Kind

It takes so little effort to be kind. I witnessed a father arguing with his son over the name of the local hardware store. It didn’t matter. We all knew what he meant. The father just had to be right. The kid wilted, afraid to say anything else. I gave him a smile, I knew exactly where you meant. Thanks, kiddo… He gave me a smile back. I love to smile. It comes naturally; maybe for some it takes a true effort. I’ve never understood the mentality of getting my way by being a bully or stomping on someone just because I could. Being a teacher, I could have taken two paths. One way is to encourage, compliment and nurture. Or I could belittle, criticize, and make it impossible to succeed. I had the power to do either. I chose kindness. I’ve been the new person at a job several times in my life. It doesn’t take long to figure out who the kind co-workers are. I gravitate towards them and thank them for their kindness. I find myself saying thank you or I’m sorry a lot. The quickest way to win an argument is to diffuse it. When someone is ridiculous, do you have the power to say I’m sorry?  It will shut them down pretty quickly. I have learned not to judge people by their looks. I’m as kind to one person as I am to the next. I guess teaching in a classroom full of diversity helped me overcome being judgmental. You can quickly assess the group and make judgments, but being forced to spend nine months together, it always surprised me who ended up being my favorite kids. I would show my sister pictures of the students. See this kid? Funny as heck. This kid? My favorite. This kid? Cute, but a total jerk… It takes so little effort to be kind. My experiences shopping, dining, traveling, working, etc.are much more pleasant because I choose for them to be that way. I engage the waitstaff. I ask their opinion. I treat them kindly. I cant remember the last time I had an unpleasant dining experience. Oh yes, I took my son for his first hamburger at a local restaurant after his stem cell transplant. Jake wanted a latte, which I thought was strange. Our waiter didn’t know how to make it, so the other waitress shouted the directions across the restaurant. Jake tried a sip and immediately asked me to taste it. It was bad. Our waiter never came back, and I didn’t want to embarrass him. So when I went to pay our ticket, I chose not to pay the $3.55 for the latte. I know this isn’t your fault, and I don’t want to embarrass our waiter, but the latte was undrinkable so I don’t want to pay for it. I had caught her off guard. She knew she didn’t have the authority to take it off the bill. She asked the waitress who had yelled the directions. She turned to me. “What was wrong with it?  I don’t think it was made correctly. “What was wrong with it?” she demanded again. I don’t know. It was bitter. Do you want to taste it? That shut her up. “Tell him,” as she pointed to the owner. Of course our waiter had witnessed it. “I told you I didn’t know how to make it,” as he and the waitress continued to fuss. I watched the hostess crumble as the owner barked at her to take it off the bill. I apologized to her again, but what I had witnessed was ridiculous. I hoped someone figured out how to make a latte after that, but I doubt they cared. I expected to be treated better at a restaurant I had frequented many times. I decided to take a break from that restaurant. When I finally returned with my friend, the waitress wouldn’t acknowledge me, but she was overly nice to my friend. Had the tables been turned, I would have fixed a latte for her, on the house, and delivered it with a smile on my face. To me, kindness comes naturally, but I guess others have to really make an effort…

Mysterious ways…

The Lord works in mysterious ways. No one knows this better than my husband. Dave is a good man. He is honest, hard working, patient, kind, wise… He’s never said a terse word to me in my life. Once when he was frustrated, he said “Marianne” in a way that I could tell I had frustrated him. He chooses not to make matters worse by arguing with me. If it was that important, he’d speak up, but the little things simply don’t matter. Our home is peaceful. Dave went to Chicago this weekend. I stayed home so I could see Molly and take her to the airport in the opposite direction. My last blog opened a lot of hearts, and in one day, we managed to furnish an apartment for 3 homeless siblings. I had promised a spare bed from my parents’ house. When I got over and looked at it, sentimental feelings overwhelmed me, and I decided I would give the kids the stuff in my spare bedroom instead. My dad and I decided we’d move it later when my nephews were here on Thanksgiving. I make decisions like these, always have, without discussing them with Dave. He never seems to mind what I do. The movers came to my house right as Molly and I left for an overnight stay in St. Louis. This morning, Dave and I headed home about the same time. He arrived first. While in Chicago, he and our friend went to a communal confession at a big Catholic church in downtown Chicago. He was given 7 choices for penance. He came home and called me. The Lord works in mysterious ways, Marianne. I started giggling. One of my penance choices was to give to the poor. I came home, and my bed was gone! Dave usually sleeps in the spare bedroom since we both snore ridiculously. I thought,  “God  must really think I need to think about my sins”. Do you have a plan, or is this a permanent penance? I was giggling pretty hard by this point, imagining what he must have thought when he discovered it gone. I thought I could get it taken care of before he noticed. He reminded me of the time, years ago, when I went into confession before him. I had thrown him under the bus to the priest for missing church. The joke ever since then has been to never, ever, follow me into the confessional.  It kind of hit me then, at what point did I think it was ok just to take a man’s bed and not tell him?  I do have my reasons. A few years ago, I bought identical mattresses for all the beds. Molly has always complained that she doesn’t like hers. My mom’s mattress seemed perfectly good, and I wondered if Molly might like it better. My plan was to exchanged Molly’s into Dave’s room, and give her my mom’s. In my head it made perfect sense, but I can only imagine and laugh picturing Dave when he arrived home…

Forgotten…

We as a community, just like many other communities across the nation, have proven over and over how generous, caring and compassionate we can be. This is the time of the year when many organizations and groups will come together and discuss helping those in need as the holidays approach. I’ve been out of the loop the past few years as we have spent pretty much every holiday in the hospital. I’m ready to jump back in, but I need some assistance. I made sure a little girl last year got her wish for Christmas morning. She dreamed of a Barbie Townhouse, and I was able to make it happen right before Jake was hospitalized. She is the daughter of a single, working mom. A mom who makes about 10.00/hour. A mom who was lucky enough to secure housing at Maple Ridge, but a mom who still has to make rent and car payments. A mom who gave up (lost) benefits because she chose to work. A mom who will no longer get a $9,000.00 check from the government in January because she chose to work. She wants to set a good example for her child; she wants to be a productive member of society. It would be so much easier, and she would get more benefits if she would just choose to not work. These are the ladies you see working in fast food places, grocery stores, drug stores. Maybe you’ve been rude or snarly to one of them. Maybe you’ve never even noticed them. They are the forgotten ones. Are they on the list to get a Thanksgiving dinner delivered to their door? Do people remember them when they buy Christmas presents? I imagine that Kara, the manager at Maple Ridge, could give us the names of single moms who could use some assistance and not just at the holidays. The other group that will get lost in the shuffle are the homeless teenagers. Yes, we have teenagers sleeping on different couches several nights a week. Mom moved on. Mom has a new boyfriend, new babies, and a new life with some guy you don’t want near the teenaged daughter anyway. Yeah, there’s no room for you at our house.  Me and my new old man have gone back to the same old habits. You’re my dependent until your older, so I’ll happily take that government check I earned from having you. Yeah, it’s my check. I earned that check. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. Hell, I cant even send you to the gas station to buy my cigarettes any more. You think that’s funny? Get the hell out of here. No one wants you, if I see your ugly face one more minute… Not only is there a need for a permanent, safe bed for these forgotten kids, but they have needs. Girls have monthly needs. They all have daily hygiene needs. What about a decent pair of shoes? Walmart gets a lot of holiday business from groups buying for underpriviledged kids. We have to cut the tags off because all your gifts were being returned after Christmas. Maybe a teenager would just like a pair of Vans or Nike’s for a change. Maybe for once they’d be able to fit in among their peers. I find stuff in my kids’ closets all the time that have never or barely been worn. There is a local gal named Beth who could probably give us names and ideas for these forgotten ones….

Other peoples’ problems

This morning I woke up with a Golden retriever laying across my chest, and Dave unloading a problem from work on me. I’m that person. I get to carry the burden of what’s troubling him. Who else is he going to talk to? I don’t want it- not today. Not this week. I can’t handle it. Temporarily though I’ve allowed it to eat away at me all morning. I want to be able to fix it for him. I really want to go out on my back patio and scream and yell and cry. Jake was mad at me this morning. He yelled at me and refused to say good bye as he left for his new job. I had talked too much. How do you feel? Why are you coughing? You look so handsome! Can I take your picture? He was already irritated just by me existing, but asking to take a picture was too much. He looked so handsome in his khakis and royal polo with his name tag “Jacob”. I have been analyzing and worrying about every cough, every bite of food, every minute he’s up or sleeping. Use lots of hand sanitizer. There’s all kinds of weird viruses being passed around. Is it a mistake to let him get a part time job? I recently went back to work, and its been a good thing around here. It gives Jake a little respite from me (apparently asking if you want something to eat is hovering). It keeps my mind occupied as well. People seem to be asking a lot this week how Jake is. Ok, I think. He seems to be ok. I’ve been putting on my happy face and not telling the whole truth. I can’t face it. Hopefully it’s not bad. I have to wait though. I have to wait until Monday until his next blood test. His hemoglobin has dropped. It could be one of 3 things. It could be a normal dip that seems to show up when the body’s own red blood cells finally die off. Then it’s just the red blood cells of the donor. It could be because he just went off the anti-rejection medications. We are supposed to watch for signs of host vs. graft disease. There have been signs all along. They are visible around his eyes. The fragile skin on his eyelids cracks and peels. It’s a good thing. It is a sign the Molly’s cells are there, and they have engrafted and are working. But the past week, we were watching for new signs. The third (horribly scary) reason for the hemoglobin to drop is relapse. I’ve avoided saying it for a week, but I haven’t avoided thinking about it. It was about a year ago that his hemoglobin was really low. “I don’t know how he is conscious,” low Dr. S. had said. This is the first time Dr. N. has said anything scary to me. Before, he just kept his mouth shut- kept it to himself- then when the results were ok, he’d tell me later what he’d been worried about. I don’t want to think about relapse, and I certainly don’t want to worry about the petty problems of other people. I want next week to be here, be over with, and be good again…

PS Today I need to focus my thoughts and prayers on Ryley. She’s a senior in high school who has been battling Ewing’s sarcoma. After weeks of chemo, the doctors are operating today to hopefully remove the tumor.