Life een Za Coolah for Me

I am serious when I say: Life is so cool.  Fascinating coincidence, bizarre happenstance, serendipitous stuff, quirky twist of fate, déjà vu mind bomb; they seem to happen all the time.  Here’s a recent example:

I’m fishing on the beach on a recent Friday night with a couple friends, the sun’s just starting to go down.  We’ve got our poles baited, cast and set in pole holders, kicking back in our collapsible chairs, adult beverages, sunflower seeds – you know, Miller Time, just like in those commercials.  Life is swell.  Then, two women walking the shoreline pass us and I instantly recognize one of them. 

“Mary?!” I call out.  A dear friend, Mary W., whom I haven’t seen for a few months, maybe a year or so.  She turns, takes a second to recognize me.

“Phil!” she cries when she does, and runs over for a great Mary W. hug.  What were the odds of that?!  I love that!

We spend just a few minutes quickly catching up, introducing our friends to each other.  A very nice surprise on the beach that night.  Stuff like that happens, just pleasant, unexpected moments.  Cool.

Fast forward to the following Monday, I’m at work, rat race, lunch time.  Normally I’d reach for the sports pages, but no home deliveries on Mondays, what a rip-off!  That’s okay, lots of info online.  But I grab the book I so want to finish, about 25 pages to go.  It’s Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins.  What a fantastic read and what a gifted writer.  My sis-in-law sent me this one, she’s so great at sending me books I wouldn’t think to read and she always sends me fantastic ones!  I recommend this book to you, funny, quirky, artistic, and a great story.  Anyway, around noon that day I head over to the mailroom to finish the book, quiet there, lots of sunlight and a great view from those 5^th floor windows.

You know how sometimes you’re reading a book and you like it so much that you’re sad when it’s over?  That’s how it was for me that afternoon.  I had really enjoyed that book.  But at least I still had the Acknowledgements section to read.  I love reading these sections, especially since I have personally dipped my toes into the publishing pool and I have come to realize how much effort an author puts into every detail of the book, dedications, acknowledgements, the story, quotations, every bit of it.  It all requires painstaking concentration and dedication to detail.  So I’m reading the Author Acknowledgements at the back of the book.

And there, printed in plain black and white, is a ‘Thank You’ from the author, Jess Walter, to my friend, Mary W.  What were the odds of that?!  I love that!

Well, I immediately called Mary W.

“Mary, have you got a minute? It’s me, Phil!”  I excitedly gush.  “You know, I haven’t seen you in a while and it was really nice catching up with you on the beach last Friday.  But today I’m finishing this great book I had been reading and in the acknowledgement section the author thanks YOU!”  Mary chuckles on the other end.

“Jess Walter?” she asks.

“Yes,” I exclaim.  “Jess Walter. Beautiful Ruins.”

 “Oh, yeah,” she replies.  “That’s my brother-in-law.  Isn’t that a great book?”  What were the odds of that?!  I love that!

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Then, we proceed to talk about all of Jess Walter’s books and projects.  I can’t wait to read more!  Mary W. is obviously proud of him and asked me to send her an email that she’d forward to Mr. Walter and put us in contact.  I don’t know, I feel weird about that possibility (read “I am not worthy! I am not worthy!”).  Funny, part of the story in Beautiful Ruins concerns a sort of loser guy who pitches an idea for a movie to a big Hollywood mogul and his assistant.  The mogul tells him he loves the story and agrees to get him in to pitch his idea to a famous film production company, but, in fact, the mogul is only doing it to satisfy a commitment and free himself from some long ago contract deal.  The loser guy finds out and eventually they all end up seeing some brilliant community play in the Northwest somewhere (you’ve got to read the book!).  The guy sits in the audience, stunned at the artful magnificence and emotion of the play and, realizing his own work will never be anywhere near as good, sits with his head in his hands, lamenting, “F*$k me.  I think I’ve wasted my whole life.”  LOL:  I’m trying really hard not to let myself feel like that comparing my work to Jess Walter’s!

But, as my dear friend Mary W. so kindly pointed out to me, I am not Jess Walter.  I am who I am, and my writing style is my own, for all that is worth.  Yes, Life is cool and I do love that!

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Announcement!

Slow Pitch Softball – More Than Just a Game (author: Me!), will be on display in the Independent Book Publishers of America booth:

May 29 to May 31, at BookExpo America, New York, NY – The #1 Book and Author Event in the Country (in 2013, over 20,000 attendees from 48 states and 82 countries)

June 28 to July 1, at The American Association of Librarians Annual Conference, Las Vegas, NV – The oldest & largest library association in the World (in 2013, over 26,000 attendees from 48 states and 82 countries)

Check it out if you’re around one of those great cities and love books.  Unfortunately, only my book will be on display, I will be at home!!!  Please see more at my website: www.philcanalin.com

MY CUP RUNNETH NOWHERE

            Well, I can honestly say this about my workplace:  my co-workers are very, very trustworthy, at least when it comes to coffee mugs!

            I’ve just started my second year at my latest work-site.  Somehow I have developed this irritating habit of leaving my coffee mug on the water fountain down the hallway.  Here’s how it happens.  The fountain, which puts out deliciously chilled and refreshing water (after supposedly running through a filtration system), is down the hallway and through two security doors, situated right next to the men’s and women’s restrooms on one side of the building.  These facilities are shared by about a third of the entire department, maybe a couple hundred folks tops.  To multitask and save time – I’m such a dedicated employee! - I always bring my empty mug over to the fountain, set it down, use the facilities as necessary, then exit to refill my mug before heading back to my cubicle, all set for the next couple of hours.  Unfortunately, nine times out of ten, I use the restroom and then forget all about my empty mug on that water fountain and head back to my desk, where I, inevitably, am just about to resume my work when I remember I’ve forgotten my mug again!  I end up trudging back over to the fountain and refilling the mug before heading on back.  And I keep doing that, kind of irritating.

            Before I make the connection between my coffee mug and the trustworthiness of my co-workers, allow me to describe my coffee mug.  Coffee KEG is a more fitting title for it.  When I began working in the building I realized I didn’t want the distraction of having to get up time and time again to refill a small coffee cup with water, but I did want to stay well-hydrated, good health and all you know.  I first tried a regular mug – too small, too many trips.  I tried re-using empty plastic water bottles – not much bigger, plus I read about the harmful germs and chemicals that one consumes as plastic bottles are re-used and the plastic starts decomposing – gross.  So instead I decided to purchase a new coffee mug, but not just ANY coffee mug, no sir.  New job and all, I felt I deserved to go all out and find one to completely meet my needs, the granddaddy of all mugs, one that was insulated and suited for keeping cold drinks cold and hot drinks hot, one with a lid, in case a felt like I needed a lid (plus, I spill a lot) and, most importantly, one that was big enough to hold enough liquid to quench the thirst of a hard-working, hard-playing, thirsty guy, or at least Me.

My search was futile at first, taking me to five different stores, no luck.  I just couldn’t find the right mug.  They either were too small, WAY too big, too colorful, too boring, to cutesy with printed sayings, no lid, cheap lid, cheap plastic, or made of ugly, industrialized metal.  And, then, I found BUBBA!

(OMG!  I just did exactly what I wrote about above.  I stopped writing for a minute to visit the restroom and refill my mug; I set my empty mug on that same water fountain, used the men’s facility, and promptly FORGOT MY MUG there!  I walked back to my cube, took a seat, and realized I had done the same thing again.  I trekked back, refilled the mug, returned to my cube.  WHY DO I KEEP DOING THAT?!  Are there any sofa-psychoanalysts out there who would care to give me a clue???)

BUBBA!  Found him at a sporting goods store, camping equipment section: BUBBA!  His name was printed right on the mug itself.  BUBBA, the middle section made of molded brushed-silver metal, the lower and upper portions composed of some dark-grey polycarbonate synthetic (I think) which also melded smoothly to form the dark, cool interior.  I just knew that scientific, high-tech material would keep cold drinks cold and hot drinks hot, and it came with an ever-loving matching screw-on lid complete with drink-flap lever to open and close at my heart’s content.  BUBBA was BIG, too, 48 fluid ounces big, built solidly, like a coffee mug should be, able to take the constant lifting and drinking and refilling, and stout enough to remain firmly perched on my desktop.  With wonder, I picked up BUBBA and held him in my hands – perfect fit, perfect feel.  It was pure karma that I found him, because this was the last BUBBA on the shelf, there were no others like him, he was just waiting for me to find him.  Fit for a Norse God’s succulent, refreshing, cool ale or a Mountain Man’s strong, bittersweet, lip-scorching cowboy coffee, and now it was going to be mine.  But, truly, the best thing of all:  BUBBA WAS ON SALE!!!!!  A match made in heaven, well, actually a match made in a Big 5 Sporting Goods, but you get my blissful drift, right?

So imagine, the day I’m about to leave for a week-long vacation, the mid-Friday afternoon right after I’ve completed all of my work assignments, put my work-space in order, and ready to step out of that building to freedom, ever-loving sweet-Jesus-in-heaven, nirvana-filled vacation – I DID IT AGAIN!  Two final tasks before I departed in pure ecstasy:  use the restroom before the drive home and clean out Bubba for storage in my cubicle overhead bin, to be clean, fresh and ready for use when I returned.  And, for whatever reason, perhaps in my rapturous, time-off-from-work state of mind, I LEFT BUBBA on the water fountain again!

And, this time, I completely forgot, and went on off on my vacation, with nary a second thought for my poor BUBBA.  An entire week away.

So, one week later, recharged but dragging with emotionally draining thoughts of the end of my vacation, I returned to work.  Back at my cubicle, arriving early to pick up a week’s worth of voice-mail messages, I set my work bag down and turned on my computer.  While it booted up, I opened my overhead storage bin and reached for BUBBA, some hot tea would be good.  My heart stopped:  BUBBA was gone!  Oh no, I came to the instant realization, I had forgotten BUBBA at the water fountain again!  A week ago!

I sat down in a moment of shock, my rubbery legs unable to support me.  I took a moment to calm myself, a deep breath, another.  Okay, I thought positively, I’m sure BUBBA’s okay, I had forgotten him there so many other times before – HE WOULD BE OKAY!  But deep in my heart I trembled, I dared think the unthinkable:  BUBBA could be gone forever!  I had never forgotten BUBBA on the water fountain for more than one night, always returning the next day to surprisingly find him safe, sound and untouched, exactly where I had forgotten him the prior work day.  BUT NEVER FOR AN ENTIRE WEEK!  My heart began to race again as doubts about finding BUBBA bubbled to the surface of my brain.  Where was BUBBA?!?!

BUBBA could be anywhere!  Snatched up by another employee who, having seen BUBBA sitting there for days, may have considered him up for grabs, like when people leave ratty Barcaloungers and ripped love seats out on the sidewalk, handwritten “FREE” signs grossly taped on them, hoping some desperate homeowner needed just that exact piece of used furniture to complete their own home décor motif, rescuing that piece just one step away from ending its used-up life as human rubbish.  I was certain someone had grabbed BUBBA!  Who wouldn’t want him?!  He could be someone else’s trusty mug right that minute, off on safari in Africa, maybe a walkabout in the Australian Outback, climbing along on a life adventure up Mt. Everest!  BUBBA could do it all and would handle any adventure or location his new owner took him.  Is he sailing on a one-person sailboat around the world?  Travelling by air balloon to Haiti?  BUBBA would do it!  Or maybe he was being used to water an urban garden, from which harvested vegetables would be used to feed a group of orphans!  Maybe right at that moment he was filled with hot java and handed to a homeless man, becoming his prized possession as he panhandled and filled BUBBA with spare change from empathetic strangers!  BUBBA was versatile, hardworking, rugged, charming, and, dare I say it, beautiful.  So why not?!?!  Oh my gawd, I lamented, where was my BUBBA?

I had to know for certain, I could stand it no longer, I needed to know if BUBBA was really gone!  I grabbed my employee security entrance door card and headed down the hallway.  First door, through.  I would be brave for BUBBA!  And if BUBBA were truly gone, I thought, I would stay strong for BUBBA!  And I decided right then and there that I would not, could not, replace him even if the unthinkable had occurred.  I was fraught with guilt.  If the worse-case scenario came to pass it would have been all because of me, my stupid, feeble-minded forgetfulness, my dishonorable disloyalty to a tried and true friend.  Oh, BUBBA, why oh why had I forsaken you?!  Second door, a moment of hesitation.  Be strong, Phil, be strong.  For BUBBA.  I waved my security card, the door light flashed green and I walked through.  Only three steps to the water fountain, right around that corner there.  Two steps.  One more step and I would know, my world could be forever changed!

I struggled on, took another step….BUBBA!!!!

BUBBA was there, he was there!  No one had claimed him.  No one had picked him up.  No one had befriended him!  My dear old, BUBBA, my coffee keg, was still waiting for me!  I fought back a grateful tear and touched BUBBA’s handle, gently, tenderly, nay, lovingly.  I’m so sorry BUBBA!  But we were together again.  I passed a long, deep sigh of relief.

Just at that moment, one of my co-workers exited the women’s restroom. She looked at me and smiled.  She saw me with BUBBA, my BUBBA.

“Hi, Phil,” she greeted me warmly.  “You know I saw your coffee cup sitting there for so long I thought maybe you had moved to another job or something.  I wondered if you would come back for your cup, it is such a nice one.”

I just smiled at her for a moment.  If she only knew how nice.

“Naw,” I replied. “I was just on vacation.  But I’m glad to be back and glad my mug was still here.  Thank you, co-workers!  The people I work with are so trustworthy!”

“Yeah,” she said.  “Plus I doubt anyone would want somebody else’s used mug anyway.  Have a great day.”

Oh, I would have a great day, my work-friend, maybe the greatest day of my life.  For my life was once again whole, once again complete.  And I would stay hydrated!

I dreamily used the men’s room, washed my hands and returned to my cubicle.  I sat with a contented sigh of one-part happiness, one-part relief, and one-part love.

DAMMIT!!!!!  I forgot BUBBA at the water faucet again!  What the heck?!?!

JEOPARDY 2014

(Feb. 10, 2014)

Hi there!  This is my end-of-year blog for 2013.  Yes, I realize that it’s February 2014, but did you really need another Christmas/Holiday/New Year end-of-year ramble in December or in the first of January?  If you’re like me, I was rambled out.  Plus, I think writing end-of-year blogs at the end of the year is cliché, do you?

Okay, maybe not, but here’s mine now anyway.  And I don’t have any musings about how good/bad/okay 2013 was (but there sure was some really, really good stuff there!) and I surely don’t want to pontificate about 2014, because when it really comes down to it:  what the hell do I know?  I know as much about the future as the next rock.   Who wants to hear about my resolutions or goals for 2014, heck I don’t even want to hear them, sounds like a lot of work to me.  Plus, you must have your own 2014 plans to deal with, right?

Instead, I present my list of burning questions that I couldn’t answer by the end of 2013 and that are still wiggling around in my brain’s gray matter as we enter knee-deep into 2014.  Life doesn’t always answer all of your questions for you, you know.  Sometimes you can ask and ask, but unless you figure it out on your own, you may as well be asking the wind (who I have been told is actually quite the blow hard).

Here they are:

Why does my left ear-bud always fall out when I’m listening to something, but the right one never does?

When did the dog inherit all of the blankets downstairs and why does he have more beds in the house than our entire family combined?

Who decided that Christmas and New Years could fall on a Wednesday like in 2013?  Thursdays, people, Thursdays, so workers can get two days off automatically.  Duh.

Why do I always want to go fishing when I have to do something else?

What do you wear on casual Fridays if we all dress casually all week long?

Do people like when I ‘Like” things on Facebook?  Is there any consideration at all when I don’t?

How come beers can stay fresh forever?  Is it just that I drink them too soon to go bad?

Do kids whistle as much anymore?

What if you aren’t losing one sock from the pair in the dryer but actually GAINING one?

How come once I start watching ‘Jeopardy’ I can’t stop watching until it’s over?

Have a nice day.  Only 321 days ‘til Christmas!

I WRITE, THEREFORE I'M ME

     I have read many books and watched many movies that included a character who found his/her comfort zone in some creative activity - painting, sculpting, gardening, singing, sketching, fishing, playing, writing, whatever. But for that individual it always goes beyond just “finding a comfort zone”. Many times the person identified his self in that activity, defined who he truly was in that creative focus. It was the place where the character could release his soul completely, could actually eliminate all outside stressers from his world, physically and mentally, and live only within the concentrated energy of the creation, the heart of the moment. Sometimes being in that “zone” served as a protective skin for the person, maybe from nightmares real or imagined, or life problems that required escape, temporary or even forever. Between you and me: I always thought that was a bunch of hooey.

     I stand, actually sit here typing, corrected.

     Because I have just today realized that I have to write. And, not only that, but when I am writing the sheer simplicity of the action takes me-my-soul-and-I to an entirely new dimension. Bills are put off, work is forgotten, stress is on hold, family waits in abeyance, life, love, all that my world encompasses sits quietly – somewhere – while I put words on paper or onto a screen. And I am myself. I am obligated to myself. And I love it. And I don’t care.

     Even when the activity of trying to write won’t come easily, becomes a task, or just another goal to work toward, I still enter that state of prime me, clear beginner’s mind (primordial me?). And other times, writing comes as effortlessly as inhaling and exhaling, I can hardly get the words out of my head and down on paper fast enough, many times I can’t, it all tumbles out and I’ll lose a word here, a phrase there, a concept escapes, and the thoughts trip all over themselves, like the Three Stooges wearing no ice skates sliding into each other on a frozen pond, and end up all jumbled in a crazy heap, then quickly, silently, evaporate away, never to be seen or heard from again, or maybe not. Writing at times is like a beautiful, swollen, gorgeous swallowtail butterfly, the thought you just created floating, fluttering, wispy, erratic, you can’t quite catch it, it doesn’t want you to catch it, it teases you, is coming to you, no, it’s not, it is, no it’s going, aww rats…..and at others it comes right to you, it wants to be with you, it lands, so gently, so simply, so lightly, like magic, on the back of your hand, it calmly waits and allows you to write it down just…..so…..right. I get all warm in my underwear, giddy throughout my very soul.

    Being your true self caught in the moment of creativity feels like being addicted to drugs, but so much better. Okay, I know there are a bazillion other things that are better than being addicted to drugs, maybe everything else there is in life. But what if the feeling is like being on drugs, but better? They say that drug addicts are always trying to re-experience that initial feeling – rush, high, buzz, rapture, euphoria, floating, ecstasy, bliss, exhilaration - they got the very first time they tried the drug - toked, snorted, drank, shot up, injected, inhaled, dipped and dabbed, dropped, blotted, tripped, A-bombed – but they NEVER can. That fugue state, and I use that term as kindly, pleasantly, and lucidly as I possibly can, that fugue state I am immersed in when smack dab in the middle of a creativity mind-f*#k is existing in the highest state of pure nirvana, I am loving and being loved at the same time. Time crawls deliriously slowly around me while heightened energy crackles over me. I can barely contain my excitement as I find myself wonderfully, completely, at peace. And the greatest thing of all: I can feel that way every single time I write. I so easily get lost in that space. If it is drug-induced then I am addicted.

     So I write on.

LESSON UNPLANNED

Sometimes a lesson that arrives completely out of the blue whacks you upside your head with the strongest meaning.

My wife had just parked our car for our regular Saturday morning breakfast date.  She had discovered a spot just a couple of spaces down from the on-street ATM machine, which was good because we needed some cash to eat.  As usual, I didn’t have the ATM card, she did, and even more typically, I just couldn’t find it in her wallet.  She, of course, pulled it out in a flash and handed it to me with a roll of her eyes.

Laughing, visions of ham and eggs in my head, I bounded out of the car with ATM card in hand.  I stepped to the curb and here came a homeless man.  How did I know that he was homeless?  I don’t know, I just knew.

Strangely, I immediately thought that he looked like a “Rusty”.  Blondish, rusty-red hair askew with the requisite rough scraggly beard, the same rust color with a little grey mixed in.  He sported a well-worn navy blue down jacket, unbuttoned.  The very, very short end of a lit, filtered cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, right hand gloved and the other bare and clutching a small Styrofoam cup of coffee, the kind they give out for free sometimes at the other diner down the street.  His ruddy face was offset by eyes of sky blue, shining fairly brightly in the morning sunlight, although he squinted at me from his left one, either from the cigarette smoke trailing into it or maybe from recently waking with little or no sleep.  His overall look suggested the latter to me.

He squinted at me, then right at the ATM card and saw where I was headed.  He smiled with a nod.  He slowed his walk just a bit.  And then he spoke to me, his voice loud and gravelly.

“Hey, get some of that for me, too!”

I was talkative that morning and responded, following a couple steps behind him.  “Aw, man, I’m sorry; I’ve barely got enough for myself.”

He kept on his walk, but turned back towards me, now both eyes squinting from looking directly into the low, morning sun.

“What’s that?  That’s too bad.”

I answered.  “Yeah, just a little short right now.  Life’s been a little tough.  But good luck to you.”

Then he stopped on the sidewalk.  And then I stopped on the sidewalk.  And, raising his Styrofoam cup to help make his point, he spoke loudly.

“Sorry to hear that, man.  But listen, the next time I see you I really want you to tell me:  ‘Man, LIFE IS GOOD!  LIFE IS FABULOUS!’  Because you know what - It is.”

And he smiled at me once more and left me to take care of my business.

Now I wonder:  Do you think his voice was so loud and clear because he wanted to make sure I heard him?  I do.  Lesson learned.  And thank you, Rusty.

Parent - and Children - and LOVE....OH MY!!!

Just the other day I overheard a conversation among a group of folks – hey, this happens when you work in cubicle-ville!  Four of the seven were parents of young children, toddlers on up to age nine, boys and girls, sounded like six kids all together between them.  The parents in the group described how their kids were so openly affectionate when they were younger and so open about showing excitement over activities they enjoyed – like singing and dancing in public.  Everyone in the group loved that!  But the parents were also lamenting the fact that as their kids are growing older they show less and less of that non-abashed exuberance for life.  And heaven forbid them showing any physical affection for their parents around their schoolmates and friends!  They agreed that the kids no longer wanted to show any eagerness or excitement about anything they were doing – that’s WAY UNCOOL!  “Way”….do kids even use that anymore?

The morbid dialogue topics that were detailed, let’s call them The New Millennium Commandments for Parents:

•         Parents must drop the children off a block away from school so they are never seen together by anyone else at school
•          Don’t expect PDAs (public displays of a smooch?!) with parents or siblings
•          Parents are not allowed to cry at school, in front of the child’s friends, teachers, and especially not during assemblies and games…just stop crying all together
•          Acting excited during your child’s activity is strictly forbidden
•          Never address your child in front of others unless your child addresses you first
•          Do not correct your child in the presence of others
•          Never tell your child to smile when your child’s trying to be too cool, ever.

The conversation continued about how this stuff is all normal children’s behavior and just the beginning.  They all agreed that as the kids grew even older their willingness to show affection, love, and simple joy, especially with the folks around, was going to become less and less existent.  The unanimous warning:  Watch out when they reach puberty, the kids won’t want to be around the parents at all!  But hey, that’s life, right?  That’s how kids grow up!  Really?!?!

A non-parent then shared a tale she had heard.  Seems a group of recent high school grads called a meeting with their parents during which they made the parents swear they would not cry when they dropped the new college-freshmen off at their respective dorms on move-in day – they demanded that they simply be dropped off with their stuff and then left alone to handle things all on their own - hey, “Have a nice day and thanks for paying for my education!” 

Then the discussion rolled into the difference between raising girls and boys and, as everyone knew, both genders are so difficult.  Parents have to deal with girls and their emotional troubles versus the boys and their more physical-danger trouble.  Furthermore, the group agreed that men will say they prefer boys because that’s what real men have to say, but of course deep down they are actually jealous of couples with only girls.  And women always feel so much love for their sons because their sons always take care of them…..always!

For me, the worse part of this entire discussion was the unanimous - repeat: unanimous - acceptance that kids will treat their parents and family with disdain as they grow older, from grade school to middle school to high school to college, because that’s just what happens - a foregone raising-a-family conclusion.  A parent can only wish that kids will realize, sometime in the future when they’re older and wiser, just how much their parents truly love them, and at that moment those suddenly loving children will finally be able to display that same affection and joie de vivre that they did when they were so young and care-free and devoid of the wicked ways of the world.  What the heck?!?!

Gee, why have children at all?!?!  So that you can have a parent’s lifetime of misery and shame, hanging on ever-faithfully for that final offering of love from your child just before you’re dropped into a box and can then rest in blissful parent’s peace for the rest of eternity?

And sitting alone in my cubicle, listening in - okay, some would say eavesdropping! - OMG, that conversation made me so happy, kept a silly smile plastered on my face all day, in fact!  And here’s why:  Because it made me realize that I am SO LUCKY.

• I have young nephews and nieces that greet you with a hug so big you automatically smile broadly with your mouth closed and your eyes all scrunched up while you feel all gooey inside like you’ve just walked into a warm kitchen filled with the overwhelmingly wonderful smell of fresh-baking bread and you can’t help it but give them a great big bear hug right back
• Young teenagers see you anytime, anyplace and high-5 or fist bump you and then immediately step up closer to grab you in a good, strong, bro/gal-hug…and because they do it right in front of their friends, so innocently and enthusiastically, well their friends usually give you one, too
• Family members and friends, even when you’ve just seen them a couple of hours ago or maybe you haven’t seen them for a week or a month or longer, are hugging and holding hands and sitting in your lap without a second thought, because it’s right, it’s good, and it’s normal
• And family, young and old, from near or far - you know, the ones you don’t get to see but maybe once every year or so if you’re lucky - will cautiously sneak up behind you at some point in the visit, maybe at the market, walking along the beach, or somewhere when you are not expecting it, and sneak their wondrous hand into one of yours and give you a gentle squeeze, then walk along with you hand-in-hand, like a comfortable, forever friend….melting your heart with joy.

That’s how lucky.  We should, and could, all be so lucky.  I think it starts with the parents.

Homeless to Helpless to Happiness

I got to work a bit early the other day.  A good thing, too, because I realized I needed to pick up a sympathy card for a friend, a co-worker, who had lost someone dear.  Good thing there was a drugstore that opened at seven a.m. just down the street!  It was a perfect morning for a stroll with the sky overcast, but not too cold out, typical Bay Area summer morning.  There were already lots of folks hustling about on Broadway.  More getting on the bus to who knows where, heading down the escalator to the BART trains, heading up the escalator from the BART trains.  Felt like some pretty good energy;  the busy and active kind of energy.  I hoisted up my backpack and headed down towards the store.

Within the first block, I happened to pass two men and one woman who were stopping random folks asking for spare change, hand-outs.  Nothing out of the ordinary, really, especially on the downtown street. 

On the second block more of the same, but, this time, four people asking for help.  I felt a little badly for them, but did not give any donations out.  I noticed that no one else did either. 

Seven people in need, asking for hand-outs in the first two blocks. Wow.

On the third block along Broadway there was only one guy, a dirty humongous sleeping bag, ripped all over, no zipper, draped across his shoulders and gathered at his chest.  His medium length brown hair askew with patchy hair growth on his red, blotchy face….kind of like he’d been sleeping out on a bus bench all night.  Now here he was sitting on that bus bench, alone.  Some people stood nearby, waiting for their ride to appear.  As I approached, the bus pulled up to the curb.  Riders got off, riders got on. The sleeping bag guy stood and immediately moved toward a young woman who had just stepped down off the bus.  She didn’t give him a chance to say a word, simply clutched her purse and just about ran away from him.  She looked very frightened.  He stood there for second, nonplussed, then tightly gathered his tattered bag around his shoulders and took off in the opposite direction of the woman and me.

Eight people in need, asking for hand-outs in the first three blocks. Still wow.

Block number four.  Two more beggars, but wait, one of them was the woman from the first block!  How the heck had she passed me without me noticing and how did she get ahead of me?  Still, as much as she was trying, no one was offering free hand-outs this morning. 

So where am I taking us with this? Is this some moralistic message about homeless people and ignoring them as much as possible?  No, actually this is about everybody else on the journey, me included.

Because I realized as I reached my Walgreen’s destination, that not one person had looked at me directly, or at anyone else for that matter, no one smiled at anybody, there were no ‘Good morning!’s or ‘Have a nice day!’s or anything.  We all were just scurrying along to our destinations, looking down at the sidewalk for the most part (how did we not run into each other?), not addressing ANY fellow humans on the street.  Heaven forbid a homeless person approach; we couldn’t even deal with the non-homeless folks en route!

As I eventually entered Walgreen’s and stood there reading all of the sympathy cards to find just the right one, I thought about how I didn’t happen to see one nice thing happen on the way there.  Not a nice word, not a smile or laugh…maybe it was too early in the morning, 8:00 am…is there a start time for acknowledging mankind?  Is there some social etiquette standard about not bothering anybody downtown, on a work day, in the morning?  The thought made me a little sad and the sympathy cards I read surely weren’t helping matters.

Of course, about halfway through my card review, I thought: Who am I to judge?  I am nobody. And I didn’t do anything nice either, unless keeping out of everyone’s way and making sure I didn’t run anyone over is something especially nice.  I know, I know,  it’s not.

Then I got a little mad.  At myself, for being part of this anti-social and non-caring human race, or at least the part of it that was around during my five minute walk to Walgreen’s.  It was Monday, early, I had to go to work, a friend’s loved one had passed, I couldn’t find a good card, and there was a line of six or seven people checking out with only one person behind a register, three others vacant.

Right then and there I took a deep breath and decided to conduct a little test. Until I got back to my office I would count up how many times I discovered one person acting kindly or doing something nice to another person – one Walgreen’s card purchase (“Good memories to see you through” with a pretty little river scene) and four downtown blocks to redeem my faith in mankind….and myself!  I couldn’t wait to see what the results would be!

See, there, already my attitude changed and - VOILA! - I found a good card.  So I got in line, number six in waiting.

The guy in front of me asked the lady in front of him if she knew anything about bus Clipper Cards and if he could increase his card amount at the register.  The lady just shook her head ‘No’ and turned away.  He looked a little chagrinned at her response, but then turned to me.  I wasn’t sure, not being a public transportation commuter myself, but I thought he could so I told him so.  “Thanks,” he said….see, that was something nice, wasn’t it?  Minimal effort, but a nice gesture nonetheless.  I mean, I could have told him “Dude, I don’t ride no stinking bus” and buried my nose in my card, but I didn’t.  That counts.  Act of kindness Number One.

Back on the road, okay here we go, Return Block #4.  I looked, I peered, I observed.  Nope, nothing.  No smiles, no conversations, no greetings.  Scurrying ants.

Okay, that’s okay, everyone was busy, still early, three blocks to go.

Return Block #3.  Another homeless person, asking but getting nothing in response, just completely ignored.  Nothing nice happening here either.  Mimes in a sad play.

Return Block #2….I was starting to lose a little faith now, I was halfway to my office, and could it actually, really happen: NOTHING NICE?!  How about anything other than complete silence and introversion?  I smiled at a couple people, trying to stir it up…nothing.  I actually raised my hand and gave a little wave to a woman…nothing.  No responses, nothing nice.

I was done.  Return Block #1….back to where I was just twenty minutes ago.  Who cared?  I didn’t, just get me off the street and into my work space, I was sad.

I hardly paid any attention until I reached the door to my building on Broadway.  I took a deep breath and opened the door, holding it open for an older woman to enter behind me.  She did.

I went up to the elevator and pushed the ‘Up’ button.  As I waited I rolled my head, neck and shoulders, literally trying to shake my doldrums and re-energize for, still, my entire work day ahead.  The elevator arrived, the doors parted.  I held the door open so the same older woman could enter first.  I stepped in.  Pushed the button for floor number five.

“What floor?”  I asked her.

“Three,” she responded.

In five seconds we reached the third floor, the door opened, I moved over so she could exit.  She did.

But, just as the doors started to close, she reached back and stopped them, stuck her head back in, smiled at me, LOOKED at me, and said, 

“Hey, hope you have a nice day.”

EUREKA!!!!