Every morning he bought the paper at the newsstand and ambled up the street. Every morning, a few doors along, the old man stood, leaning on his broom or snow shovel. They greeted one another and asked of each other’s family, “Your boys doing well?” “Oh, sure, thanks. Your girl? Feeling better?” Then they parted. Every morning the old man kept watch for his friend and stepped out to meet him. The man with the newspaper adjusted his gait, watchful, waiting for the old man to appear, a bond between them built in those few minutes and even fewer words.
Dismissals
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There are newborn babies in the hospital nursery who cry out but there is no mother there to hear them, no mother to take them up and hold them. Abandoned or born addicted or simply forgotten, these babies are alone. The nurses do what they can but it is the volunteers who come to hold the babies, to speak softly, to sit in the rocking chair and hum to the babies the lullabies that someone once hummed to us. It is certainly a help to the nurses. It is a godsend to the babies. And for us? Reward beyond measure.
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She said, “I don’t feel like a good Christian. I don’t have time to pray. Sometimes I whisper words when things aren’t going well. All I can say is, ’Help me, Lord!’ And feeding homeless folks like the church does on Saturdays? Lord, I can barely get the baloney between the bread for my own little ones. I do wish the homeless folks well, and the folks that fix their food. I do. I don’t know a blessed thing about scripture but I do believe that God is Love. It says that in the Bible, doesn’t it?” It does. Amen.
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Some days there is a one-armed man with a bicycle in the drugstore parking lot. When he sees me, he walks over, pushing his bike. I’ve never seen him ride it. We talk for few minutes about sports, the weather and whatnot. One day I gave him a dollar and a man in a van saw me, slowed almost to a stop where we stood and said, for all to hear, “Tell him to get a job!” He sped off. The man with the bicycle was a mason’s assistant. Maybe the man in the van knows where there’s work.
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We have a raggedy old cat who comes around to eat and, come winter, to sleep inside. Her name is Mama. The county spayed her and clipped off a fair sized piece of her ear so when the cat police stop by they will know she’s been fixed. Mama’s nigh on feral. She will sometimes let me stroke her back or scratch her head, but mostly not. Once she fell asleep next to me while I was reading but when I turned the page she took off. I like old Mama Cat. She lets me know I’m no prize, either.
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The woman at the register says to the man, “That’ll be $5.58.” The man offers her a rumpled five dollar bill. Then he fishes through his pockets for two quarters, a nickel and three pennies. He drops the coins from a few inches above the cashier’s outstretched hand. A penny rolls away. He says, “Sorry!” She says, “That’s OK. I got another penny right here.” There is no gentle laying of coins into the hand of another. There is no touch. There is always that distance. Sometimes inches, sometimes miles. The man leaves, stepping on the penny as he goes.
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Joshua and I went to an Italian restaurant to celebrate his graduation from the sixth grade. From a poor family, Joshua struggled academically. All year we worked together, learning how to learn, practicing multiplication tables, filling in blanks on homework papers. At the restaurant, I helped Joshua choose a spaghetti dinner from the menu. As we waited for our food, Joshua grew increasingly nervous and uncertain. As I often do, I realized too late that Joshua had never ordered from a menu. To sit and wait for food to be prepared was entirely new to him. I learn every day.
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“Why visit him?” he asked me. “He’s a prisoner!” Like I didn’t know that. Still, the question made me think. I believe visiting prisoners has done me some good. I like our shared meals from the vending machines. And, it’s a change of pace for me, accustomed as I’ve become to coming and going as I please. I admit I’ve not seen much change in this prisoner, but he always was set in his ways. The guards? They take note of my visits. For them, it’s not just a prisoner in their care, but a man who is someone’s friend.
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The question was simple, “What does God want for us?” The old man answered, “God wants us to be happy.” The young man looked at the pavement, then at the sky, then at the old man. “That’s it? God’s gonna make me happy?” The old man looked at the pavement, then at the sky, and answered “God wants us to work for the happiness of others. In that work we will find our own happiness.” The young man looked at the pavement, then at the sky, then at the old man and said, “You may be right. You just might.”
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It was cancer. The treatments had started. My friend felt terrible when a few strands of her hair fell out. We went to a stylist who understood. In tears, my friend sat in the chair and the woman went to work. She cut a little here, cut a little there, turning the chair to the mirror and then away. She spritzed and styled the hair one way, then another, cutting in stages, one style after another until, at last, my friend’s hair was gone but we saw that day what would one day be again when the treatments were done.
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James lives in Castlebar, County Mayo, a poor and, in places, desolate part of Ireland. Half the homes are empty. James, his wife Fionna and their six children live in an old stone barracks attached to a lighthouse. They burn peat to cook and stay warm. They hike the mountains, visit neighbors, go to church on Sunday and the pub when they can. James and Fionna are lawyers by trade, but it is a poor calling in that part of the world. Yet they are content. Moored offshore from the barracks is a forty foot sailboat that James and his family, over several years, built from the keel up. Every summer they sail to Iceland for a dip in the hot…
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Someone asked, “What words most changed your life?” Someone said their wedding vows; someone recalled a eulogy; someone remembered baby’s first words. Then a woman said, “We were young newlyweds, out on the town. That night, Ed had too much to drink. I begged Ed to let me drive but he wouldn’t listen. I was crying when the red light came on behind us. The policeman leaned in the open window. He looked over at me, then he sniffed Ed. ‘Lady,’ the policeman said, ‘From now on, anytime you want, you’re the driver.’ Ever since that night, I drive home.”
