Day 26: Inspiration Monday

John Lunceford
Photo credit: Kennewick School District

My friends, it has been a Monday. I'm not going to describe it, because I need to let it pass on out of my life, but I'll say two things. First, working for rich people is eye-opening and frustrating and often demeaning in ways they don't mean, but that still feel that way. And the second thing I'll say about this Monday is that I'm so far behind getting ready for Thanksgiving I'm not sure how I'll get it all done. But I will, because I always do. And if the house isn't as clean as I like it, my family and friends won't even notice. It's about the food and the thanks and nothing else.

Since it's been one of those days, I'm going to share just a few stories that caught my attention recently and made me feel good. I hope they brighten your day too -- even though your day is probably Tuesday because I'm writing this after midnight.

Here's one about John Lunceford, a bus driver who saw a need and immediately did something about it. It didn't cost him much, but I'll bet he got paid back in a lot of good karma. You can read about his good deed on the Kennewick School District Facebook page.

And then there's this story about an elderly retired teacher who was unable to do the upkeep on her house. The city was threatening her with code violations that could have cost her $3000 a day. She shared the information with her neighbors, who put together a work party. Twenty-five people showed up and the results were amazing. You can read more about it in this article on the Truth Theory website.

And then there's Ismael Essome Ebone, a guy from Cameroon who figured out how to build boats from plastic bottles. He didn't turn his idea into a corporate money-maker though. He started a non-profit for collecting plastic waste and turning it into fishing boats and boats for eco-tourism and plastic-bottle bins he designed to collect recyclables. 

Don't even get me started on plastic water bottles. I used to do an exercise about evidence in research writing with my college freshmen where I had them add up how many plastic bottles they used in a week. And then how many the campus probably used. And then the city. It was stunning. Many of them started using their own reusable bottles after that, but we all know our use of throw-away plastic bottles in this country is a sin.

OK, I said I wouldn't get started. I will say though that we can all find ways to help people, both small and large. The ways, not the people. Tis the season and all that. I find these stories inspirational and a reminder that I can always do more -- although probably not this week unless you count that turkey dinner I'll be preparing over the next three days.

Do good deeds, my friends. We're all in this together.

Day 3: If we were sharing a bottle of wine ...

This is a thing I do when I have too many random thoughts going through my head that I want to write about. I pretend we're sitting on my porch sharing a bottle of whine wine, and I blog about what I would tell you as we rocked and drank and talked. Feel free to talk back in the comments. 

If we were sharing a bottle of wine, I'd tell you I'm worried about my standard poodle, Crow Cocker. Coraline* and I defeated Fear #2 from Day 1 today and took Crow and our other dog, Sassy, for a walk on this sunny, cool fall day. It was lovely, and Crow managed to hold his poop until we got to the soccer field/track at the school for the arts where I used to teach. It's fenced in so I took the dogs off their leashes and let them run. Crow ran down a hill toward the school, even though we were calling him to come back. Coraline ran after him and by the time she got to him he was limping on his front foot. She didn't see what happened, and I couldn't find a wound, but he couldn't put much weight on it.

We tried to walk home, but after a block it was apparent he shouldn't be walking on his sore foot. Several unacceptable options ran through my mind. The best one seemed to be tying him up at the back of an abandoned church, walking home as fast as we could, and coming back with the van to drive him home. Coraline tried to insist she should stay with him, but I told her she's too young to stay alone by an abandoned church, even with a 115-pound poodle who, even crippled would give his life to defend her.

We hurried as fast as we could, but it was hard to walk away as he watched us, knowing he didn't understand why we were leaving him. We were probably only gone 12 minutes, but by the time I pulled into the parking lot, a woman in a black SUV had parked there and was out of her car taking a photo of him. Great. I hoped she wasn't going to flip her shit about my abandoned dog. We got out of the van and Coraline ran to Crow while I went over to talk to the woman.

I explained what had happened. She lives next door and she was understanding. She hadn't wanted to approach him, so she was going to take a photo and post it to see if anybody knew who he belonged to. After we talked she told me if anything ever happened again to come to their door and they'd be glad to help. We got him in the van and brought him home.

Now he can barely walk on his poor leg, which looks like it might be swollen, so off to the vet he goes tomorrow. Yay. Another vet bill.**

If we were sharing a bottle of wine I would show you this video and say I have so much admiration for people like Cecily King. People who come up with a crazy idea and then they follow through and do it. It's a scary time in this country and it's going to get worse, I have no doubt of that. But we can't give up. That's not an option. So if encouraging messages spray painted on sheets hung on overpasses can help people get through the day, get help, do good deeds for others, then I'm glad people like King are out there doing things like hanging sheets on overpasses. It reminds me to ask myself what I can do to make someone's day better, even in some small way.




If we were sharing a bottle of wine you might ask, like another reader did, why I said "And Jeffrey Epstein didn't kill himself" at the end of my fear of running out of toilet paper on Day 1. First, it seemed like the fear of being too poor to buy toilet paper was the appropriate place to put it. And second, if you're not on Facebook a lot, you might not know that it's a ... what would you call it? A verbal meme? Rather than explain it, I'm just going to post some examples below and then call it a night. The clock says it's not quite midnight, but my body thinks it's close to 1:00, the bottle of wine has been consumed, and tomorrow is a work day. Gotta pay that vet bill, you know.

The next two are plays on common meme tropes (I think I made up another phrase, Pat). 

And finally, this video, which, now that you know the joke, is the funniest thing you'll see all week. It's worth it just to hear someone scream-laugh off camera.






*Coraline is my 8-year-old granddaughter who lives with me.
** If we were really drinking wine together you'd know that my daughter left four cats and a dog at my house mid August. Three cats have been rehomed, but they needed shots and flea meds; same with the dog. We still have one cat and the dog and they will stay with us. Anyway, the vet bills were unexpected and high for 6 animals. I don't know how people who have multitudes of animals do it.

A story of kindness

My good friend The Hot Italian read my tarot cards for me Sunday. I was asking her about a difficult decision I vagueblogged about last week. I'm not going to write about my reading, because parts of it were kind of hard to hear, but one thing the cards said is that people might be noticing that my sunny exterior has slipped and my hard-won cynicism is shining through instead. I'm going to admit, writing about dating and feminist issues and even vaginas can make me a little testy. I might even slip into a sarcastic tone at times.

Tonight is not one of those nights though. Tonight is a warm, fuzzy story night. My apologies to those of you who are my Facebook friends and read a shortened version of this today on my Facebook page.

My story starts last December. I was painting 12-foot-tall walls and ceilings every day until my muscles gave out, and I could no longer lift the 8-foot ladder to move it even a foot. I would quit, go home, and pack a bunch of boxes to move over the next day when I went to paint. Winter hit hard with temperatures near zero and snow storms every other day. I was paying utilities at two houses, and I had a deadline for moving out of my old house. I was working my ass off 7 days a week, and I had no time for shit to go wrong -- even though plenty did.

In particular I needed my van to run and run well, so of course that was the time I blew a hole in my exhaust system. My 11-year-old van sounded like a jet engine, lost its get-up-and-go, and was using three times as much gas as usual. My regular mechanic found the problem for me, but he couldn't fix it. He told me I'd have to find a muffler shop that does welding, and to be careful because most of them would love to rip me off if they could. He said to have any shop I went to call him if they wanted to sell me an entire new exhaust system, and he'd set them straight.

I was exhausted every day from getting this big old house ready and moving in the bitter winter. So I put it off for several days. Finally the noise got so bad I couldn't listen to the radio without turning it up really loud, so one day on my way to paint, I stopped in at the muffler shop that's less than half a block away, just on the other side of the gate.

I told the owner I was moving into the neighborhood and explained what was going on. He said to bring it in the next day. I left it there while I painted, and when I went back he showed me the bad length of pipe they'd taken out. He charged me $75 for the repair, and said he hoped he could be my neighborhood mechanic.

It seemed important to him that I find him trustworthy. I suspect that's because some people wouldn't, and not just because he owns a muffler shop. He speaks with a strong accent that is possibly Middle Eastern. He's a Muslim, or so his artwork and the prayer rug next to his desk would suggest. I just wanted my van fixed for a reasonable price though, and he did that. I don't care where he was born or what religion he practices.

Fast forward 10 months, and I'm finally throwing a housewarming party. The only problem is parking. I live on a gated cobblestone street with parking on one side. If the neighbor a couple of houses down is taking up his usual 5 or 6 spaces, I sometimes can't find a close place to park my own van, much less 25-30 of my friends' cars. So I walked down the street and asked the owner of the muffler shop if I could borrow his parking lot for the night. He remembered me even after 10 months, and he said, sure, as long as it was after they had closed. Problem solved. The lot was full most of the night, and my friends got to park closer than they would have on the street. They may not have known it, but I'm sure my neighbors were happier too.

After the party I kept thinking I needed to bake something and run it over there to thank him. But I'm a writer. I procrastinate. As I write this, you've been in bed sleeping, or doing what you do there, for hours, and I'm not. If I could get paid for what I do best, I'd either get a job taking tests or procrastinating -- if I ever applied. Weeks went by, and all I did was think about baking that thank you gift.

Then last week I heard another hole in my exhaust system. My van again got loud, doggy and started sucking gas. I'd just had it into my regular mechanic to replace a tire mount and the battery, which cost several hundred dollars. Of course one more thing had to go wrong.

So Saturday I baked some pumpkin muffins (because what else would you bake to take to a muffler shop?), piled them on a paper plate and walked to the muffler shop. The owner was standing outside with a customer, but he came right over to me. I handed him the muffins, and he said, "Please! You don't have to do this. I was glad to help you ... ."

I brushed that off, and told him I needed to bring my van in for another patch. He said to bring it in Monday any time. As I walked away, he was already peeling the plastic wrap off the muffins and showing them to the guys in the shop.

I drove my van there after school today about 3:30. I handed him the keys, and he said it would be done by 5:00. I really hoped I wouldn't go back only to have him tell me I needed an entire new exhaust system. Like most women, I've been burned a few times, so even with a couple of good experiences in the bag, I can't fully trust. I hoped it would cost $75 like last time, and I'd be good for another year.

I walked back over at 5:00, and waited for about 10 minutes in the waiting area. I wish I'd taken a photo, because there was a whole bag of white bread nailed to the wall. I watched Denzel Washington stick something up the ass of some guy who was tied to a car and then blow him up on the ubiquitous little TV while I waited. I kept looking at that bread, thinking I'd ask the owner about it when he came in.

When he finally did come in, he apologized for not seeing me there when I arrived. I started to tell him it was OK and to ask why he had a bag of white bread nailed to his wall, but he handed me my keys, said "Don't worry about it," and rushed back out the door.

I followed him with my hand in my purse, digging out my wallet. "How much do I owe you?" I said, following him to the garage door with its big sign that warns customers not to enter.

"Nothing today," he said, and he kept walking.

"Thank you," I called after him, and he just waved his hand back at me and didn't turn around.

I'm going to admit, I teared up as I walked over to my van. Something about people doing nice things when they don't have to always gets to me. It's these small acts of kindness that keep hope alive, cynicism at bay.

I started my van, and it sounded like it should. It was fixed, just like that. And it didn't cost me anything.

So today, in this month when we give thanks and list on our Facebook walls those things for which we are grateful, I'm feeling thankful for the kindness of someone who is a relative stranger, who touched my cynical heart and softened it for a bit. We probably have little in common except the desire for good will between neighbors, but today that feels like a powerful thing. If only I had a magic spell that would make it grow and spread ... but I think that's not how life works most of the time. We have just these small opportunities, and it's up to us to take them, and appreciate them, and spread the sweet magic they bring to our lives.