WordSisters

  • And how are the children? A true story.

    Elizabeth di Grazia's avatar

    Elizabeth di Grazia

    The teenage girl first eyed the man through the concession window. He lifted the garbage can lid then set it back. He looked familiar to The Girl. Loaves and Fishes, she thought. The one who vacuumed the floor at the end of the night. Wore a green fedora hat.

    His red bike overflowing with garbage, junk, and plastic bottles leaned against a column.

    The Girl turned to her friend the Nordic Skier and whispered urgently, “He’s trying to get garbage.” Nordic Skier barely shrugged her shoulders. The Girl said with more emphasis, “Looking for food.”

    Nordic Skier yawned. I’m not here for it, her tired posture messaged.

    The man was grandpa-old. Wore a plaid long sleeve shirt, long jeans though it was a warm summer afternoon.

    The Girl got busy with customers. She and her two friends worked at the refreshment stand. Ice cream, pizza, coffee and soda. Not much, really. Nothing you could find in the garbage except maybe pizza crust.

    A chair scraped the floor, and the Nordic Skier was suddenly next to The Girl at the sink. Nordic Skier turned her body away, covered her mouth. “He’s drinking out of the containers.”

    Finding no garbage outside, the man had moved inside to the garbage can in the corner. He had found melted ice cream in throwaway cups and bowls.

    The Girl’s sigh was audible through the black face mask she wore. Her eyes threw serious shade. Like you woke now? She gazed over her friend’s shoulder to the seating area. The man was lifting a Styrofoam bowl and letting liquid drip into his mouth. “Oh my gosh, go offer him something.”

    Nordic Skier’s eyebrows raised. “I’m the one that told you. Beside you’re the one that wants to help people.” She furrowed her brows. “That’s your career, periodt.”

    They both turned to their other friend who was standing near the ice-cream display freezer. She was the smallest, youngest, and quietest of the three of them. A Cross Country runner. Not the fastest. Not the slowest. Observant. Steady. Strong. Formidable.

    “You go,” said The Girl.

    Their very quiet friend, responded, “I fully support your idea, but I’m not going to do it.”

    The Girl barked at her.

    The diminutive friend growled back.

    “Fine!” The Girl dried her hands.

    The man walked towards the door. The Girl followed him. “Sir, sir.”

    He kept walking. Big Yikes. The Girl didn’t want the family who just came into the seating area to observe her struggling to talk to the man. She turned back to the refreshment stand. Nordic Skier was making a violent slashing motion across her neck and pointing forcefully to the man.

    The family moved to the concession window away from The Girl.

    The Girl steeled herself. “Sir, sir. Would you like us to give you some food?”

    The man stopped and leaned his ear towards the girl, tapping his ear.

    “Would you like some free ice-cream?”

    He placed his palms in prayer.

    The Girl dished out a scoop of rumba cherry because old people like rumba cherry, and a scoop of chocolate because everyone likes chocolate, and finally a scoop of rich and famous, cause, yeah, why not?

    He sat down at a table. The Girl brought him his ice-cream. He bowed in prayer.

    Nordic Skier said, “Oh my gosh. I’ve got the other half of the pizza I haven’t eaten.” Then she thought of the ten-dollar bill that she had found on the floor a few hours earlier. Serendipitous, for sure. She taped the ten-dollar bill to the pizza box.

    While the man was eating, The Girl took a KIND bar that Nordic Skier had taken from her backpack and tossed away because the unopened wrapper had gooey stuff on it. “What are you doing? People need this. They are starving. Right here in our own town.” Nordic Skier and The Girl gave the man the KIND bar.

    The man bowed in thanks.

    A couple of days later, The Girl saw the man. He was waiting at the door. The Girl was tending to customers and couldn’t approach him.

    The man came to the window. “She’s paying for me,” he said softly. He nodded to a woman. The woman shook her head in agreement.

    “Three scoops,” the man said.

    “The Usual?” The Girl asked.

    He smiled.

    Periodt.

     

    One response to “And how are the children? A true story.”

    1. Bev Bachel Avatar
      Bev Bachel

      Love this….thanks so much for reminding me of the importance of small acts of kindness.

  • In Memory

    cmkraack's avatar

    cmkraack

    Door County, WI: Sunsets are earlier. Black-eyed Susan dominates gardens as hydrangea fade. Squirrels fearlessly dart across sidewalks, decks and paths to grab early acorns. Field mice and chipmunks are in the same race for food stores.

    Trees are beginning to change. Yellowing leaves increase in numbers each day. Kids still run on beaches and play wherever a swing set is not closed. Young people gather with cases of beer, many without masks. More cautious folks crowd outdoor dining places. Multi-generational families wander about as if it were August 1, not September 1. COVID has changed the normal rhythms of summer while Mother Nature delivers heat and humidity where houses didn’t need air conditioning ten years earlier. Lake Michigan pushes beyond its all-time high water mark, devouring docks and houses’ front yards.

    When it already feels as if the stars are out of synch, COVID has taken the fathers of three friends or relatives. Three members of the Greatest Generation, living in three different states, in congregate facilities for three very different reasons. Friends and family called them Jim, Dom, and Marlin. They had eleven adult children among them plus almost four dozen grandchildren or great-grandchildren. Two were veterans and one farmed his entire life. Family photos show them joking with great, tall grandsons, sitting with the newest grandbaby resting on an arm, in wheelchairs by Christmas trees. These were men who loved and were loved.

    Thanks to COVID, they died comforted by staff members as their families were mostly kept away. In the heat of August, sons and daughters mourned the once strong fathers who built businesses, walked fields, fixed tractors, painted houses, taught them to throw a ball, sang next to them in church, made the final journey of life without endangering family.

    The Greatest Generation is disappearing as COVID ignites within our communities. They fought for our country’s freedom, raised families, built the cars and houses and machines of the 20th century USA, fed the world. In turn COVID has left us unable to protect them, not even gather for proper farewells.

    As summer sneaks away, as our elderly pass in the settings meant to keep them safe, as our days of small social gatherings and playing games outdoors with our grandchildren are numbered, COVID is like the spreading black-eyed Susan which left unchecked threatens to obliterate the beauty of other blooms.

    In honor of James Armstrong, Dominic St. Peter, and Marlin Hunt. With sympathy to their families and to all who have lost loved ones to this pandemic. Friends, please help friends stay healthy and strong.

    Black-eyed Susan

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  • When it Comes to Downsizing, Fire is Not the Answer

    bevbachel's avatar

    bevbachel

    Have you read “How to Get Rid of Stuff: The Survey Says…”?

    Published on Next Avenue, the article features an interview with David J. Ekerdt, author of Downsizing: Confronting Our Possessions in Later Life.

    Although I’m too busy confronting my own mountain of stuff to read Ekerdt’s book, the article brought me face-to-face with my own struggle to take control of my possessions.

    One line in particular stood out to me. It referred to the “magical thinking” approach to downsizing, which can be summed up as wishing a fire would “take care of” all one’s possessions.

    I’ve been guilty of such thinking. In fact, more than a decade ago, I fantasized about this exact thing with my friend Maery Rose.

    Last week my fantasy almost came true.

    That’s when I came home from a socially distanced visit with my aunt Caroline to a smoke-filled bedroom.  

    It started because of my hair.

    I haven’t had it cut or colored since the pandemic began, and it’s been driving me crazy. I wanted to give it a bit of TLC from all angles, so I plugged in a curling iron in my bedroom, where I could adjust the mirrored bifold doors of my closet to get a 360-degree view of my hair.

    Though I didn’t love what I saw, a figured a few quick curls just before walking out the door would get me to “good enough.”

    But in the middle of making those curls, I got distracted by a call and forgot to turn the curling iron off. What’s worse, while I was gone, it slipped from the radiator onto my bed, where I had a pile of clothes I’d been debating about whether to keep or giveaway.

    By the time I returned home, the curling iron had burned through the clothes, as well as a treasured handmade afghan, my down comforter and my sheets. Even my mattress was beginning to burn.

    I’m lucky I came home when I did. The damage could have been much worse. And while I certainly hope I never accidentally set another thing on fire, there’s one positive that came out of that day: I’m finally, after years of talking about doing so, letting go of those things that don’t fit my future self.

    In fact, in the week since the fire, I’ve donated two carloads of boxes and filled my dining room with dozens more.

    And thanks to this tweet by Angela Giles Klocke, I’m able to see some humor in the fact that the universe had to light a fire in my bed in order for me to finally take downsizing seriously.

    Inspired by Angela, I’m now cross-stitching my own aphorism: “Home Is Where We Unplug Curling Irons So We Don’t Burn Down the House!”

    Angela is right, it does have a nice ring to it, one I hope will keep both my home and hers fire-free from now on.

    , ,

    2 responses to “When it Comes to Downsizing, Fire is Not the Answer”

    1. Angela Giles Klocke Avatar
      Angela Giles Klocke

      Oh my gosh, I have forgotten the curling iron so often, I had to get one with the auto-off feature. Glad you are safe. And it’s so great when we can find messages within. ❤

    2. Eliza Waters Avatar
      Eliza Waters

      Glad you got through that relatively unscathed. Lesson learned!

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