It Is Better To Light A Candle

It's Been A While!

2009-02-17T14:13:00.001-05:00

But here's a good one from the New York Times:

Dear Diary:
I’m standing on the northeast corner of 57th Street and Avenue of the Americas, waiting for the uptown No. 7 bus, when an agitated woman in a brown coat rushes up the street beside me, holding a small black purse open in her hands and calling, “Laura! Laura! Laura!”
She accosts every woman. “Are you Laura?” she asks them, the desperation in her voice increasing as she progresses, luckless, up the avenue.
At the corner of 58th, out of earshot but still within sight, a tall young woman in a black coat does a 180 in obvious response to the 15th call of “Laura!” Her hands fly up to her face in excitement, and then reach out to take the proffered purse. There is some animated conversation between them, culminating with brown coat holding up her hands in refusal of something offered by black coat.
Brown coat then hurries back down the avenue, hesitating at our bus stop only long enough to say: “That was Laura. She’s getting married in an hour. She had thousands of dollars in there to pay the caterer.”
With that, brown coat rushes off, no doubt in search of other good deeds to do.
Thomas Mowrey

The Shoes Off Her Feet

2007-12-14T14:20:00.000-05:00

I work with a woman named Shelecia, who is beautiful inside and out. She is really wonderful colleague - warm, intelligent, kind, helpful, and funny. She is also drop dead gorgeous and a total fashionista, and always looks very glamorous no matter what she is wearing. She has a special weakness for sexy high heeled shoes and boots, and I'm always ogling her.

Today she was kind of scuffling her feet around the office and someone noticed she was wearing some kind of hiking boots, which are not her usual thing. Turns out, they are her daughter's. She wanted to wear comfortable shoes today, she said, but she didn't have her sneakers any more.

"I gave them to a woman on a train," she told us casually. When pressed, she told us the story.

Apparently, one cold, rainy night, she was taking the subway home and was wearing her brand spanking new Nike Air tennis shoes. (Keep in mind this is a single mom, who works in Manhattan as a legal assistant and supports two teenagers. She does not have a whole lot of disposable income.) On this particular evening, she was also taking some personal stuff home from the office, including a pair of high heels that had been under her desk for a while.

A panhandler came through her subway car. This happens a lot - so much that people are pretty much inured to it. But this was a woman, Shelecia said, who shuffled through the car wearing only one shoe, one foot dirty and bare, clearly cold and wet and weeping as if her heart would break, telling a tale of domestic violence and poverty and hunger and suffering, and begging for help. No one responded. Sometimes we are paralyzed with indecision or waiting for someone else to make the first move in these situations... and there are so many panhandlers...

And Shelecia sat there, holding her bag, and thought with sudden determination, "if she comes back through this car, I'm giving her my shoes."

Panhandlers don't often come back though a car. They move from one car to the next on down the line. But this woman happened to come back. So Shelecia stopped her, and took off her new shoes, and gave them to her, with a dollar. And then she took the high heels out of her bag and walked home in the sleet in them. So now she doesn't have any sneakers.

And as so often happens, this one act of generosity spurred others all through the train car to dig through their pockets. As a general rule, I tend not to give money to panhandlers, although I frequently buy them sandwiches or slices of pizza. But if I had been on that car, I'm pretty sure I would have come up with some cash.

I dearly love my colleague Shelecia and have always had tremendous respect for her. And this story just confirmed my high opinion, as if I needed confirmation. Thank you Shelecia, sweetie, on behalf of the universe. You made my day!

Finding Hemingway

2007-12-12T20:57:00.001-05:00

"The world breaks everyone and afterward many are strong in the broken places. But those that will not break it kills. It kills the very good and the very gentle and the very brave impartially. If you are none of these you can be sure it will kill you too but there will be no special hurry."

- Ernest Hemingway
A Farewell to Arms

I never much cared for Hemingway. It's hard to put my finger on why. Oh, I'd like to give you a high-minded reason: drinking, machismo, misogyny, a pointless suicide… there's so much to choose from. But I'd be lying if I told you any of those. It wasn't the way lit was taught in my schooldays either, though it certainly didn't help. Forcing something like Hemingway or Steinbeck down a 20^th century teenager's throat without context or criticism is the first rule of What Not To Do if you want them to understand Why This Is Good. But that wasn't it either; I was largely immune to teaching by the time I hit The Sun Also Rises.

It was rebellion, pure and simple.

I know that sounds odd. Most people rebel by listening to loud music, growing long hair, getting piercings, donning eye makeup, wearing black clothing, majoring in art, etcetera,ad nauseum… and I did all those things too, but my parents took those things in stride (mostly). Honestly, the greatest rebellion I managed to pull off was disliking Hemingway. Vocally disliking Hemingway.

You'd have to meet my dad to understand.

My dad is incredibly well-read. I grew up surrounded by shelves of books, boxes of books, piles of books, bags of books, lockers full of books, books under the bed, on the table, on the counter. History books, cook books, novels, classics, plays, philosophies, biographies… you name it, dad has a book on it.

There was no question of whether I'd grow up to read and write. It was fait accompli. So the only way I could really rebel was to define myself in different literary terms than dad defined himself. So I hated Hemingway. Also Steinbeck and a host of others, but mostly Hemingway and mostly because dad loves the Nick Adams stories and I refused to for no better reason than differentiating myself on a generational footing.

I've spent a good deal of time talking to my dad about these things lately, so in some ways my thinking is clearer than it ever has been, and in some ways murkier than ever.

"When I was a boy of fourteen, my father was so ignorant I could hardly stand to have the old man around. But when I got to be twenty-one, I was astonished at how much he had learned."
- Mark Twain

Now I love Twain, and the quote is funny, but it's here that we part company.

While I'll never claim that I somehow transcended the ignorance and arrogance inherent in being a teenager, I never thought either of my parents were stupid. Quite the opposite, actually. My dad's intellect has always intimidated the hell out of me… in a good way. My dad made it abundantly clear that it was a Good Thing to be well-read, literate, and well-spoken... not to mention soft-spoken.

To be well-read, you have to read. A lot. Constantly. Even stuff you don't like… like Hemingway and Steinbeck. If there's no book handy, read a newspaper… or the back of a cereal box. I read all the time, several books at a time, mixing fiction and nonfiction with furious abandon. My personal collection is in the thousands, and my mother tells me that (in that respect at least) I have exceeded my forebears. I always have a book with me. Always.

Because dad made it right. He made it look cool.

But this isn't really about reading, and it's not even really about Hemingway or any of the others any more than the Mark Twain quote was about parental stupidity. It's about the scales falling from our eyes so that we may see our parents as they are. And ultimately seeing our parents in ourselves and vice-versa. Attaining the perspective to begin to grasp the strange and subtle nuance of how we interact with our parents.

Our parents give us gifts on a daily basis, or at least mine did. I'm not talking about cars or computers, or even three squares and a roof over our heads… I'm talking about the careful crafting that goes into raising children not to be better kids, but to be better adults. Not everyone receives that from their parents. I did and I am eternally grateful.

I wrote this in part to get it out of my head so I could go on to write other things, and in part because I wanted my younger friends to spend a little bit of time in honest reflection on why they react to their parents the way that they do. There is so much time wasted in our lives striving against our parents. Some of that is necessary, some of it is even constructive, and some of it blinds us to what's really going on.

I recently found out my dad has a cancer of the intractable sort. We have no idea what this means or how long he has. It could be a year, it could be ten years or more, dad comes from tough stock. But either way you look at it, it casts the past present and future into a new and sharper relief. Binds us that much closer together and at the same time makes the separationthat much harder.

It's something I cannot fully wrap my mind around and I assure you I am not posting this to garner sympathy, or condolences (though prayers are always welcome). So to everyone out there who still has their parents… I invite you to look at them… really LOOK at them. And try to figure out where your Hemingway is.

Recently, I spent almost an entire month at home for the first time since I left for college. Almost every day of it dad and I spent hours with our heads together, talking. We trolled through bookstores and took car trips and sat in waiting rooms together. Whole hours of it were spent reading as we sat next to one another, saying nothing. Just being there, reflecting one another as fathers and sons should.

And without speaking, without even bringing it up, he convinced me that it was time to give Ernest another shot. So I am… and while so much of what I disliked about the man is still there... I'm almost ashamed to admit how much I'm finally enjoying the man's sparse, evocative prose.

And next time I see my dad, we're going to have that much more to talk about.

-Scott Perkins

Biker Reunion, or, Lost in the Woods!!!

2007-11-28T14:15:00.000-05:00

I was talking with my sister Alice last night and she reminded me of something that happened to her several years ago at Hummel Park in Omaha.

Alice is a big nature nut and former camp counselor and Park Ranger. She has always made a habit of taking her four kids hiking and camping.

One day, she took several kids, including her oldest son Ken and his friend Colin, who I think were about 12, on a hike through the woods in Hummel Park. Hummel Park is a large swath of 200 acres of forest land on the bluffs just west of the Missouri River. It's beautiful, but somewhat remote, has some sheer, eroded dirt cliffy places, and also has somewhat of an unsavory history after nightfall. Juvenile delinquents hanging around causing trouble, ghost stories, even a couple of murders.

As the group walked down the trail, Ken and his friend wanted to take an short, alternative roundabout path which they knew would intersect with the main path a little later on. Alice knew the trail well and said that was fine, and they would meet at the intersection up ahead. Arriving at that intersection, Alice and the others waited for the two boys to join them.

And waited.

Alice started to worry, told the rest of the group to stay put and went back down the path to find them. She went all the way around - and they were nowhere to be found.

Anyone who is a parent will know this feeling - your heart stops - you start to freak out - you think, surely not - your heart starts beating again only way too fast - you're saying, No, No, No -adrenaline - panic - NOT GOOD.

The whole group searched for the boys for a long time, to no avail.

At this point, dusk is falling. You don't want your 12 year old boy lost in Hummel Park at night. AT ALL! So Alice, panicking now, rounds up the remaining kids and heads for civilization to call the police. She and the rest of the kids burst out of the woods into a clearing, near a narrow park road.

The clearing is filled with Harley Davidson types having a raucous party. There are lots of motorcycles and leather jackets and cigarettes and beer and loud rock music. This is not the type of party my sister Alice really gets into. She's more of the chamomile tea and Mozart type. Also, did I mention Alice is totally wee? She's about five feet tall.

But my dad didn't call her the Mighty Mite for nothing! She ran up to the bikers and let them know what had happened. Immediately, she told me, they leaped up and fanned out to search for the kids. Some of them jumped on their bikes or into their cars and others ran into the woods. One of them loaned Alice his cell phone (and this was way before those were ubiquitous) and she phoned the police.

While she was talking to the cops and telling them in no uncertain terms to get moving and bring their dogs with them (I can totally hear her, by the way), one of the biker ladies drove up in her station wagon, yelling out the window, "I've got 'em!"

Apparently the kids had overshot the path intersection and eventually realized they were lost. They kept going until they found a clearing with a small pavilion in it, near a road, and they wisely decided to sit at the pavilion and wait to be found rather than wander around in the forest.

Sigh! what a relief, and what a great story. It's even funnier if you know my sister. Also, FYI, Ken is now in college, so this story makes me feel extremely old. He is a super guy though. I'm so glad he wasn't lost!

Thank You Passing Pedestrian

2007-11-28T11:47:00.000-05:00

A week or two ago, my beloved husband Fernando was riding his bike to work, as is his wont. He was booking along over the Queensboro bridge in rush hour traffic, banking hard left onto Second Avenue at high speed, a total badass on his track bike wearing his spandex bike shorts, helmet and goggles (...pause.... savoring image...sigh...). Whoo! OK! regrouping!

Actually, why don't I let him tell it. The subject line of the email he sent me that morning said... "Do you remember...."

"Wile E. Coyote? In many episodes there was the inevitable moment where he steps off a cliff followed by a split second of suspense before he falls. He doesn't fall until he looks down and realizes he's no longer standing on solid ground. But in that split second it becomes clear that no matter long it takes, he's gonna fall.

"Well, that's a little bit like the moment when one is speeding one's bicycle to round a corner and beat the light; and one feels the front tire slip because it's hit something, like a rock. There's a sickening feeling in one's stomach, that if translated would say, "Oh shit, I'm going down!!!" And a split second later body parts start hitting the pavement. Of course, when one is pulling this maneuver, it's best to do it in front of a but-load of commuters on their way to work; so that upon getting up, one is faced by many, many faces of concern.

"I wish I could have seen it (instead of experienced it). I went down so hard and so fast that it must have looked like I'd been shot."

I got the full skinny on what happened later. Apparently Fernando went rolling at high speed in one direction and his bike went in another, into one of the most entropic and screwed up intersections in Manhattan. He told me that as he went down, a passing suit on his cell phone was yelling "OH MY GOD! THIS GUY JUST TOTALLY WIPED OUT ON HIS BIKE! I GOTTA GO!" - and promptly rescued the bike from being smushed by traffic and made sure Fern was OK. Of course my dear, proud husband leaped back on his bike and rushed back into the fray, and is basically OK except for a very sore wrist which is still adorned with an Ace bandage.

It warmed my heart though, to think of this anonymous guy, on his way to work, dropping everything to help the love of my life and save his bike from being demolished. He had no idea how precious and beloved this man is to so many people. But he acted like he knew, which makes me want to hug him. Wouldn't it be great if we all assumed that about each other all the time?

It's Just A Thing

2006-12-13T10:22:00.000-05:00

There are some mornings in New York City where there seems to be a poltergeist screwing up ALL the subway lines. On these mornings, it honestly feels like you have to do battle just to get to work. People stagger into their offices, hollow-eyed, feeling like they should be able to go home (preferably in a taxi) and crawl into bed instead of dealing with the workday only to face subway hell again on the way home.

One such morning, my colleague Jane told us a story about her nightmare getting to work. She was on a very crowded 1 train heading downtown, when the train slowed down and finally stopped cold in the tunnel. No information was forthcoming from the conductor (this is always very nerve wracking). People stood, uncomfortably smashed up against each other, silently praying for the train to start again. At a certain point though, people released their hold on the overhead bars, put down their packages, started removing coats - settling in for the long haul.

As usual during these experiences, there were a couple of people in Jane's car who started to hyperventilate and panic. New Yorkers are good at helping people like this. Someone will pass a paper bag down the car for the person to breathe into, or a bottle of water; or people will help take off coats and scarves, offer their seats, pats on the back, and smiles and words of reassurance and comfort.

This day though, one of the people who had a hard time was a pregnant woman who started to get woozy and nauseated. Suddenly and uncontrollably, she vomited all over her own lap. She started to weep and apologize to everyone on the car for the smell, and was clearly horribly humiliated and upset.

"There was a very well dressed man next to this pregnant woman," Jane told us. " He took off his cashmere scarf and gave it to her to clean herself up. Still in tears, she protested that she couldn't accept it, but he pressed it on her and said with a smile, 'My wife is pregnant too. I hope someone would help her.'"

Sigh! I got the shivers!

God Bless Wohlners!

2006-10-19T11:33:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't know, let me just say that Wohlner's Grocery Store in Omaha, Nebraska is one of my most beloved establishments. I frequently order their delicious steaks, handmade bratwurst, and home cured slab bacon to be Fedexed to me in New York in a giant styrofoam cooler. I used to live a few blocks away from Wohlner's, and went there almost daily. It is a Norman Rockwell experience to shop there - everyone knows you, they will cash a personal check for you, they will tell you how to cook whatever you buy, they have St. Andre cheese (a rarity in Nebraska), and Jeff, the pharmacist who runs the little pharmacy in the back, will drop your prescription by your house on his way home from work.

My friend Stanley, who is himself just a mass of good deeds and good will, forwarded me the following email from his friend Karen. I remember Karen - we all used to work together a million years ago at Borders. While this story doesn't surprise me at all, it made me smile and feel warm and fuzzy.

So, I didn't have any money on me today leaving work. That is, no bus fare.

I stop lots at Wohlner's to buy food because it's right at my bus stop, so I figured I'd use their ATM to get money, buy dinner, get on the bus, bingo-bango.

(I'd foolishly used my very last check buying cheesecake for a co-worker's daughter's school fundraiser. On the plus side, she now owes me, so forward all your kids' stuff to me. Guaranteeeeeeeed sale!)

Anyhoo, tried the ATM three times. No go. Must be outa money. Wohlner's credit card machines aren't set up to get cash back.

I don't have a cell phone. How am I going to get home? After many trials and tribulations trying to get through to a friend at work who might still be there at 5:45 to come and pick me up (just try getting through on those automated systems when you have to tell the cashier which buttons to push!), the nice Wohlner's lady insists I take her money!

Someone I don't even know save seeing her frequently at the nice little grocery store at 52nd and Leavenworth gave me five bucks for the bus today!

Karen

www.wohlners.com

A Cup of Joe

2006-08-15T10:07:00.000-04:00

Here is a post from my friend Rebecca:

Brian, Chris and I went to Central park after work for a picnic dinner. I didn't want to carry my full back pack (with my office laptop) etc, so I took out the essentials--my wallet and phone--and put them in Brian's bag. We had a great time, came home, and got ready for the following day.

This morning I left the house, making sure I packed my lunch, vitamins, etc. It is my normal routine to stop into Starbucks for a medium drip coffee. The store was empty, and I have been going there for MONTHS, so I got a nice "Good Morning" from the staff, along with a gentle ribbing about what I was going to order (since I order the SAME medium drip EVERY day). I went into my back pack, and no wallet! Realizing what I had done, I told them I didn't have my wallet, that I left it in my husband's bag, and that there'd be no coffee for me this morning, apologized and walked away from the counter. On my way to the door, I got out my office keys. I then heard miss......miss, so I turned around. The guys gave me my cup of coffee. Not a small, but the usual medium that I order. I was so surprised and grateful. Completely made my day! They are just awesome. I can't wait to sing their praises to management.

"My Baby Fell Out the Stroller"

2006-06-14T11:22:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I left my office in Midtown at the end of the day and jumped on the train to go pick up my son at school. I was rushing down the stairway at the 59th and Lexington station to catch the express train uptown, struggling against a sea of people surging up the stairs to catch the N. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed a woman standing still, clutching a baby at the bottom of the stairs, standing next to an empty stroller.

"I can't stop, I'm running late, someone else will help her carry it up," I thought, and then stopped in my tracks and turned around.

One of the most rewarding things about writing this blog has been the change it has made in my OWN behavior. I notice that because I am always on the lookout for other people doing good deeds, it turns out that as a result I see more opportunities to help others myself. And the process of chronicling all the kindnesses others shower upon me makes me feel honor bound to return the favor to the universe. I feel so grateful about this. Good deeds have become my daily ethos and although I feel so flawed in many ways, this attitude is something I am really happy about.

So I just couldn't keep walking. I stopped, turned around, and asked the woman if she needed help carrying the stroller up the stairs. Suddenly I noticed that her cheeks were tear streaked and she was holding the baby very close.

"My baby fell out the stroller," she told me. "A man was helping me carry the stroller but he tripped and my baby, he fell out the stroller." She was trembling.

She was cradling the baby boy (who was maybe 6 months old) and the tears brimmed up in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks in a ceaseless stream. He was quiet in her arms, with his face pressed against her breast, sucking on a pacifier.

"Did he fall down the STAIRS?" I asked her, horrified. She looked in my eyes and nodded, and my own eyes filled with tears, seeing her mute anguish and terror. I asked her if he had cried, and she nodded. All of a sudden another woman appeared beside me. "Is everything OK?" she asked.

The mother gave a little sob and said again, "My baby fell out the stroller, my baby fell out the stroller!" The new woman said, "Well you have got to get him to a doctor, and make sure he is all right!"

"I know," said the mother. "But I ain't putting him back in that stroller!"

I put down my packages (book, magazine, leftovers from lunch) on the ground and said "I will carry the stroller outside for you, if you carry the baby."

As I turned around I noticed that a large group of people had suddenly gathered around the three of us. A young man asked me, "Were you going up the stairs yourself?"

"No," I answered. "I was going down to the 4/5. But I don't mind."

"I'll carry the stroller, and make sure she gets outside OK with the baby," he said, smiled reassuringly at the mother, and lifted the stroller effortlessly, motioning her to follow him. A crowd of people surrounded her as she went up the stairs, sort of placing their hands in the air around and behind her, as if to catch her and the baby if she stumbled.

FlyLady and Hey Tom

2006-06-09T11:54:00.000-04:00

I've recently discovered two amazing web sites. I've added links to both. Reading each of these sites (they are linked) has changed my attitude profoundly in the last few weeks about cleaning the house, being (or not being) organized, my value as a person, and understanding the mysterious behavior of the men in my life.

Quite a tall order, eh?

FlyLady is a free service provided by a wonderful, life-affirming, and funny group of women who help hundreds of thousands of people improve the state of their homes, and by corrolary their mental, emotional and spiritual states. Their simple, cheery, practical reminders and advice have seeped into my consciousness to the extent that I suddenly find I have a COMPLETELY different perspective on my home, my gifts and flaws, and my relationship with myself. Because of this breakthrough I find that I am less fearful and more forgiving of myself and of others. I have new hope about creating a more manageable life and helping my son do the same thing.

I can't even describe how much this means to me. I have always lived with this perpetual sense of impending doom, and I am starting to realize that I don't have to feel that way. I'm not there yet, but I can see the light at the end of a (long) tunnel, and it's such a relief to know I can get out of the cycle of panic and disorganization and harsh self-criticism.

The other web site is called HeyTom.net. It is an advice website for people involved in the FlyLady system, run by a group of men who are related to the women running FlyLady. They attempt to explain the mysteries of the male psyche to the often bewildered women who write in, and also offer practical advice about tools, home repairs, relationships, shoes, the law, computer problems, you name it. Each of these guys has his own areas of expertise, and often several of them will weigh in on a particular letter. The tenor of their comments is unfailingly kind, compassionate, respectful, honest, informative and often hilarious. They just seem like really good men. Their explanations of the way men's minds work has been a revelation to me and has helped me so much just in the last couple of weeks in my relationship with my beloved fiance and son.

I'm surrounded by men! I live with two and work for two and am friends with a lot more. It's so nice to have a little peephole into their brains.

The paradigm shift this experience has given me is like the one when I had a child, or when I studied economics for the first time, or when I discovered the principles of AlAnon. I feel like I'm looking at the world through a new pair of glasses, and it looks much nicer.

The most amazing thing is that both services are completely FREE. It's incredible to me how much real, practical good they are doing for so many thousands of people - helping people help themselves, with kindness, encouragement, and homespun wisdom.

Thank you FlyLady! Thank you HeyTom! I'm so grateful that I found you.

Kitty on the Tracks!!! Oh No!

2006-05-26T10:39:00.000-04:00

Don't panic, it's just a stuffed animal - but one that is very precious to my 10 year old son. He's one of those little Beanie Baby type tigers, very worn and shabby from years of peeking out of pockets and backpacks and being taken to the park. He's one of Connor's very special toys.

In other words, Kitty is "real" from a Velveteen Rabbit point of view.

A couple of days ago Connor took Kitty to school and lost him. He was dejected about it but I encouraged him to ask around and look in the lost and found.

Last night, Fernando offered to pick Connor up from school and take care of him so that I could go wedding invitation shopping with Amye. I got home after Connor was asleep and basically Fernando and I went straight to bed without much conversation.

This morning, I had the following conversation on the way to school with my son. Keep in mind that while Fernando is a complete prince, he especially dislikes crowds, heat and stuffiness, waiting in lines, and (thus) taking the subway during rush hour. He is normally the soul of patience and tolerance but these things just make him cranky and irritated and you can just FEEL the slow burn happening. He needs fresh air and space like most people need oxygen or water.

C: Mommy, guess what?
J: What?
C: I found my kitty yesterday!
J: Oh honey! that's great!
C: And then I dropped him on the train tracks on the way home.
J: Oh no! Really?
C: Yes, but then the subway men came and picked him up for me with a long stick.
J: Wow! that was nice of them.
C: Yes, but it took a really long time. Like an HOUR. We waited forever. I guess they were busy doing other subway stuff.
J: (picturing the scene) Oh boy.
C: And Fernando said that if I ever dropped the kitty on the tracks again, we would just leave it there.
J: (giggling)
J: Ahem. Was Fernando mad?
C: Nah. He was really annoyed though.
J: I'll bet.
C: And you know how I said my kitty needed a bath? Now he REALLY needs a bath.
J: (realizing) EW!!

I just sent Fernando an email to report this conversation and here is his reply, which made me absolutely crack up and get all misty at the same time:

Oh, you should have seen Connor's face as he stepped out of the train and realized his kitty had fallen through the gap. He was heartbroken and the tears flowed. Oh boy. I felt like there was no option but to take a seat and wait for the subway guys. Luckily we both had books.

I don't think he'll drop kitty again.

And oh, yeah, kitty was sleeping with the rats. And what did Connor do as soon as kitty was back in his hands? Yup, held him up to his mouth and gave him a big kiss. YUM! He did it so fast I couldn't stop him.

LOL!

Good deed #1 - my fiance takes such good care of my son, physically and emotionally. When I realize it afresh I am just stunned with joy. They really love each other. He has made such a HUGE difference in our lives. I'm so grateful.

Good deed #2 - thank you "subway men with the long stick!" I'm sure you did have other "subway stuff" to do, but how kind of you to rescue my son's little stuffed buddy.

And is giving someone a belly laugh a good deed? I think so. So thanks to both Connor AND Fernando for that. What a riot! I'm STILL giggling.

Happy Anniversary Shelby!

2006-05-24T11:42:00.000-04:00

This morning I got a random phone call from my dearest friend Shelby. She was walking down the street in Manhattan and in between getting splashed by passing taxicabs, she told me that she had just realized tomorrow (May 25) is her ten year anniversary of moving to New York City, and wanted to tell me.

I've been meaning to post something about Shelby on this blog for months. The challenge is to condense the magnitude of all her goodness to me in a readable form. Upon further reflection this seems like an impossible task... but I'll give it a shot for her anniversary. It feels like a message from the universe, and I try to pay attention to those.

Shelby and I became friends in Omaha in 1992. For fourteen years, sometimes from a distance of 2000 miles and sometimes from across a kitchen table, she has been my best pal, staunch ally, beguiling partner in crime, challenging critic, travelling buddy, teacher, roommate, co-parent, sister, inspiration, and boon companion.

When I was going through an incredibly painful and difficult divorce, and panic stricken about being on my own, she sent me a brand new leather tool belt ("you can do it!") When I was sad and feeling like I had lost my mojo, a package arrived with sparkly disco underwear for me. When I was lonely and afraid, she made phone dates with me to make sure we kept in touch. When I royally screwed up and wounded her feelings, she royally chewed me out and then forgave me. When I wanted to hide and avoid confronting things that scared or upset me, she held my hand and made me face them.

When I really needed fun, oh boy, did I get it! Together the two of us have cut a legendary swath through Omaha, New York, Florence, London, Paris and Dublin. When we go out on the town together we are famous, indestructible, gleaming, self-sufficient, magical, the coolest people on earth. We kidnap people, and they feel grateful. She has helped me completely exorcise the hideous demons of high school unpopularity and geekhood.

When I desperately wanted out of Omaha, she offered to live with me and my seven year old son if we moved to New York. For two years, the three of us shared a home. It was messy, chaotic, challenging, scary and a lot of fun. She made huge adjustments - Connor's dirty underwear alone would have sent most people running for the door. She became, and continues to be, hugely important in my son's life ("Aunt Shelby!"). We live within walking distance of each other to this day.

When my ex-husband died, she was right there to commiserate and grieve, comfort me, help me pack, and be available on the phone during our interminable trip home for the impossibly wrenching funeral. When my car randomly burst into flames the day after I returned from said funeral, she stood on the sidewalk with me hugging me and patting my back as I laughed hysterically. When my mom died six months later, she and our friend Rebecca flew to Nebraska to be with me during the most profound grief of my life. When the time came for the two of us to split up housekeeping, she helped me look for an apartment and move. She offers to feed my cat when I am out of town. She and her husband take my son to the park, and keep him for the weekend when I go on a trip. Connor knows no greater joy than to be with Aunt Shelby and Uncle Andy.

Don't get me wrong, it's not an evil one-sided friendship (at least I hope not!!) - I know I have been a blessing in her life as well; we both enjoy helping each other and we love each other to bits... but I'm not sure Shelby knows how deeply I value the things she has given me.

Among all the many blessings she has showered on me, two big ones stand out.

First among all of them is the gift of her sincere friendship and love, through so many turbulent years. She knows me really well, better than almost anyone, with all my issues and all my gifts, and loves me no matter what. She has taught me so much about how to be a good friend, and it's a lesson I desperately needed.

Secondly, MY GOD!! - she gave me New York City, the source of so much happiness in my life. Because of her I get to experience the flat out JOY of living here. I've learned so much about myself and about the world, I've had the best food ever, I've discovered the beach, I've mastered the subway, my son is getting an incredible education, and I met my soul mate. It's a breathtaking gift - the gift of a new life.

So happy anniversary, dear. I love you so much. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Excellent News!

2006-05-23T14:33:00.000-04:00

I received this wonderful email from my dear friend Amye this morning:

Dear friends,

I have absolutely wonderful news to report to you all! As many of you know, my older brother Jimmy was diagnosed with a rare and ravaging form of leukemia (CML) a few years ago. He’s been through almost every treatment available (with the exception of a bone marrow transplant) with no success. Last year he started an experimental treatment, his last option before the transplant procedure, at John Hopkins in Philadelphia. I’m getting weepy as I write this, but we just got the news yesterday (on his birthday, no less) that Jimmy’s quarterly test results report no cancer cells in his body. He is cancer free! This is a step better than remission because his body shows no cancer cells or remaining cancer proteins in his blood or marrow! We are not totally out of the dark yet, and he will always be ‘in treatment’ for his disease, though a few more years of negative test results will put us all at ease. But that’s the future, and right now, I am so happy for my brother and his wife Kim and daughter Madison. On a grander scale, Jimmy’s cancer-free status is a major step forward in the treatment of leukemia for all those who suffer from the disease, and hopefully this drug will be available to others very soon because of great results like my brother’s. I feel like I have received the best news in the entire world, and I really wanted to share it with you as you have all been a major support to me as my family deals with Jimmy’s disease. It really is a glorious day!

Thanks again for all of your prayers and support!

XOXO ~ Amye

This is truly thrilling news for Amye and her family. The good deeds of the doctors and scientists who continue to work so nobly to eradicate diseases like Jimmy's are truly inspiring.

What Amye doesn't mention in her email is that she has changed her whole lifestyle in the last several years due to her commitment to be Jimmy's bone marrow donor if he ever needs her to be. This included difficult achievements like quitting smoking and changing her eating habits - both of which were very hard struggles for her, but are things which she did and continues to do out of love for her brother and his family. Because of this and many other reasons, Amye is one of my personal heroes. I'm so grateful to have her as a friend.

It doesn't rank quite up there with donating bone marrow, but she is also an incredibly gifted artist and she is helping me with my wedding invitations. So that's another good deed.

Hurray! for Amye and the doctors at Johns Hopkins!

Joe

2006-05-21T00:16:00.000-04:00

He should be called JOY.

I fortuitously reconnected with Joe, my college boyfriend's roommate, a couple of years ago. We met in Lincoln, Nebraska in 1986, and now I live in New York and he lives in DC. I detected him on Friendster two years ago and after an unconscionably long separation, we renewed our friendship with a drink at the Plaza and dinner at Orso. Since then we have kept in touch via email. Thank God for the Internet!

Last weekend, my beloved friend Thomas graduated from Georgetown with an MFA. I cannot even express how delighted and proud I am about his achievements. Over a dozen people flew in from points west to celebrate with him, and my friend Jill and I took the Greyhound bus from NYC to DC to whoop it up with our Omaha peeps. When I called Joe to see if he wanted to hook up, he was so excited to see me, he offered to pick us up at the station and provide me and Jill (whom he had never met) a place to stay for the weekend.

Joe showed up at the bus station in his tiny Audi coupe (human origami was required for the person in the "back seat" = "shoe box"), and he drove us with a flourish to the art gallery where the party for Thomas was being held. After helpfully unfolding us he then proceeded to accompany me and Jill into a party where he literally knew NO ONE, charmed every soul, enjoyed himself thoroughly, and then when the party ended kidnapped me and Jill to a tremendously cool and fun little bar for more laughter and conversation. We were then magically transported back to his impossibly hip house, and put to bed in one of the most comfortable beds upon which I have ever slept.

In the morning, we were charmingly plied with delicious French press coffee, and had the delightful task of exploring one of the most delicious, tasteful, interesting, and amusing homes I've ever been in. And then there's the sweet friendly dog, DEVO. And the yard sale the neighbors were having, and the beautiful park across the street. Joe's yard is full of clover and I made a fairy circlet for Jill's beautiful curly red hair.

Joe then poured us into his tiny car and took us away for brunch. We sat outside in the sun at a quaint Belgian cafe, drank Bloody Marys and ate crepes, and for an hour or so were the happiest and most delightful people on the planet. It was sheer bliss. When we left our server thanked us and called us "my favorite brunch party of the day." By the way Jill - thanks for brunch!

Then we were chauffeured back to the bus station. Hugs, kisses, and promises of eternal friendship were exchanged on all sides.

There were so many good deeds of the weekend - all the wonderful people who came such a distance to celebrate with Thomas; my friend Jill and I deciding to support each other in our desire to show up; my darling Fernando taking care of Connor so I could go; Thomas himself, doing such a good deed FOR HIMSELF by pursuing his dreams; the bus drivers, in both directions, paying attention so that all the passengers could sleep, or talk, or read, and reach our destinations safely without paying any attention to the road.

But the biggest and most noticeable gift of the weekend was the generosity and love of my old friend, who is so wonderfully kind and funny. His cheeky, mischievous, loving, wise, tasteful, honest, good-hearted, sarcastic, impudent, and witty soul delights me no end. He made everything lovely. Thank you sweetheart!

Brian's Big 5-0

2006-05-03T15:45:00.000-04:00

Since I started this site I've mostly been posting about strangers doing nice things for other strangers. But something happened last weekend that reminded me of how goodness surrounds me every day, in my most intimate friendships. How fortunate I am to exist in this environment of kindness, generosity, and loving actions!

My dear friend Brian, whose daily service to others will be immortalized by me in another post very soon, had a birthday last weekend. He wasn't very happy about turning 50, in fact was feeling quite morose and glum, so his wife Rebecca sneakily organized the most BRILLIANT surprise party for him. She invited a billion people and everyone who could come, did come, wreathed in smiles, bearing gifts and good will. Our friend Andy watched the kids in the afternoon so that Rebecca and I could dash about to the grocery store and run errands... Shelby came over to help Rebecca slice, dice, and get ready... and dozens of Brian's friends from every era of his life showed up to celebrate his birth. Many of them drove long distances to be there. Everyone proceeded to have a fabulous time - especially Brian - and especially Rebecca.

I think what I will always remember most about this party is the pure love and joy coming off Rebecca throughout the evening. She was simply incandescent. She was obviously pleased to successfully pull off such a spectacular bash, and delighted to be with all the great people who attended - but most importantly, she was rejoicing in being able to give this amazing gift of laughter and loving company to her dear husband. Her eyes were just shining, and she was laughing and smiling and beaming at everyone and especially at him. It was really beautiful to see the abiding love between them, exposed for all to see. (Getting all misty writing this... imagine that!)

I've been lucky enough to be close to this family for the last three years of my life, and it has been and continues to be a huge privilege to know them. Thank you for including me in your lives, dear ones. I love you!

A Kindred Spirit from Craigslist in Seattle

2006-04-11T14:28:00.000-04:00

I saw this today on Craigslist and thought it was a great story.

RAVE RAVE RAVE: "I'll take you where you need to go"
Date: 2006-03-03, 4:46PM PST

So this morning I'm running late for school as usual and am cross and frustrated and tired after staying up all night to write a paper and generally just in a relatively "Blech" mood. Luckily I was able to make the bus, but only because it was held up with all the construction going on in front of U Village which has turned 45th into an absolute (if temporary) nightmare. So the bus is rumbling along and trying to get over amidst the dozen or little cars who are all determined to get ahead of us before the bus can switch into the lane it needs...

*Tangent* (Btw, you clowns ever read those "yield" signs on the back? Yeah, they're not kidding.. YIELD! Is being one car length in front of the bus really worth trying to vie for position with 15 tons of steel and glass with your little Hundai Accent? I got 5 bucks says who is going to win that battle!) *ahem*

As I was saying.. so the bus driver is just doing his damnedest (I recognize this is probably not really a word) to merge over and he makes it over just in time to make it to the next stop, which he does announce and when no one pulled the cord, he gratefully kept on trucking to turn out of the traffic mess onto campus. As we are waiting to go through the intersection at the light at 25th, a very old (like 90 if a day) blind man nervously asked if his stop had come yet... The bus driver instantly remembered that this man had asked to be let off at the last stop he'd just passed. This man was clearly hard of hearing (had giant hearing aids) and in no way could have known the stop was coming up to pull the cord. The driver had told him he'd remember to let him off there and then with all the traffic and stuff I guess he just forgot. (To his credit, he felt really really bad about it and was apologizing profusely). The old blind man was clearly scared and asked to be told where he was exactly but even though we weren't far from where he wanted to get off... it would have been very difficult for him to get back there because the sidewalk is not continuous. The driver offered to let him off at that corner and was trying to explain how to do it, but it was just too complicated for this guy. (I don't blame him, the 25th, 45th, montlake intersection is kind of convoluted for pedestrians.) The obviously distressed man finally decided that rather than risk it he'd just get off at the next stop and catch the next bus coming back the other way... With an "Are you sure?" the driver began to close the doors again but then.. from the back of the bus came a woman's voice....

"I'll take you where you need to go," she said as she made her way to the front. She turned to the driver and said, "I can take him" and with that the driver let the elderly blind man and the young woman in a black jacket and pink bandana in her hair off the bus. The bus was at the light for a moment or two longer and as I watched this woman gently talking to this man as she held his elbow and began escorting him safely to his destination I couldn't help but almost feel the kindness radiating off of her in his direction. They were beautiful. Her: looking very much the Seattle "granola girl" and him: frail, tapping his white cane in front of him. Say what you want about hippies, liberals, whatever... this woman displayed an unselfish compassion this morning that should put us all to shame, regardless of affiliation. You see, she didn't pull the cord either... she was obviously on her way to somewhere else, and chose instead to delay her plans to help this total stranger walk half a block to safety. I was humbled. Thank you, Ms. Kindest-Blue-Eyes-Ever for helping me to remember why we're all really here on this earth and for shaming me for my inaction to help my fellow man out of preoccupation with my own interests. I needed that. I think we all do. So RAVE RAVE RAVE RAVE to you! You not only made my morning, you made my co-workers mornings too when I walked into the lab and told them this story. Good on ya!

Signed, An anonymous girl you gently brushed past on the bus so you could do what we ALL should have been making our way forward to do

The First Party In Our New Apartment

2006-03-20T15:08:00.000-05:00

On St. Patrick's Day, we invited several of our best friends to come over and have corned beef and cabbage with us. One reason for the party was so we could get our asses in gear and really unpack and finish our awesome new pad (which we did - hooray!) The main reason, though, is that we wanted to entertain, and be with our people, and christen our apartment properly.

Eight wonderful people showed up, bursting with good cheer and itching to celebrate. It's been a stressful winter for all of us and for the last few months we've all been sort of hibernating. It was an amazing and exhilarating experience to celebrate St. Patrick, good food and drink, our new place and our engagement, music, laughter, and especially the incredible, deep, sustaining friendships which bless our lives so much.

The indomitable and peerless Kitty drove all the way from Boston to attend, and our beloved, peripatetic Kiwi Paul took a Greyhound from Pennsylvania where he is fortuitously working for the month (the only good thing about Allentown being, it is only 90 minutes from NYC!)

We all ate and drank and laughed and whooped it up till the wee hours. The next morning, many of the guests regrouped in my kitchen while I did the Mount Everest of dishes, arriving with a box of coffee and delicious breakfast sandwiches from our favorite deli. Paul fixed my clock, the overhead light above my stove, and the broken handle on my cupboard, and took my son to the park. Brian washed the silverware, which he knows I hate to do. Rebecca carefully cleaned up broken glass (don't ask) so that my bare feet would be safe. Everyone laughed and chatted and told stories and made it a wonderful morning. It was a complete delight from beginning to end.

I am so grateful for the amazing friends in my life. There is no substitute for the warmth, acceptance, joy and comfort that they provide. It's a true privilege to be part of this big community of loving, interesting, intelligent, funny, kind human beings. To the people I love who are reading this (you know who you are): thank you. You have made my life wonderful.

Kind-Hearted Bosses

2006-03-17T15:49:00.000-05:00

An incident today at work made me reflect on how fortunate I have been in my life in the boss department (with a few GLARING exceptions!!)

I've been in my new position for three short weeks, supporting two top executives at a national news magazine. It's a great job and I know I am going to love it, but I'm still sort of tiptoeing around figuring out who's who, how do these guys tick, what's the proper protocol, you know the drill. New job jitters.

I was surprised to discover today that one of my best friends in New York had a phone interview for a great job at one of my new company's sister companies early this morning. She hadn't realized that the two companies were related (and neither did I until I started my new job a few weeks ago).

I approached my senior boss sort of casually, told him about the funny coincidence, and asked what, if anything, I might do to put in a good word for my friend. He took me very seriously, asked several questions, and then got up from his desk and rousted my OTHER very busy boss out of his office. The two of them discussed it at some length around my desk, trying to discover for whom my friend would be working, and in the end they both encouraged me to find out the name of the executive in charge of the division. My boss said, and I quote, "I'd be happy to make a personal phone call to that executive to put in a good word for her, if you can get me a name." Then he gave me a big, kind smile over his glasses and shut his office door.

WOW! I was totally astonished and dazzled. This is a man who knows how to inspire loyalty! I literally felt my jaw drop open and had to focus on deliberately and gently closing my mouth.

It may not magically help get my friend the second interview and/or the job , but you never know, it just might. In any event, it was an act of genuine helpfulness on his part with no immediate payback, offered to someone he doesn't know terribly well, apparently just to be nice. Another thing: the whole thing was handled so matter-of-factly, with so little ado, that it was clear that this is just the way he is. It's not unusual at all for him to be generous with his time, energy and influence.

I'm so grateful to be working with and for people like this.

Meanwhile we are frantically googling like mad to find out the executive's name! Please send good ju-ju!

It's Contagious!

2006-03-07T14:50:00.000-05:00

My son Connor has been very interested in, and impressed by, the fact that I started this site. "My mom has a whole WEBSITE about good deeds," he proudly told a fellow passenger on our plane to Cancun. I had volunteered to change our seats so that the guy's family could all sit together.

Yesterday, two good deeds happened that relate to my son.

First of all, my dear friend and co-blogger Andrea comes into Manhattan every single Monday to pick up my son after school and take him to his "talking doctor" appointment. Connor loves going to see Peter, his doctor, and he especially loves spending a little time with Andrea, who is one of the world's most delightful, charming, wise, kindhearted, intelligent, and funny people. The two of them send each other hilarious text messages about stinky farts. They love each other and enjoy each other's company tremendously.

Anyway every Monday, without fail, my darling friend Andrea makes sure Connor reaches his doctor's office, saving me an incredible weekly hassle; and she does it with such joy and enthusiasm that it's impossible for me to feel bad about it.

So that is good deed number one - my favorite kind - not really dramatic, just an ordinary, week in, week out, reliably kind act that is very meaningful to me and my little boy. It might seem small, but it isn't. Thank you, my friend!

Yesterday, Andrea picked Connor up at school as usual and they bought a snack at a hot dog vendor. Suddenly they noticed a pair of gloves on the sidewalk. Connor pointed them out and a woman sitting nearby said, "That man dropped them!" - pointing at a man who was pulling out from the curb in his car. Connor ran to the car shouting "Sir! Sir!" The man stopped and Connor handed his gloves to him through the car window.

"That's GREAT!" I exclaimed when he told me about it. "Yes!" he said smugly. "And then Andrea and I had a High Five!"

Then he looked up at me with his winsome little grin and said "Will you put me on your web site, Mom?"

I Fell Off A Galloping Horse On A Mexican Beach And...

2006-03-02T13:03:00.000-05:00

Fernando said the best moment of the day was seeing me get up and climb back on. He was terrified that I had been seriously hurt or killed. He also had a shot of tequila waiting for me at the bar after I gimped back from the stables; that was hilarious and much appreciated;
All the staff members and fellow guests at our hotel offered me medicine and sympathy, and enjoyed hearing the story, properly expressing thrilled shock and admiration, which was almost better than the medicine and sympathy;
Since I bruised my tailbone area pretty badly, I'm still gimping around like the hunchback of Notre Dame (actually, it's more of a waddle than a gimp) and people on the rush hour subway are literally leaping to their feet to let me sit down when they see me coming (instead of pointing and laughing);
And best of all, I have experienced the unfailing kindness, solicitous care, shouldering of burdens, massages, handholding, and refusal to hate me when I'm whiny, of my wonderful best friend and life partner in the last week.

Welcome Home

2006-02-27T13:33:00.000-05:00

This is a great story from my beloved cousin Joe in Seattle. I've been slacking on this site due to major transitions in my personal and professional life but will be posting more regularly from now on. Hi everyone!

Hey Joan-

I have a little story to add to gooddeed, if you care to.

My current job requires that I travel fairly often, and most of my flights are completely mundane and uneventful.

I recently had an experience on a flight, however, that was definitely noteworthy.

I was flying home to Seattle after a week in Dallas. While the plane was boarding, I could not help but notice a group of fifteen or twenty military personnel on the flight. With all the troops in transit these days, this is not at all unusual, though.

When we landed at SeaTac, the flight attendant came on the intercom and told us that these troops were just getting home to Seattle after a year's deployment in Iraq. She asked that we all remain seated and let the soldiers deplane first to speed their return to their homes and families.

I've been on several flights where the flight attendants ask people to remain seated so that passengers with tight connecting flights could get off first and have better odds of making their next flight, and it never works.

This was completely different. When the seatbelt light went out, nobody got out of their seat. We all sat waiting as the soldiers made their way off the plane. As they moved through the aisle, applause burst out spontaneously. Many people called out "Welcome home!" and "We're proud of you!"

Some of the soldiers smiled, some were stoic and some looked like they were about to cry.

It was quite moving.

It was clear to me then that I do not have to agree with the mission in order to honor the men and women who are willing to put it all on the line for our country.

Joe

My Puffy Coat, or, A Prince Among Men

2006-01-17T14:09:00.000-05:00

This is a very personal good deed story, but it totally made my day/week/month so I thought I would share it.

First of all, as my people know, I'm always freezing, and I hate, hate, hate winter. I like it well enough if I'm in a snuggly robe and slippers, sipping tea and looking out the window at a snowy landscape; or swathed in long undies and a down jacket and zipping down a ski trail; but schlepping back and forth to work in the icy wind and sleet seriously brings me down.

I have many different coats, but none of them is really warm enough for New York walking around winters. Fernando has been shaking his head in dismay at me for months as we've tromped around Soho, because I am usually tense, shivering, and clutching my lapels around my throat while my teeth chatter like a tap dancer. I've really been miserable.

He decided to look for a long down coat with a hood for my early birthday present, and found one we both liked on the Lands End web site. It came in black and also a pretty burgundy color, and looked very, very warm. I preferred the burgundy, so he ordered it, and voila! a few days later, a big box arrived at my desk! I opened it with glee!

Alas! I nearly threw my back out recoiling in horror from what I saw in the box. It was HOT PINK - I mean HOT!!! PINK!!! and huge! I put it on and realized I looked like a raspberry version of Violet Beauregard from Willy Wonka - you know, the girl who blows up into a giant blueberry? You should have seen the looks of shock and terror on the faces of my coworkers when I tried it on... and when Fernando came to see it, I could tell that he was struggling not to collapse into hysterical laughter. We folded it up grimly, and sent it back. No. No way. I'd rather freeze.

Last weekend, we had the opportunity to go shopping at a mall, so he insisted that we go try on some more coats. Black ones. Ones that didn't make me look like a barn door or a sack of potatoes. We found many - but the ones that fit me were either too skimpy insulation-wise, or they didn't have a hood, or the hood was festooned with lots of fuzzy fake fur that tickled my nose and obscured my vision and made me sneeze and scrub at my face. Finally we gave up and went to get a beer and some hot wings.

Yesterday, on Martin Luther King day, we planned to spend the day painting our new apartment. Again. (We're really so very tired of painting.) I was waiting for Fernando to show up so that we could get started, and wondering where on earth he was, because normally he is the most punctual man on earth (oh, the irony!- that he is marrying me of all people!) Finally he came up the stairs and cheerfully tossed me a bag from Paragon Sports. It seems he had made his way from Brooklyn into the city in the morning, gone to a sporting goods store, found the perfect coat for me, chosen the exact right size, and spent a fortune on it. Then he took the train to my house in Queens to spend the day working hard on our new home with me.

Thank you, darling.

Fabulous Grandmothers

2006-01-11T09:45:00.000-05:00

I recently had lunch with my dear friend Jill, a fellow Omaha transplant in New York (how I met her is a whole nother wonderful tale - thank you Thomas!) . We enjoyed a fantastic lunch at Balthazar, which, though appallingly trendy, is just a spectacularly wonderful French bistro in Soho. Off topic, but I highly recommend it! Actually, their chef does a very good deed every time he makes those pork medallions with polenta... but... I digress.

Anyway, over lunch my friend Jill and I were discussing our holiday plans, and I told her about how much I was looking forward to seeing my wonderful grandmother in Omaha.

My Gramma Peg is 87 and is a complete superstar. She is beautiful, wise, funny as hell, strong, generous, practical, loving, and immensely charming; basically, along with my mother, she is one of the heroines of my life. She is passionately anti-war, and spends her time and considerable energy running around protesting the war, handing out leaflets at college campuses, getting herself arrested at Strategic Air Command, and organizing the various religious leaders in Omaha for peace prayer services. She and my mother (who was 73 at the time) spent the millenium New Year's Eve protesting for peace at the Nevada nuclear test site, and sleeping on a high school gym floor in sleeping bags. In addition, she manages to keep track of her immense family, including a gazillion grandchildren and great-grandchildren; my son receives a funny, loving, handwritten note from her on his birthday every year, and I don't know how she does it. She came to the family Christmas party this year beaming, wearing a red apron, a Christmas tree hat and a natty tie festooned with blinking green and red lights. She is AWESOME.

Her whole life is a good deed!

So I was raving to Jill about Gramma Peg, and she laughed and said "Your grandmother should meet MY grandmother!" -- and she proceeded to tell me her grandmother's story.

Jill's grandmother worked for many years at Boys Town, which I grew up thinking of as the home for "wayward youth" in Omaha. Their website describes the place as "offering help, hope, and healing to abused, abandoned, neglected, handicapped or otherwise troubled children throughout America."

Wow. I'm going to paste that again.

Offers help, hope, and healing to abused, abandoned, neglected, handicapped or otherwise troubled children throughout America.

Talk about a good deed!

So anyway, Jill's grandmother wanted to work there, but worried that they might not hire her because of her age. She was in her seventies, but no one would guess that, so - she fudged her age a bit on her application. She was hired and spent many years as the assistant to the director. She was the person who welcomed the new, scared, defiant, lonely, chip-on-the-shoulder kids who were shipped there as a last resort from all over the country. When they arrived at the Boys Town campus amidst the cornfields outside of Omaha, most of them had nothing but the clothes on their backs.

So Jill's grandmother had the idea that Boys Town should have a "store" for these kids. In fact, she was determined that they would. She went to local retailers, wouldn't take no for an answer, and obtained promises of continuous donations of new clothes, backpacks, school supplies, and toiletries. From then on every kid at Boys Town could "shop" for what they needed in her store, free of charge, and also (maybe more significantly) recieve her kind, loving attention and solicitude. She became the unofficial and beloved "grandma" of the school.

Many years later, Jill's grandmother decided to retire from her position as the director's assistant. Her colleagues were shocked to hear that she was actually in her eighties, not her late sixties as they had thought! However, she couldn't bear to give up the Store, so she still runs around getting businesses to donate money and goods, and still gets to help the kids pick out their things. Jill's fabulous grandmother is also 87, like my fabulous grandmother.

Our grandmothers really should meet each other; maybe they already have. I'm just profoundly glad that they exist. I've been blinking back tears as I've been writing this, simply overwhelmed by the majesty and courage of lives so well lived. I'm deeply grateful to be able to witness women like this. I hope I can be half as cool.

Happy New Year to all our readers! Let me know if you have a fabulous grandmother too.

~Joan

The Least of Our Brethren

2006-01-03T09:57:00.000-05:00

Denise, one of my co-workers, and her partner have recently become foster parents in New Jersey. They have enthusiastically opened their arms, their home and their pocketbooks to a series of profoundly disadvantaged and ill infants.

Many of our colleagues have taken an interest, and since we work in a children's book company, it's been easy and fun to be on the lookout for freebies to bestow upon her.

When I got back from Christmas vacation yesterday, Denise told me about their new charge, a drug addicted infant whose mother is unable to care for her. Denise's eyes glowed with joy as she told me, beaming, how much more wonderful Christmas was when they had a little one to share it with.

Her generosity, selflessnness, open mind and kind heart leave me speechless with admiration. I'm so grateful that someone like Denise is providing safety and affection (however briefly) to these poor children, against whom the deck is stacked so drastically.

How Changing My Tire Changed Me...

2005-12-26T21:04:00.000-05:00

BAM! thud thud thud thud thud thud thud skronk!

That's the sound of a bad day getting worse. I was going about sixty when the tire blew. The front right-side of my truck was suddenly six inches closer to the blacktop. I lurched and skidded my way onto the shoulder. Tractor trailers whipping past me rocked the truck as I caught my breath and pried my fingers out of the new grooves in the steering wheel.

Still not thinking clearly, I grabbed my flashlight out of the glovebox and squeezed out, taking great pains not to get run over. As I got out, the door shut behind me in the wind of a passing vehicle and when I reached over to open it back up... it was locked. NPR was quietly reporting the news of the day to an empty cab. Of course the headlights were still on and the engine was still running.

I giggled and gibbered. I cussed a little and beat my forehead against the glass. Finally, I wandered around to stare impotently at the gaping hole in the sidewall of my tire. It was literally big enough to put my fist into.

It was below thirty degrees outside and I had neither hat nor gloves. I stomped my feet and stared at the tire. I was in the middle of nowhere rural Washington highway. There was nothing for it but to hoof it. Desolate it might be, but I travel this stretch of highway daily and I know the exits pretty well, so I started walking. At least I had my flashlight.

Inevitably, when you're stranded and cold, you start to wonder what you would do if someone pulled over. And - cold as it was - I began to seriously consider sticking my thumb out for the first time in my life. No sooner did the thought occur to me than out of the cars whizzing past, one pulls over and pops the door open. It's a Mercedes and the guy waving me into the passenger seat is wearing a nice suit and what looked like a cashmere coat. I was wearing dirty jeans and a beat-up barn coat I had in the back of the truck and must've looked like hell. Why he pulled over for me... well...

I clambered gratefully into the warm interior and he asks me if I have the time. Five 'til seven I answered through rattling teeth. Very well then, he says, I have just enough time to drop you at the next gas station. Think you can get help from there? Yes sir. Thank you sir. God bless you sir. Wonderful thing you're doing, sir. I was blathering, but the guy took it well. He dropped me at the gas station and roared away. I watched him go, wondering when my guardian angel got a pay raise. I forgot to ask his name.

The rest is a long story. Basically, I spent most of the night at a gas station while other people were either frantically searching for me, searching for my wife to come get me, or trying to help me change the flat. Two highway patrolmen and a kitsap county sheriff's deputy helped me get into the truck (the deputy who opened my truck locked his keys in his car) only to find that the gadget for lowering the spare (which resides under the bed of the pickup on a winch mechanism) didn't work. The blown tire was taken off and put back on several times while we tried various things to fix the winch.

I use a combination of police radios, borrowed cell minutes and the 21st century equivalent of sending smoke signals to finally get hold of my wife. The people from my work brought me hot coffee (and God bless them for it) and finally not only got hold of Kristin but also got the message for her right (on the third try, I think). I got home at a quarter 'til one in the morning.

The next day, a Toyota salesman helped me dissect the winch and crank on a similar truck they had on the lot and we managed to get mine fixed the tire changed free-of-charge and the truck off the side of the highway. I remembered to ask his name, it was Mark.

Four new tires (given me free by my kind and generous father-in-law, by the way) and a few weeks later, I was bombing down the same stretch of road in the opposite direction when I spotted an elderly fellow standing next to a stranded pickup. He had the door of his gas tank open and was staring dolefully at the ground. With thoughts of a certain fellow in a Mercedes in my head, I pulled over. I rarely carry a gas can because since 9/11 you sometimes can't carry one onto the ferry. But that morning - for reasons defying me to explain them - I had tossed the little gas can we use for the lawnmower into the bed of my pickup. It was half full.

I was at speed when I spotted him and had therefore stopped a good half mile away. As I hoofed it down the shoulder with my gascan sloshing, a cop pulled over in front of the poor bloke. I toyed with the idea of going back to my truck and leaving it to the authorities, but since I was already halfway there, I kept hiking. I've been chastised by the police for pulling over and getting out of my pickup before. Technically it's illegal in the state of Washington barring an emergency. I cringed in anticipation as I jogged up to the two men. I needn't have worried. The policeman was happy to see me and thanked me several times for pulling over to help.

I stuck around long enough to make sure his truck started and returned back to my own journey, confident he could continue on his. He waved for me to come around so he could talk to me. I waved back as if I thought he was just waving goodbye. I knew he wanted to thank me, but really, I didn't need it. Besides, he looked like times were a little hard and I didn't want him trying to pay me. Pulling over was my way of thanking the anonymous motorist in the Mercedes that pulled over for me as much as it was about helping him.

Throughout the night of my ordeal, the kindness of complete strangers kept me going. None of them asked for anything and brushed off my thanks. The guy at the gas station fed me coffee and warmed-over hamburgers while I waited for succor. My crew from work dropped by while I was talking to the policemen and brought me coffee and checked up on me. The highway patrolmen were the Heckle & Jeckle of the force, I am sure. They kept me entertained and the frustrations at bay with their good humor and wit, especially when that poor deputy locked his keys in his cruiser. I have always heard of this kind of altruistic goodwill, but never been a position to experience it before.

I couldn't even be mad about it all. I was too busy laughing. So I laughed once more on that roadside, reeking of gasoline and happily waved back at the old fellow before hopping into the policeman's car for a ride back to my own truck.

Joan's little friend said it best... it feels good to do something good for someone else.

Just Vision

2005-12-20T22:59:00.000-05:00

I am going to stray a bit from home for this entry, as I wanted to share with everyone a fantastic organization I recently came into contact with. The organization is called Just Vision (www.justvision.org.) Its mission is to educate audiences about the spectrum of grassroot Israeli and Palestinian peace effots through documentary film. I attended the screening of the documentary they are currently working on, which I believe is scheduled to be released early 2006. It was an excellent documentary and the reason I would like to mention it, is because it strives to highlight the positive steps and actions that ordinary individuals and organizations in the region are taking to achieve peace.

I totally encourage you to check out their website, as it has all the biographies and interviews listed of those featured in the documentary. Below is a quote and a history on a woman named Ayelet Shahak that I found incredibly inspiring and amazing.

"In a way we are a ray of light; we give people hope of some sort. We are the “advance party.” If we talk and keep in touch then they obviously can do it too. We serve as an example, as the pillar of fire in front of the camp. And because it is so difficult, it is more important."

Ayelet Shahak's daughter Bat-Chen was killed in a bombing outside a Tel Aviv mall in 1996. During the mourning period the Shahaks discovered that Bat-Chen's diaries were full of writings and poems about peace. Ayelet and her husband Tzvika have made it their mission to pursue their daughter's hopes for peace, becoming founding members of the Parents Circle-Bereaved Families Forum, a group of over 500 Israeli and Palestinian families who have lost loved ones to the conflict, and who advocate reconciliation over retribution. Ayelet, along with her Palestinian partners, lectures in schools throughout Israel and in the West Bank.

People like this inspire me... Perhaps you have the same reaction...

The MTA Strike

2005-12-20T10:49:00.000-05:00

We hoped it wouldn't happen, but the New York City transit workers went through with a strike today, leaving 8 million people to figure out how the heck to get to work. I won't go into my irritation about this because that's not what this site is about. Instead I want to write about my admiration and gratitude to all the people who just COPED! and helped one another; especially the people who helped me.

I live in Queens but work in Soho, in Manhattan. To those of you who don't know NYC, that means that I am pretty much totally dependent on the train to get to work. I could drive, but during the strike you have to have four people in your car to get across the bridge. Also, I have to drop my son off way uptown first; but I realized if I left my house early enough to get to work on time, there would be no one at the school to drop him off TO! Argh!

But we managed - and it reminded me of one of those Sesame Street segments about "Cooperation." Remember?

This morning, my beloved fiance woke me at 6 AM to tell me the strike was on. I muttered some profanity and imprecations and basically went, harumph, $(*#&(@&%, but he gave me a big kiss and hug, threw me into the shower, and had coffee ready. Then he went and woke up my son with a pillow fight. About 6:30, my coworker and neighbor Tom and his girlfriend showed up. I would take them into the city and in return they would fill up my car so that we could actually be allowed in!

We crossed the Triboro bridge at dawn. The city looked beautiful and remote - cold and silver gray in the early morning sunshine. The streets seemed empty - not the parking lot I had feared. We drove to the apartment building of two of Connor's classmates, whose mother had agreed to feed my boy breakfast and then walk with him and her twins the three blocks to school. The rest of us sailed downtown with no problems at all, parked in a garage around the corner from the office, and I was at my desk by 8:30 AM.

Ha! Take that, MTA! You are no match for the resourcefulness and kindness of the New Yorkers in my life.

Random Subway Niceness

2005-12-12T13:50:00.000-05:00

This morning on the way up the stairs from the subway, my son suddenly realized he had lost one of his gloves and panicked, because they are these very cool special green gloves that match his coat and are extra good for making snowballs because of the smooth patches on the palms.

We were running late and I sighed and opened my mouth to tell him that we didn't have time to go back and look, when a guy ran past us up the stairs and tossed Connor his glove. "Here buddy, you dropped this," he said and ran on before we could thank him.

Also, a few days ago I got to witness one of my favorite New York moments. A tourist was on the N train and asked someone for help with directions. Everyone's ears perked up. A friendly argument ensued about the best route for her to take, with more and more people joining in to contribute their two cents of subway expertise. The map was perused. Several people offered to show her how to transfer lines. She exited the train escorted by someone saying "follow me!" and with many expressions of thanks, you're welcome, no problem, good luck, etc.

This happens a lot. It's one of those cool things that takes a subway car, full of individuals with Ipods studiously pretending not to notice that they are crammed together, and suddenly transforms it into a friendly community.

Last week on the way into town we were on an especially crowded subway car. A woman carrying a baby bundled up in a blanket came on and immediately someone jumped up so that she could sit down with her burden. For the next ten minutes we were then treated to the rapturous smiles of this adorable baby, who could not keep her eyes off of Fernando's face. I got to stand there and enjoy them grinning at each other until it was time to leave the train. By that time everyone around us was smiling and laughing because the baby was just scrumptious.

President Justine

2005-12-11T13:58:00.000-05:00

My son and I went to see The Chronicles of Narnia in Manhattan with a few of his friends from school (by the way, I thought it was wonderful, and I am a fanatical Narnia purist). After the movie Connor and I and one of his friends, a fabulous little girl named Justine, did a little shopping on the Upper East Side before heading back to Queens. We went to Barnes and Noble and Jamba Juice, and were preparing to catch a cab home when Connor noticed a Salvation Army bell ringer on the corner and urgently grabbed my arm to alert me.

Connor and I have a special, personal gratitude towards the Salvation Army, and we always give the bell ringers money. It's a great organization that deserves support.

Anyway, as soon as we saw the bell ringer the three of us hurried over to empty our pocket change into his red plastic bucket. He was ringing his bell with all his might, shivering in the cold, and wishing every passer by "Merry Christmas! God Bless You!"

"You look so cold!" Justine cried. "Yeah, I should have worn a scarf," he replied with a smile. "But if I ring my bell real hard, it keeps me warm."

I thought of the cozy taxi ride home I was about to take with two snuggly children, and the warm apartment, good food and loving man I had waiting for me there, and took off my scarf immediately. The kids giggled as I tied it around the man's neck, especially since it was a fairly girly pastel fleece scarf and looked pretty funny with the man's black leather jacket. But it was warm and after a moment's protest he thanked me with a huge grin and rearranged it to his liking. Then he started ringing his bell again.

As we were waiting to cross the street Justine grinned up at me and asked, "Isn't is fun to be one of the Good People?" She was sort of hopping up and down with joy and proceeded to tell me about the club she had started at the school. Her mom is an emergency room nurse at Bellevue, and Justine had discovered that there were lots of kids in the hospital. "At CHRISTMAS TIME! In the HOSPITAL!" she exclaimed, scandalized. So she started a club of girls at school who make handmade Christmas cards for these kids during recess. "I'm the president," she told me modestly.

At the end of the movie we had just watched, the four Pevensie children are crowned kings and queens of Narnia, and I had just been reflecting on the idea that maybe having children lead us isn't such a bad idea. I'm constantly delighted by the natural sympathy and generosity of the children I know. It gives me hope.

Loaves and Fishes

2005-12-09T10:11:00.000-05:00

I was raised Catholic - about as Catholic as one can possibly be. My mom was a nun before she married my dad, I was the youngest of eight kids, and every one of us attended at least 12 years of Catholic school. We went to mass every Sunday without fail, even when we were on vacation.

In the intervening years, I have struggled to reconcile my very real belief in God with my dismay and horror at many facets of Catholic and other religious institutions. I have felt very cynical and disillusioned at times, even enraged and betrayed by the church.

Now my 10 year old son is attending St. Ignatius Loyola, a Catholic school in Manhattan. At first, I enrolled him primarily for financial reasons. Private schools are horrifically expensive here (think $25,000 per year - for KINDERGARTEN!) and the public schools run the gamut and just - scare me. But because of the generosity of the school community in endowing this school, the tuition for us is about the same as it would be for a Catholic school in Omaha. Connor is receiving a top notch academic education, and is also being carefully taught compassion, good manners, and ethical behavior by the amazing, dedicated teaching staff and the stellar leadership of the school.

A few weeks ago in the weekly newsletter, there was an appeal for people to contribute home cooked meals for a school family whose father was in the hospital. The mother was juggling a full time job, hospital visits, and caring for three school age children - not to mention untold anxiety and stress. I called the organizer since I love to cook and wanted so much to help, and she asked me to come to a meeting the next morning before school.

There were twenty mothers at this meeting. Most of us work full time in Manhattan.

We divvied up days and duties. We figured out a central location to drop the food, and someone volunteered to drive the meals to the family. From that evening onward this family has had a homemade dinner delivered to their door every single night.

The mother called the principal in tears, saying that she could never express her gratitude, not only for the food but for the feelings of comfort and safety it gave her children during a time of great sorrow and fear, and for the unforgettable example it was giving them on how to treat others.

I can't even write about this without being all choked up and blinking back tears. It's such a simple thing - just dinner. Yet it means so much. I'm so proud and humbled to be part of this large, vibrant community of good people. What an example for my own son to witness!

So the principal put another item in the weekly newsletter, telling the story and dubbing our group "Loaves and Fishes." She asked for more volunteers so that this could be an ongoing benefit for any school family in difficult circumstances, and now there are dozens of people involved!

Hurray! Hurray! This is how it is supposed to work!

P.S. Of course, it is a Jesuit school. Go Jebbies!

The 59th Keyboardist

2005-12-08T21:31:00.000-05:00

For those of you that live in New York City, you understand the significance of a great street musician. Whether it is in Union Station, Grand Central or outside on the streets, the sound of good jazz, an acoustic guitar, or a lone saxophinst playing a classic Christmas carol on a cold night can make even the longest and most disheartening days in New York a little brighter and sweeter.

By far, my favorite musician is the keyboardist that plays on the N/W platform at 59th and Lexington. He secures the keyboard to his body with a strap that wraps around his neck. This causes the keyboard to face vertically - an awkward position for anyone to play. But despite these handicaps, he is able to serenade each and everyone of us on the platform with the sweetest Stevie Wonder and other soul tunes that have ever been created. He brings so much soul to that platform, which is often usuallly filled with impatience and fatigue. And as the N/W eventually comes, I drop a dollar into his case, and he replies, God Bless you, and I step into the subway with a HUGE smile and thinking, ahhhhhh, yes, everything will be alright.

Thank you my friend.

My Lost Wallet

2005-12-08T11:23:00.000-05:00

A couple of weeks ago, I was leaving my office in Soho with my fiance to walk to the train. To leave our office you have to wave your ID card in front of a little electric eye, which I did, and then replaced my wallet inside my bag. As we walked out we realized it was raining.

I was filled with delight as I realized that for perhaps the first time in my life, I had (a) known that it was planning to rain, (b) remembered to grab an umbrella before I left the house, and (c) not lost it on the subway, left in a taxicab, or forgotten it at my desk. Triumphantly I swept it out of my purse and opened it with a flourish, gloating at my own prudency and organization skills.

Still suffused with pride and well-being, I kissed my fiance goodbye, furled my umbrella, and descended into the train station, reaching for my wallet so I could... get... my... Metrocard...

Wallet gone. GAH! Panic! No! No! Digging in purse. Frantic digging in purse. Removal of all items in purse. Sinking feeling. Slow motion vision of umbrella catching my wallet and flinging it onto the wet street while I walked on all blissful and unaware. Life awful. I ran back to my office looking on the ground. The security people in the lobby were sympathetic but helpless. I had no money and had to get uptown pronto to pick up my kid at school, and had to borrow money from a co-worker just to buy a ride on the subway, humiliated, disgruntled, and very, very late.

I tried to be philosophical about it, but kept thinking about all the things in my wallet and bursting into tears. Drivers license that took me all day to get! Insurance cards! Credit cards! Little drawings and notes from my son! Curses! Curses! I was in despair.

About a week later, I had become resigned to the whole thing. I'd cancelled the credit cards and was girding my loins for another nauseating New York DMV experience. I came home from work and grabbed the mail as we lugged my son's heavy packpack, saxophone case, and several bags of groceries up the steps to our apartment.

In the mail, in an envelope from the post office, was my wallet. Intact. Complete with credit cards, Metrocard, driver's license, notes from little boy, everything.

Thank you anonymous New York stranger! You made my day, and it was so uplifting and restorative to rejoice about your kindness with my family.

The Garbage Cans and the Reindeer

2005-12-08T10:11:00.000-05:00

For the last two Thursday mornings I have promised my elderly landlady that I will drag the heavy trash cans to the curb for her. Both times, some other neighbor has already done it for her by the time I leave the house at 7:45 AM.

My next door neighbor has two electronically moving lighted reindeer in his tiny front yard (gotta love Astoria at Christmas time!) The reindeer frequently blow over in the wind, and lie pathetically on their sides feebly moving their heads from side to side, unable to get up. My 10 year old son considers it his sacred duty to climb over the fence and carefully restore the poor things to an upright position. No words are spoken about it, no one sees him do it but me; he just does it, and comes back to our door dusting his hands, full of well being and satisfaction.

Isn't the news depressing?

2005-12-08T09:46:00.000-05:00

Every day I read the news and my heart sinks. It seems from the papers as though the world is a cesspool of violence, ill will, pettiness, greed and selfishness.

But when I think about the people I encounter every day on the streets and subways of New York, and the wide circle of friends and relatives with whom I communicate here and all over the world, I have a wholly different impression.

Every single day of my life, I see and hear about people being kind, brave, selfless, thoughtful, and giving. I see strangers helping each other navigate through rush hour. I talk to and work with people who are involved in heroic endeavors to help their friends and fellow men. Friends and random strangers are constantly showering me with blessings, and I often have the opportunity to help others and brighten a day myself.

So I was talking about this with my friend Andrea, and we were bewailing the fact that none of this awesome stuff that feeds our hearts and motivates us IS EVER REPORTED!! And we decided that we should do something about it! So I am starting this blog, where I will write down the nice things I see people doing every day. Anyone is welcome to contribute - just send me an email and I will add you as a contributor. My hope is that maybe lots of people will post the cool things they see and that it will be a place to lift your heart for a moment or two.

Let me know what you think. I wish you a wonderful day.

Love,

Joan