.  You’re always screamin’.”

I stared at John for a moment.  He always says he doesn’t purposely try to scare me.  He claims he only startles me so easily because I’m never paying attention…

He may have a point…

It’s not fair though…I do pay attention…just not to the things other people think are important.

But I didn’t want a lecture on the art of relaxation from John right now, even though I know he is an expert on doing nothing.  I didn’t want John to tell me about relaxing when I am the one working hard to support both of us.

And I wish he would stop calling me Sis!  I don’t know why he does that.  I am not his sister.  I am his cousin.  Yet, he always says Sis no matter how much it irritates me.  It sounds dismissive to me as if he is just patting me on the head and pushing me away.  I’m beginning to think that he says it on purpose, just to upset me.  One of these days, I will demand that he calls me by my real name—Stephanie Ann Davis.  And then, I’m going to tell him he has to leave.  And then, I’m going to ask for the hundred dollars he owes me…

Just not right now.

I needed to get to work.  Besides, I didn’t want to talk to John about my life or my job or money or anything really.  Talking to John was like talking to a parrot.  He just repeats back what he hears but doesn’t contemplate anything.  It’s amusing for a while, but ultimately pointless.  I push past John and walk into the living room.

“Not even a good morning today,” John called out sarcastically from behind me.  “You can at least say good morning.”  But I was too shocked at the mess I saw as I entered the living room to say anything to him.  Clothes were all over the floor, and a few paper plates of food and several cans of coke were sitting next to the couch.  The place was a disaster.

“John, why did you make such a mess?”  I asked as I pointed to his clutter in the living room.  John stared at me for just a moment as if he thought I was somewhat ridiculous.  I didn’t care about that, though.  I was past the point of worrying what John thought about anything.  I just sighed dramatically.  I had to admit that I was a little irritated when John just chuckled and shrugged his shoulders at my question.  I knew that the mess would wait until I had time to clean it up when I got home from work.

“Yeah, yeah,” John was saying to placate me.  “I’ll get it cleaned up.”  He said the words in a lazy monotone without much commitment.  “But I got stuff to do today.”

I stared at him in shock for a moment.  “What could you possibly have to do today?  You don’t have a job.  You don’t go to school.  How can you be too busy to clean up today?”  I turned away, and walked to the door, but John followed closely behind me.  “Leave me alone, John,” I said to him even though my words didn’t sound threatening at all.  Instead, my voice came out of my dry throat as a bit of a squeak.  So, of course, it didn’t stop John from following me to the front door.

I opened the door and stepped outside into a usual Monday morning.  The sun was just beginning to break through a few of the lingering dark gray clouds.  Large, dirty puddles covered the steps and sidewalks.  I found myself leaping widely in an effort not to splash through the puddles as I made my way down the four wide concrete steps to the sidewalk.  Well, this is different, I mused.  This wasn’t like any other Monday or most rainstorms.  I wasn’t jumping into the puddles and enjoying them like I usually do.  This morning, I was sidestepping the puddles and fighting to keep my thoughts focused on just moving forward.  I didn’t want to get distracted right now.  Any place I stopped to contemplate life, I would have John right beside me.  I wanted to him to leave me alone, but he continued to follow me.  I hoped that the wet morning would deter John, but it didn’t.  He continued to tag along behind me as I walked out the door, down the steps, and onto the sidewalk.

A nasty little thought occurred to me then.  Did I lock the apartment door?  I don’t remember if I had turned the little button on the knob before it swung shut behind us.  I wickedly hoped that I had locked John out of the apartment!  Here was John following me outside while he was wearing the soft flannel blue shorts and white t-shirt that he usually wore to bed.

…And he always tells me that I am oblivious.

Didn’t he realize that he was walking outside in his pajamas?  I hoped we got further from the apartment before John realized that there could be a problem.  I wondered how many people would see John in his pjs.  The thought made me laugh and I was momentarily happy before I began to feel a little bit guilty.  John is not a bad person, I tried to tell myself.  He’s just very misguided and a little selfish.

Hey, maybe I could be a role model for him…

My brilliant idea dissolved into dread as John followed me across the apartment complex parking lot.  Oh, man, he was asking me for money again!  “Just twenty dollars,” he was saying.  “Could you just give me twenty dollars to see me through the week?  I’ll pay you back.”

“You’ll pay me back,” I laughed.  “You already owe me a hundred dollars.”  I glanced back at John who looked rather hurt that I had the nerve to keep track of the money he had borrowed from me over the last few weeks.  I just shook my head at him.  He had no right to feel insulted after he was has been living on my sofa for two months now.  “When are you going to pay me back, John?”  I asked.  “How are you going to pay me back?  You don’t even have a job.”

I didn’t want to give John any more money.  I know how John operates.  He’ll stay with me for a while, bleed me dry, and then move on.  I tell him things like “I’m short on cash right now” or “I haven’t gotten paid from work yet this week.”  I don’t think he believes me.  I’m not an effective liar.

Why don’t I just tell him what I think?  Why can’t I just be honest with him?  John, I should say, just get your crap and move!  I don’t want you sleeping on my couch anymore.  I don’t want you eating all of my food.  You need to contribute.  But instead, I keep my mouth shut and just hope that he will somehow realize that he is no longer welcomed in my home.  But John seems just as oblivious to the things happening around him as I am.  We are family.  Neither one of us really pays attention to anything other people think is important.

John continued to follow me across the parking lot to the opposite sidewalk.  I don’t have a car right now.  That is a bit of a relief.  I know John would ask to borrow it if I had one.  He wouldn’t think anything of taking my car for the day and leaving me stranded, without a way to get to and from work.  I actually take the bus every day.  It’s kind of a hassle…but, at least, John doesn’t get to use my car…if I had one, that is.  The plan backfires sometimes, though…

Two or three times, I had to stay late at work and I missed the bus.  I had to humble myself and ask Linda to give me a ride home.  She was mad, but she eventually did it.  She drove me three blocks and asked me for ten dollars in gas money!  She even lives in my apartment complex!  It wasn’t as if she had to go out of her way to take me somewhere different.  I gave her the money, though.  I didn’t know how to say no.  I was scared to say no, but, honestly, what would she have done?  Driven me back to the office and left me over night?  I don’t know.

I hate Linda.

Now here was John trailing after me down the sidewalk and still asking me if I could please give him twenty dollars…twenty dollars, he claims, is all he needs.  I only had 30 dollars to get me through this week.  That was just for my lunches and bus fare.  I tried to walk a little faster but John was right on my heels.  I could hear his voice behind me.  “C’mon, Sis.  I really need the money, Sis!”  I could feel tears of frustration burning my eyes.  I couldn’t argue with John any more.  I just needed to get away from him.  Now, I hoped I hadn’t accidentally locked the door.  I would have preferred it if John just went back inside the apartment and left me alone.  But, no, matter how fast I walked, he was still there stalking along behind me.  Finally, as I approached the bus stop, I irritably reached down into my purse, pulled out a few dollars, and turned around to face John.

I turned around angrily and probably with more energy than I had intended.  I spun around…and walked right smack into him!  I hadn’t realized that he had been quite that close.  My face collided with his left shoulder.  I felt a sudden whoosh as air spilled out of my lungs and my glasses were knocked off my face.  I caught my breath as I heard my glasses fall onto the sidewalk with a scrapping thud sound.  Oh, man, I hope I didn’t break my glasses…

As I bent down to retrieve my glasses, John did the same thing, and we suddenly cracked our heads together with a hard, loud thump.  The head bump was so hard it caused me to stumble backwards for just a moment.  Before I fell back on my butt, though, I suddenly felt myself being pulled in the opposite direction and back up on to my feet.  I righted myself and then noticed that John was standing in front of me, holding on to my left elbow to prevent me from following over.  I didn’t want to thank him for his help.  I would have preferred to fall on my butt than to feel obligated to John.

Once I had my feet back under me, I yanked my elbow out of his grasp.  John looked at me for a moment as if he expected a reward for his help, maybe like twenty dollars.  When I didn’t respond, John bent down and picked up my glasses from the sidewalk.

“I’m sorry, Sis,” he was saying as he held my glasses out to me.  I bit my lip because I didn’t want to cry and I didn’t want to scream at him.  “Sis,” John was saying.  “I really am sorry…uh, can I have the 20 bucks now?  It’s cold out here.  I want to go back inside my apartment.”  I glared at him for just a moment.  The fact that I had to squint to see him put more menace into the look I shot at him.  “I mean your apartment,” he mumbled.

“Just give me my glasses,” I screeched at him as I reached out my right hand towards him.  I am practically blind without my glasses and feel very vulnerable without them.  At first, John held my glasses away from me.  I heard him laugh once or twice as he yanked them further out of my reach.  “That’s not funny, John!”  I shouted at him.

“Geez, alright, Sis,” John stated.  “I was just playing.  You really needed to relax, Sis.  Why are you always so uptight?”  I continued to stagger around, slashing and sliding through puddles as I batted blindly at the air around me.  I heard a grunt of laughter from John.  I had this strange feeling he was going to hold my glasses hostage for a twenty-dollar ransom.  But, instead, I suddenly saw his blurred image up close as he stood directly in front of me and dropped the glasses right down onto my face.  I jumped back for a moment at the sudden sensation.  As John put the glasses on me, I felt a little cold sliminess settle across the bridge of my nose.  Oh, man, the glasses must have fallen directly into a puddle and John didn’t care enough to wipe them off.  “I’m sorry, Sis.  I really am,” John was saying.  He was quiet for a moment and then added, “I really need the 20 bucks…”

I blinked several times trying to adjust my vision.  Something didn’t seem right here.  I staggered around and then looked up….and that’s when I saw it!  I had glanced up at the sky just as the sun began to shine through a few of the dark clouds.  But the sun wasn’t complete and perfect as it usually was.  Instead, the brilliant golden orb now had a round dark spot right in the center.  Why was this happening?  Oh, my gosh, was this an eclipse or something?  No, no, it couldn’t be that.  The sun wasn’t a solid circle this morning.  Instead, the dark spot on the orb was a small blip with jagged uneven edges.  Could this morning’s storm have washed away the center of the sun?  While John continued to beg for money, I just stood there in front of him, staring up at the sky, and contemplating the sun.  I couldn’t believe that John continued to talk and other people just continued walking down the sidewalk while such a phenomenon was taking place.

And everyone thought I was oblivious…

Why didn’t these people look at the sun?  Why didn’t they notice that the sun was slowly dissolving into a black icky mess?  I wanted to grab people’s arms and yank them over.  I wanted to point up at the sky and demand that they look at the sun.  I wanted everyone to see what I was seeing.  I wanted to share this spectacle with the rest of the world.  This wasn’t just a leaf caught in a storm drain or grass growing in the courtyard.  This was a happening, a miracle!  Why was everyone else ignoring it?

I didn’t reach out to anyone though.  I just continued to stand there, quietly staring up at the sky and studying the sun.

And suddenly, I realized that John had stopped talking.  He was no longer begging me for money.  Instead, he was suddenly standing by my left side.  His gaze had followed mine until he, too, was staring at the sun.  I suddenly felt myself filled with so much joy.  I had never felt so close to John in my life.  My cousin John and I were standing together on the sidewalk just a few feet from the bus stop staring up at the phenomenon of a black spot on the sun.  It felt for a moment like the planet had stood still as John and I stood together in silent communion staring into a far-off world.  I had suddenly slipped into my contemplative mood as I wondered what would happen to the world if the sun dissolved.

And then suddenly, I heard someone shuffle up to stand just to my right side.  I didn’t turn around to look.  I was scared that if I took my eyes off the sun I would miss something.  I just had the sense that there was a person standing beside me.  I didn’t know who it was or what he or she looked like.  I didn’t know if the person was male or female, short or tall, heavy or thin.  I didn’t know if he or she was black or white or Asian.  I didn’t know if he or she was Muslim or Christian or Jewish.  I didn’t know if his or her hair was black, or brown, or blonde.  I didn’t know if the person was gay or straight.  I didn’t know if he or she was college educated or a high school dropout.  I didn’t know if he or she was rich or poor.  All I knew was that the person stood beside me as we stood together staring up at the sun.

Then I felt someone else standing to my left directly behind John.  And again, I didn’t know who it was.  I still couldn’t turn my face away from that spot on the sun, so I didn’t turn to look at the person.  I didn’t see his or her face.  I didn’t know if this person was male or female, short or tall, heavy or thin.  I didn’t know if he or she was black or white or Asian.  I didn’t know if he or she was rich or poor.  I could just feel the person standing to my right staring up at the sun.

Then I could feel someone standing directly behind me but I didn’t turn away from the sun to look.  I could just feel warm breath on the back of my neck and the heat of a body warming me in the chilly Monday morning air.  I didn’t know if this person was male or female, heavy or thin, tall or short, rich or poor…and I really didn’t care.  I was just so happy to be spending this moment with these people.  I hadn’t had anyone share my contemplations with me before and this moment now made me smile.  For the first time, people were seeing the world the way I was!  What an extraordinary and exhilarating moment!

I could feel someone now standing in front of me, but with my eyes turned up to the sun, I was looking right over the top of his or her head.  I could just see a soft fuzziness below my face.  It could be a hat, scarf, or hair.  I couldn’t tell if he or she was heavy or thin, rich or poor.  It didn’t matter.

I could feel the heat of a hundred souls around me.  The sensation warmed me and made me feel safe and loved.  I had never before felt so connected to other people.

Like a magnet, our quiet, calm moment caused more people to gather around John and me.  There were so many of us that we filled the sidewalk and drifted into the street.  There were so many people I couldn’t tell where I stopped, and they began.  I could feel a variety of people on my right and on my left.  There were people in front of me and behind me.  I didn’t know who they were.  I didn’t know if they were male or female, tall or short, rich or poor.  I didn’t know their race, religion, or culture.  It didn’t matter.  Everyone was looking up, staring in one direction.  All of us united in one common goal: to contemplate the phenomenon of the dark spot on the sun.

And I felt so much love for the people around me.  I could feel John standing a little forward on my right side.  My sweet cousin.  I loved him so much.  My heart swelled as we stood together contemplating this occurrence.  We stood together, sharing a phenomenal moment of witnessing something so unique and original.

As I stood there, basking in the warmth of the human experience, I suddenly heard a child’s voice break the silence as he loudly asked, “Mommy, what are we looking at?”

“We’re looking at the storm clouds,” his mother answered.

Though a multitude of voices began to sound all at once, each one rang out as a separate solo in our unique symphony.

“Clouds?” a male voice suddenly echoed.  “I thought we were staring up at the trees.”

“No, no, no,” another female answered, “there is nothing in the trees.  We’re looking at the roof of the building across the street.”

“The roof?  There’s something on the roof over there?  Why would we just stare at a roof?” a different woman shouted.  “No, no, we’re watching for planes.”

“Planes!?” a male voice asked angrily.  “Why would we all just stand around waiting for planes to go by?  That’s stupid.”

“Well, I don’t know what we’re looking at,” a female voice admitted.  “I’m just looking because everyone else is.  What is it?  What are we all looking at anyway?”

Now, to my surprise, most of the people were saying the same thing.  “I don’t know what we’re looking at.”  “Everyone’s just staring.”  “What is everyone looking at?”  “What is it?  Why are we here?”

What was wrong with these people?  I wondered.  Couldn’t they see?  Why didn’t they know?  How could they not see it?  And then I realized something.  We weren’t united in the same experience as I had imagined us to be.  I was alone in my contemplation of life while others just stood around lost and oblivious.

Now, there was a quiet moment as everyone turned to stare at each other.  Everybody was searching for an answer.  Tension began to riffle through the crowd as everyone was trying to figure out why they had just wasted several minutes of their busy Monday morning staring at nothing.

“You were here first,” a couple of people suddenly said as they looked at John and me.  “You started this?  What were you staring at?”

“I don’t know.  I have no idea.  I was just looking because she was,” John said as he casually pointed at me.

“And I was just looking because you were,” another voice answered John.  Several other voices responded in the same way.

Oh, my gosh, I thought, they really didn’t see it!  They didn’t understand.  Nobody else understood the magnitude of the situation.  Before I could think of anything else, John suddenly said, “Yeah, it was you, Sis.  You started all of this, Sis.  What were you looking at?”

Now, I could feel all of the eyes turning away from the sky and focusing on me.  It was completely silent, except for the shallow breathing of the people around me.  “The spot,” I whispered, “the spot on the sun.”  I didn’t turn around yet to face the people gathered around me.  I felt safer staring directly at the sun.  I slowly pointed up and said again, “I was looking at the spot on the sun.

“The what?”  And I suddenly could hear the different voices of the people around me.  I looked away from the sun then and at the people gathered on the sidewalk and in the street.  Where we were all one before, now I could see their race and culture and religion.  Where we were all in silent communion before now there were angry, confused expressions on their faces.

…And, oh my gosh, what was this!?  Every face I saw seemed to be missing a particular feature.  There was one face with a hole where the nose should be.  Another with an eye missing.  As I turned around, I noticed a woman’s face with a hole in her forehead.  Oh, my gosh, what was happening?  Everyone’s face was beginning to dissolve into darkness as the snarky voices continued questioning me.  “What is happening?”  “What do you see?”  “What is it?”  “A spot on the sun?”

My confidence and excitement was beginning to vanish.  I didn’t know what else to say.  I continued to repeat myself.  “It’s the spot on the sun,” I said again, but in a softer voice.  “Right there.”  I pointed up at the sky.  “There’s a black spot on the sun.”

I turned to look at John now, my eyes silently begging him to back me up.  But instead, he looked at me with a really odd expression.  Oh, my gosh, he seemed to have a hole on the left side of his face.  I stared at him, trying harder to focus on his features.  I couldn’t make myself look away.

John was staring at me incredulously.  And then he said, “Oh, for God’s sakes, Sis!  You have something on your glasses!”

Before I could stop him, he reached out and grabbed the glasses off my face.  He glanced at the lenses for just a moment and then started to laugh.  “Sis, look,” he stated.  “Your glasses got dirty when they fell into the puddle.  There’s a small piece of grass or a leaf or something on them.”  John rubbed the lenses on the front of his white flannel shorts.  Before I could protest, he plopped the glasses back on my face again.

“Oh,” I said as I was now able to see clearly.  I glanced up for a moment.  The sky was beginning to clear of the dark clouds and a brilliant, clear, whole sun was shining through.  “Oh,” I whispered, “I guess the sun is fine then.”  I giggled for a moment to hide my discomfort and embarrassment, but no one laughed along with me.  Instead, everyone stood around me in complete awkward silence.

Everyone was quiet for a moment.  And then suddenly one voice shouted out.  “This was a damn waste of my time.”  “Stupid,” another voice called.  “Idiot,” I heard someone else say.  “Damn fool,” was another comment that stuck in my brain as I felt a bright blush rushing up into my face.  My eyes began to burn as I struggled not to show any tears.

“Well, if I’m such an idiot, why were you all following me?” was my weak reply.  Nobody answered.  People were brushing roughly against me, almost knocking me over, as they walked away.  They were waiting to see a miracle, not realizing that they had already created one.  For on that dreary Monday, a miracle had occurred.  For one brief moment, everyone had been united.  People had joined together and contemplated the world.  It did happen.  Why was I the only one to notice?

Why did this happen to me?  Why couldn’t I see the world the way other people do?  Why do I always have to see the earth through my own imperfect eyes?  I had felt so close to these people just a few minutes ago.  It hurt now that they would call me names and laugh at me as they walked away.

In just a few minutes, John and I were the only two people left standing together on the sidewalk.  I struggled to fight back tears as we looked at each other.  “That was really stupid, Sis,” John said as he stared at me.  “You had everybody all confused.  You were an idiot.  How could you not figure out that it was just a spot on your glasses?  Sis, you really embarrassed me,” John said then as he shook his head.  “Why did you do that?  You need to start waking up and paying attention to the real world.”  He paused for just a moment and then said, “Can I have the twenty bucks now?  I want to go back to the apartment.”

I just stood there staring up at John hopelessly.  But we were one, weren’t we, John?  I wanted to ask him.  But John just stood there looking at me like I had lost my mind.  I stared at him quietly for a moment, seeing him clearly now, too.  “No,” I said in a small voice then.

“What?”  John asked as if he didn’t hear me…or didn’t want to hear me.

“No,” I said louder now.  “No, you can’t have twenty dollars, John.  I will not give you any more money.  I want you to pay me back what you already owe me.  A hundred dollars, John.  ”

“Oh, c’mon, Sis…”he started to whine, but I was having none of it.

“No, John,” I was all fired up now.  “I may have made a ‘stupid’ mistake.  But, I’m a good person.  I try to help people and I think about life.  I don’t need people standing around telling me that I’m stupid.  I don’t need people in my life to hurt me.”  Maybe I wanted to believe in another world.  Maybe I was looking for a miracle.  And then that’s when I did it.  I turned to John and told him that he had to leave.  “You need to be gone, John.  I want you to leave my apartment…You’ve mooched off of me long enough.  I want you to pack your crap and leave…NOW!  Not tomorrow and not later.  NOW, John.  I want you gone!  Get your things and go.  I want you gone by the time I get home from work tonight.” I stopped for a moment and took a deep breath, before adding,  “You need to go.”

I turned around and walked away from him then.

“Hey, Sis?”  John called out after me, but I wasn’t going to turn around.

“Leave, John,” I said as I walked down the sidewalk.

John still screamed out behind me.  “C’mon, Sis.”

“And stop calling me Sis!”  I demanded.  “My name is Stephanie!”

I continued on my journey without looking back at him again.  I had missed the bus, but that was okay.  I felt like walking anyway.  I walked the three blocks to work.  I splashed through puddles and didn’t care if I arrived late, wet, and dirty to my job.  This is who I am.

This Monday, I walked into the office half an hour late.  Of course, Linda had something to say about it.

I hate Linda.

As I had walked in the door of the law office, Linda looked up from her computer screen.  She started to make a few comments as I walked over to my desk which was right behind hers.

“Well, look who finally decided to show up for work today.  Late again?  It must be Monday,” Linda stated as the two data entry clerks looked up at me from their computer screens.  They didn’t even try to hide their giggles.  They always seemed to get excited when Linda made fun of me.  “My God, what happened to you?  You’re wet.  You look like a drowned cat who…”

“Stop it, Linda!  Just shut up!”  I said.  The data entry clerks suddenly looked away and found something important to do on their computers.  The deep, patient tone of my voice even scared me.  “Leave me alone.  I’m a good person and I do work hard, so just back off!”

Linda stared up at me.  Her eyes were wide and her mouth hung open.  My own words were even a shock to me.  I had never talked back to Linda before.

In the eerie silence that followed I continued.  “Why do you always have to make fun of me?  What have I ever done to you?  I don’t want your job.  I don’t want to hurt you.  I haven’t done anything to you.  Why are always making fun of me?”

Linda just looked at me for a moment.  And when she finally found her voice again, she said, “Would you like a doughnut?”  I stared at her as she picked up a large pink box that was sitting on the corner of her desk and held it out to me.

I wanted to stomp away from her but my hunger won out.  I didn’t get anything to eat before I left the apartment earlier.  This morning’s adventures made me really hungry.  “Yes, Linda,” I said.  “I would really like a doughnut.”

I reached into the box then and picked up a perfectly round, shiny, glazed doughnut.  I looked it over once before I bite into it.  “Thank you,” I whispered to her as I chewed.

Usually, Linda just ignores me throughout the rest of the day.  To my surprise, though, today, she continued to talk to me, asking me if I had any questions or needed any help getting the rest of my work completed.  It was a little uncomfortable at first, but slowly I began to relax into our comfortable truce.  I was surprised how pleasant and friendly Linda could be.

I like Linda.

…Today.  I don’t know about tomorrow yet.  We’ll just have to see.

Our pleasant camaraderie that day made the time pass very quickly.  Soon, five o’clock arrived and another Monday was over.

As Linda and I closed the office, she suddenly looked over at me.  “Do you need a ride home?” she asked.

“No,”  I answered her in a shy whisper, “I’m taking the bus.”  Honestly, I thought that muggers on the bus would be safer than being with Linda in her Toyota Scion.

“It’s no problem,” Linda said.  “I can drive you home.”  She looked at me for a moment and I couldn’t turn away.

And then she smiled at me!  Linda actually smiled at me!  Though at first I tried to fight it, I couldn’t help smiling back at her.  “That would be great, Linda,” I said, as I glanced out the window at the dreary evening.  Though the sun had started to come out that morning, the rest of the day had dissolved into dark clouds and heavy rain.  I couldn’t help but feel that the weather was my fault. Had I embarrassed the sun to the point that it no longer wanted to show its face?  I reminded myself that that was an awful way to think.  I know that the world didn’t revolve around me and that I certainly didn’t possess that kind of power.  But I couldn’t help feeling a little bit guilty for ruining everyone’s day.

But then again, whose choice was that really?

So now, I had a choice to make.  “Yeah, Linda,” I answered.  “I would appreciate a ride home.  But I really don’t have any extra money this week to give you…”

“Money?”  Linda asked as if in shock.  “Forget about it.  It’s not necessary.  The weather is just so bad, I don’t want to see you walking to the bus stop.  Besides, we live in the same apartment complex!  It’s okay.”

I smiled as Linda and I walked out of the office, locked up, and ran in the rain over to her car.

I like Linda.

As Linda drove us home, we just made general small talk about projects in the office…until we came to the corner of Third and Madison.  The atmosphere in the car suddenly seemed to change.  Linda suddenly became very quiet and took a deep breath as she pulled up to the stop sign.  Finally, she said, “This is it.”  She breathed in heavily.  “This is where I lost my son two years ago.”

I turned to look in shock at Linda.  Her revelation took me by surprise and all I could think to do was murmur, “What?”

“It was a motorcycle accident.  It was on a day just like today.  Dreary and dark and rainy.  A Monday just like today.  Mike was on his way home from work on the bike he loved so much.  A car headed the other way didn’t stop and ran right into him, killed him instantly.  I didn’t even get to say good-bye.”  And then she suddenly turned and looked at me.  “He was just about your age.”  Linda was quiet for a moment as she stared out through the windshield.  The atmosphere in the car was grown thicker, so I turned to look out my passenger side window.  I was contemplating the row of houses in the neighborhood and wondering who were the people who lived in these decaying, aging homes.

“He used to have your job,” Linda’s soft voice was strong enough to shock me out of my reverie.  “Yeah,” Linda continued, “He had just turned 21 and needed a job.  He started working with me in the office.  Then one day, he left the office about a half hour earlier than I did.  I was driving home and I saw him there, lying on the side of the road.  The paramedics were already working on him, but it was too late.  The driver of the car took off and left my son lying in the gutter.  I lost my son, and then two months later, you took over his job in the office.”

I shivered as I looked at Linda with more insight now than I had experienced in all of my moments of contemplation.  I began to understand Linda’s animosity towards me.  It really had nothing to do with me.  Linda’s world did not revolve around me either.  Wow, even though I contemplate life, I guess I’ll never really know what another person has been through until they tell me.  I suddenly found myself reaching over and giving Linda’s hand a quick squeeze.  She just offered a faint smile and slowly drove through the intersection then.

Suddenly, Linda started to talk again, “For a while, I refused to believe it.  For months, afterwards, I still called his cell phone.  I would tell friends that I couldn’t go out because Mike needed me at home…even after he was gone.  I was just crazy then.  It’s a little embarrassing now.”  She gave a small giggle then and shrugged her shoulders.  “I used to…I used to see Mike walking down the hallway of my home late at night even after he was gone.  I saw him.  I know I did.  It sounds so crazy.  But he was there.”  Linda just rolled her eyes then before saying, “I was just…just crazy.”

I let Linda’s words sink in for a moment before I finally said, “Linda, this morning…the reason I was late…I thought there was a spot on the sun.”

Linda turned to look at me briefly before turning her attention back to the road again, “What are you talking about?”

“Well, this morning I was walking to the bus stop and I had gazed up at the sky…and I swore there was a spot on the sun.  I thought the sun was dissolving.  I don’t even know why I would have thought that.  I think I’m always looking for the unusual…I don’t know,” I paused before I told Linda the rest of the story.  “Several people stopped around me and they were looking, too.  But they weren’t seeing what I was seeing.  There was nothing there.  I had just dropped my glasses in a puddle.  My glasses were just dirty.  There wasn’t a spot on the sun.”  I gave a little hurtful laugh then.  “What an idiot, huh?”

I cringed, waiting for Linda to make some snarky comment at me.  Instead, her face glowed with a gentle smile that I had never seen before.  “No,” she answered slowly.  “I would love to see the world the way you do.”  She smiled then as she turned into our apartment complex parking lot.  “My son…he used to see things like that, too.  He used to talk to me about aliens and ghosts.”  Now she cringed a little.  “Not in a crazy way, I mean.  Sam wasn’t crazy.  He just lived in a world of possibilities.  He believed anything could happen.  He always saw the most amazing things in this world.  He thought he would live forever.  He thought he was invincible.”  Linda sighed deeply as she pulled the Toyota Scion into her assigned parking space.  “Miracles hurt sometimes,” she sighed.

We both climbed out of the car.  I walked around to the front and thanked Linda for the ride home.  “It’s okay,” she whispered.  We didn’t say anything more.  It was still raining.  With a quick smile and a “See you tomorrow,” we both headed to our separate apartments.  I was really grateful that Linda didn’t laugh at me when I told her about the spot on the sun.

I like Linda.

I unlocked my apartment door and took a deep breath.  What am I going to say to John if he’s still here?  What am I going to do if he is angry with me?  I nervously pushed open the door and stepped inside the apartment.  “Oh, my gosh,” I breathed slowly as I walked inside and looked around.  I walked through the living room and into the kitchen then back to the bathroom.  The whole place was completely clean, except for a single sheet of paper lying on the dining room table.  I walked over and picked it up.  Underneath the paper was a single hundred-dollar bill.  “Oh, my gosh,” I sighed before I read the note.

“Dear Stephanie,” the note began, “I cleaned up the apartment and packed up my stuff.  Thank you for letting me stay with you for the past two months.  Here is the hundred dollars I owe you.  I will be staying at Rob’s place if you want to contact me.  I have a job interview tomorrow at Von’s grocery store and I’ll start looking for my own place.  Thanks again, Stephanie.  You’re the best!  John.”

I didn’t know where he got the money.  I wasn’t going to ask.  I placed the note and the money back down on the table.  I walked back into the living room and sat down on the couch.  I picked up the remote from the coffee table and turned on the TV.  Oh, my gosh, I sighed as the picture on the screen flickered on and a strange gray light filled the darkening room.  I stretched my arms up over my head and kicked my legs out straight in front of me.  I swung my lower body up on the couch and lay down.  I had my couch back!  It was all mine again!  And I can watch anything I wanted to on TV now.  I didn’t have to watch just John’s favorite shows.  I picked up the remote again and flicked through the channels.  I sighed deeply…

I miss John…

The following Monday, I woke up and stretched as I got out of bed.  I walked down the hallway to the bathroom.  I showered and then went back to my bedroom.  Today, I decided to wear red.  I pulled the bright red, full-skirt dress over my head.  This Monday felt special, as I knew all Mondays would feel from now on.

I walked back into the living room and smiled as I saw John lying on the couch.  He was breathing deeply in his sleep.  John had moved back in with me again.  But this time, I just knew it would be different.  He got the job at Von’s and he had agreed to pay half the rent and buy all his own food.  I’m glad he is living with me now.  I feel safer with John around and it’s nice having help with the rent.

I walked over to the door and quietly opened it up.  I tiptoed outside and pulled the door shut behind me.  What a great morning!  I thought as I took a deep breath.  A cool breeze was blowing over me…and the sun…well, the sun was full and bright and complete.  I ran down the steps and walked across the parking lot.  “Good morning, Linda,” I called cheerfully.  “How are you?”  I approached her car, feeling happy and warm in the glow of our new friendship.  Linda has offered to drive me to and from work while I was saving up to get my own car.  I have already giving Linda a few dollars for gas…and, funny, it felt good this time when I handed the money to her.

I walked over to where Linda stood quietly beside her car.  “Are you okay?”  I asked her as I looked at her with concern.

Linda looked up at me again and smiled, “Ants,” was all she said.  I followed her gaze back down to the asphalt of the parking lot.  In one of the zigzagging cracks of the pavement, a small, brown, sandy anthill had been created.  Now, Linda and I were suddenly squatting down and watching the ants as they worked.  Tiny, black ants were scurrying back and forth, in and out and around the hill.  The ants appeared to be incredibly busy as they ran around in circles.  Their day would be full and they would be as busy as most people I know.  I wondered if they ever stopped to notice the whole large world around them…the ants, I mean.  I already know most people are oblivious.

I thanked God then that I have always been able to see miracles.  My world and the people in it had suddenly grown so precious, all because, one glorious Monday morning I had seen a dark spot on the sun.  After a few minutes, Linda and I looked up and smiled at each other.  I laughed as I realized we were both going to be very late for work on this Miraculous Monday Morning.

New Year’s Eve

I should have known better than to go to the grocery store on New Year’s Eve.  I knew that the store would probably be busy with last minute customers who were preparing a New Year’s celebration that night.  I could have probably waited for a couple of days to go to the store.  I just thought it would be easier to pick up a few groceries now on my way home from the gym.

The parking lot of the grocery store was crowded but I finally found a space in a small side parking lot and carefully eased in between two large SUVs.  I parked the car and ran into the store.  Thankfully, it didn’t take me long to grab the few things I needed and, within twenty minutes, I was back in my car ready to drive home.

But before I could start my car, I suddenly caught some movement in my rearview mirror.  I turned to my left and looked over my shoulder.  An elderly man was carefully walking between my car and the SUV parked on the left side.  I sat in the car waiting for the man to get into the passenger side of the SUV.  He was a large man, well over six foot, and heavyset.  His pure white, wavy hair was cut short and his large glasses sat squarely on his round fleshy face.

I stared at him for a moment and tried to be patient as I waited for him to get in his car.  I was anxious to get home now and it seemed to be taking this man a long time to move out of the way.  Maybe he didn’t know I was waiting, I thought.  Maybe he couldn’t see me.  I waited another minute and then started the car. I didn’t want to scare him, but I just wanted to go home now.  The man looked up at me for a moment and then opened the front passenger door and started to climb inside.  For a moment, he struggled to get his large body into the car.  Then, as the man pushed himself forward, his door came hurtling at my car and smacked against my back driver’s side door with a loud Thwack!  The impact was so strong, my whole car rocked from side to side for a moment .  I turned back around in my seat to stare at the man as he resumed the process of getting into the car.

I started to roll down my window.  I didn’t know what I was going to say.  I hadn’t prepared for a confrontation.  I should however get out and check my car.  But then, I looked at the man who was now half in and half out of his car.  My furious eyes locked with his tired grey eyes. Despair and loneliness were etched into a face full of wrinkled grief and saggy sadness.  I couldn’t say anything then.  Instead, I met his eyes, smiled at him, and  put my window back up.  I waited until the man was finally settled into the car and shut his door.  I looked again behind me and began to slowly ease out of the space.  As I backed up, I meet the man’s eyes again, and I suddenly held up my hand and waved to him.  He never smiled or said anything, but slowly his hand came up and he waved back.  A strange look of surprise covered his face.

I pulled out of the parking space and drove home.  As I got out of the car, I looked at my back passenger door.  A thin, small, shallow scratch was carved into the grey paint.  I thought about the incident as I smiled then and traced the scratch with my fingertips.  It’s a car; it’s only a car…and if you’ve seen my car, you know it ain’t no Cadillac!  Besides, my car is hardly ever clean. The inside of my car looks like I’m going on a five-day road trip; the outside looks like I’ve just returned.  The additional scratch, I decided, just gave my car more character.  What difference does it really make anyway?  What would I have said to the man?  Would I have gotten angry?  Screamed at him?  Yelled?  What right did I have to attack the man’s dignity over a minor accident?  The car certainly is not worth the worth of an elderly man.  What did a small scratch mean in the whole scheme of things?

I started to laugh at the absurdity of life and the changes that have happened to me in the past year.  My gosh, how I have changed.  A year ago, I might have gotten upset.  A year ago, I would have demanded some retribution.   But today, now, it was a year later from the person I used to be.  2015, the start of a new year…and the scratch really didn’t seem to matter.

I walked into my apartment then and my new year’s celebration suddenly began early.  I usually wait until midnight on December 31.  But my emotions were beginning to run over.   I thought about the elderly man.  I thought about the incident.  I thought about all the struggles, joys, and challenges in my life over the past year and I started to cry.  I sat on the floor of my studio apartment and cried for the man and cried for myself and cried for the world.

An hour later, I was exhausted.  I glanced at the clock.  It was only 2:00 pm.  Yes, my New Year’s celebration happened very early this year.  I always cry on New Year’s Eve.  I released the old fear and worries.  I cleansed my heart of any lingering sadness.  I prepared my mind for the challenges ahead in the new year. I have washed away the old and I am ready for the new.

I rolled on the floor and laughed for a while before finally pulling myself up.  I turned on my computer and continued working on the novel I had started a few weeks ago.  My mind and heart were so clear, I could suddenly see the world around me in a whole new way.  I am ready now for the joys, challenges, and changes the new year will offer!

Have a safe and happy 2015, everyone!

Christmas Eve 2014

I woke up early on Wednesday, December 24, 2014, Christmas Eve.  I had no plans for today…or tomorrow, for that matter.  I am single with no children.  My sisters and brother are in Kansas while I’m in California.  My close friends are celebrating with their own families.  I don’t have a tree or lights or presents.  I wasn’t concerned, though.  Many of my Christmases have been spent this way. Though I dream of some day celebrating Christmas in all of its traditional glory, this Christmas Eve began as just an ordinary day.  I decided to start my day with my usual diet coke at the local McDonald’s.

I walked up to the counter and the clerk smiled at me.  “Large diet coke again this morning?” he says as he greets me.  They know me here.  I work at the trade school in the same commerce area.  I come here to decompress in between classes.

“Yes,” I answered, “but I think I’ll have breakfast this morning, too.  I’ll also have a Sausage McMuffin.”

“Good,” the clerk smiles as he punches a button on the register.  “That will be $1.29.”  I look at him in bewilderment for just a moment.  The man just continues to smile.  “The drink is on me this morning.  Happy Holidays!”

I smile and thank him profusely as I hand him my money.  I get my food and drink and sit at a booth in the back.  I take out my book and eat as I read.  I linger for a while even after I have finished my meal.  It’s nice to relax and read without having to hurry back to my students this morning.

Suddenly, my mind was dragged away from my book as I heard a loud booming voice.  “Not what is expected,” the strong bass voice sang out. I watch as a heavy set, bearded, dark haired man in a dirty, black t-shirt and jeans sits down a few booths away from me.  I think for a moment that he is listening to music.  I thought he was singing out to music on an iPod, and for a moment, I am jealous.  I have always wanted to sing in public places.  But I never can.  I immediately choke on the notes as soon as I hear the sound of my own singing voice.  So now, I watched the man intently as he continues to sing and suddenly I realize that he wasn’t listening to any music.  There were no devices around him providing sound.  And now he has begun to shout instead of sing.  “Not what is expected,” is no longer a tune but a deep menacing demand.  I suddenly thought that maybe I should leave now.  Being a woman alone, I feel intimidated in situations like this.  But I couldn’t stop watching this man as I wondered to myself, why do I sometimes confuse different with danger?.  I don’t get up from the table; I don’t leave.  Instead of being afraid, I am mesmerized today.  I listen to the man as he continues to sing/shout, completely oblivious to the people around him.

Suddenly the man got up from his table and walked over to my booth.  He suddenly stopped and looked at me.  “Do you have some change?” he asked.  “I need some food.”

I stared at the man for a moment, and then I opened my purse.  I kept the contents shielded from his view as I pulled out a few crumpled dollars.  “I don’t have any more than this to give you,” I told him and he was grateful. He smiled and accepted the money.  He thanked me and walked away.  I watched as he walked over to another table and asked a woman with two small kids for a few dollars.  She, too, opened her purse and handed him some money.

As the man walked away from the woman, an elderly gentleman who was sitting a table away from me suddenly called out to an employee who was cleaning tables in the dining room.  “You always let people like that in here?” the elderly gentleman demanded.

His question triggered my own.  “How would you define ‘people like that’?  What does that mean?”  I wanted to ask him.  But I didn’t confront the gentleman.  Instead, I wanted to laugh.  Here I was sitting in McDonald’s with my large bag full of books and journals.  I wore no makeup, did not fix my hair.  I was wearing my old gray sweats and a large oversized pullover.  I smiled as I thought, That guy could be talking about me!  People like that….

I felt tears burn my eyes then as I sipped my free drink.  I considered the man in the dirty, black t-shirt.  I considered this day, Christmas Eve.    Someone had given to me in my unkempt, messy, unattractive state…and I had given to someone else.  And so it goes…Christmas Eve…and I suddenly understood the meaning of Christmas better this year than I ever had before.

A few minutes later, I decided to leave.  I grabbed my bag and headed for the exit.  A small girl was leaning on the door holding it open for the customers.  I smiled at the child who couldn’t have been more than 7-years-old.  “Are you holding the door for everyone today?” I asked her and the child looked up at me as she smiled and shook her head.  “That’s very nice of you,” I said.  “Thank you so much.”  Her only response was another big smile.  I know I have been blessed today…And so it goes…on and on…the innocent giving….the glory of the Christmas season.

Differences

I had been sitting at a small table in the back of McDonald’s for about twenty minutes when a large group of handicapped adults and three caretakers came into the restaurant.  They sat at four tables not far from mine.  I tried not to stare but I was fascinated with the caretakers as they efficiently attended to their clients.  I have to admit that I never would have had that much patience.

I picked up my pen and looked back at my notebook just as I heard extremely loud, barking noises coming from one of the handicapped adults.  I have to admit the sounds actually unnerved me at first.  I looked up but I couldn’t see who was making the noises.  A wall blocked my view of the whole group of handicapped adults.  I looked away but could not stop hearing the loud guttural growling sounds.  The thought went through my head that maybe I should leave, but I really didn’t want to.  I was relaxed and happy and enjoying my morning.

The noise continued however, as a memory flooded into my brain.  When Mom and I were traveling through the southern states several years ago, we stopped at a place in Cullman, Alabama, called the Ava Maria Grotto.  Known as “Jerusalem in Miniature,” the grotto is a four-acre park that displays 125 miniature replicas of well-known historic landmarks, which were created by Brother Joseph Zoettl, a Benedictine monk.  Brother Joseph used many materials, from stones and concrete to clips and buttons, to create his designs.

Mom and I roamed through the grotto looking at the beautiful reproductions of cathedrals and basilicas.  We ended our journey in the small gift shop.  As we were looking around, Mom and I noticed a bus pulling up in the parking lot.  The bus was decorated with the name of a local school for handicapped adults.  Several of the people getting off the bus were adults who appeared to have some sort of medical condition.  Some people were in wheelchairs; others were being guided by the attendants who led them into the shop.  I was standing on the opposite side of the room.  I was across from the front door, Mom, and the adults who just came into the shop.  One of them was a middle-aged man.  He was extremely tall, well over six feet, and very thin.  He wore jeans, a red windbreaker, and a blue baseball cap.  He lumbered towards Mom and loomed over her.  My tiny mother only came up to the middle of his chest.  She had to crank her head way back on her neck to look up at his face as he stood before her.  Nervously, I started towards them and felt a slight panic as the man suddenly lifted his hands, gently laid them on Mom’s shoulders, and stared into her eyes. Then he gently said, “God bless you, my child.”  He pulled his hands away then and lumbered off with the rest of his party.  I finally made it over to Mom’s side, where she stood looking stunned.  She didn’t move at all; she just stood staring straight ahead.

“Mom?  Mom, are you okay?” I asked her as I touched her arms gently.  She turned slowly to look at me.

“Did you see his eyes?” she asked me.  “They were glowing.  They were so golden.”  Then she smiled a slow sweet smile.  “I was just touched by an angel,” she whispered.

We didn’t talk at all as we walked outside, climbed into the truck, and drove away from the grotto.  In fact, we didn’t talk for a while after that.  Mom seemed lost in the experience for a while.  I don’t really know what exactly happened, but Mom was quiet and peaceful as she leaned back in her seat, just watching the scenery roll by as we headed towards Mississippi.

Suddenly, the memory faded as I looked up.   One of the patients in McDonalds walked over to the trashcan that was close to my table.  Then he abruptly turned and was standing right next to me.  He was about 5’6” tall and very thin.  His straight black hair hung down over his plastic glasses.  The thick glasses emphasized the way his eyes crossed uncontrollably.  His hands flapped in an agitated gesture and his feet took turns tapping against the floor.  Then suddenly he smiled a radiant smile that displayed crooked, broken teeth.  “Hi,” he shouted to me.

“Hi,” I answered back and the most amazing sense of calm came over me as I talked him.  “How are you today?” I asked him.

“Great,” he answered a little too enthusiastically as his hands continually clapped together.  “How are you?” he asked.

“Great,” I told him.

He smiled again, “Okay…bye.”

“Bye,” I said and waved to him.  As he waved back, I suddenly felt incredibly peaceful.  Is this what Mom had felt at the grotto?  However, I didn’t feel that I was touched by an angel.  I felt instead touched by a human being.  I felt touched by another person and that touch lead to a connection with God and the universe.

As the attendants began to lead the handicapped adults out of the restaurant, I started thinking about all the times I came home from school in tears.  I remember my mom hugging me as I cried on her shoulder, “Mommy, what’s wrong with me?”  She had no answer for me mainly because she didn’t believe anything was wrong.  However, I had always felt different from other people.  I have never seemed to fit in anywhere.  Because of the bullying I had experienced, for most of my childhood, I thought it was wrong to be different.   As a result, I found myself shying away from people who are considered different, unpredictable, or unstable.  Now, I know better though.  As I watched the attendants lead their clients out of the restaurant, I felt  a sense of belonging I hadn’t ever known before.  People are not angels.  There are just people who can touch others in an angelic way and our differences are a reflection of the many facets of a loving God.

Veterans’ Day 2013

My plane had landed at the Denver Airport thirty minutes late. As soon as I was able to disembark, I had to ran through the terminal corridors to gate 29 to catch my plane back to Palm Springs. Arriving fifteen minutes before boarding time, the gate is crowded except for one random empty chair at the end of the 6-chair handicapped row.

I refuse to take the seat. I squat down by a side wall as I glare angrily at a young twenty-something-year-old man who is lounging back in the last seat of the handicap chairs. He is wearing boots, jeans, and a black T-shirt. He is listening to music through headphones. He remains in the chair even when two elderly women, one on crutches, walk into the waiting area.

Finally, after several minutes, the Frontier Airlines counter clerk approaches the man. “Sir?! Sir, can you please move!? These women need the handicap seats!”

The man just looks up at the airline employee for a moment before placing both hands on the arms of the chair and pulling himself to his feet. A horrified expression covers the counter clerk’s face and the whole busy gate suddenly falls quiet as the man begins to move his body away from the chair. He walks across the room with his back in an unusual, extreme twist to the left that rotates his spine. The contortion pulls his left hip higher than his right and scrunches up the right side of his body. His body is almost bent double to his right side. With his right leg shorter than his left, he limps awkwardly and sways from side to side as he moves to stand in the center of the room, waiting to get on the plane.

I burn with shame as other people uncomfortably shuffle, turning their attention away from the young man as the counter clerk walks up to him to offer her apologies. He just nods his head and waves her away with a slight tense smile. The two elderly women slowly take the handicap seats and the noise level returns to normal. The moment eases, the tension relaxes, but those of us waiting by the gate have been changed. Lesson learned. You can never know how deeply another person has been hurt or how deep their suffering goes. Practice kindness….