Givers

There have a been a few occasions in my life where I have been stunned by a giver.

It was not the monetary value of what they gave me.

It was the way they gave me a gift.

Three come to mind immediately.

One: At work one day, one of the women I supervised had on a shirt which was a pretty shade of peach. I loved the way the sleeves were made, too. I bragged on her, telling her how much I loved the top and how good it looked on her.

A few days later, she brought me the shirt, all clean and pressed, as a gift. She said the more she thought about it, the more she was convinced that the top would look really good with  my complexion, and she wanted me to have it.  I still wear that shirt today.

Two: Years later, one of the women at work had on a pair of very unusual and beautiful earrings. I once again complimented a co-worker, and told her how beautiful I thought they were. The next day she brought them to me, saying she had thought about it, and since I didn't have pierced ears, and these were clip on, I'd get far more use out of them than she. I still wear those earrings to this day.

Three: A third co-worker visited my house briefly. She had gone shopping and showed me some of the things she had purchased, including an oval box that could hold a photograph inside the lid.
She used the bathroom just before she left. The next day at work, she gave me this beautiful box, saying she noticed that it would exactly match a tiny clock and picture frame I had setting on the console there. She felt compelled to give it to me. It holds a picture of my mother, age five or so in it, to this day, perfectly matching the things it sets among.

If I think much longer, I know I will think of others who have done this for me - like my second grade teacher who let me pick out a book off her book shelf because she was retiring. It meant so much to a seven year old to get a big book from a beloved teacher.

 Or my friend presenting me with an apron she'd seen and just knew it had Blue Willow dishes printed all over it - it didn't - but if you think I was disappointed for one minute, you would be wrong. There are many  more....

I thought of this because Daughter found some candy we have been looking for for two years. I'm sure she did the happy dance in the aisle at Target, and I surely did in the kitchen when she presented the bag with a flourish.

I will share a few with the friend of the earrings gift, but only a few because she's gone and got herself the diabetes. But it is one of her favorite flavors, and I can't resist giving her a few.

These three woman in my past in the stories, as well as others, make me want to be a better person, and I thank them: Myrna, Myra and Connie, Mrs. Hudson, Janice.

From the bottom of my heart.

The Unexpected

The husband of an older couple we know asked me the other day if I liked to read. I said I was an avid reader. 

He told me he is getting rid of almost all his books, and if I wanted to come pick out some, let him know.

Husband and I went to their home today and brought back to our home two big boxes full of all sorts of books, and his book shelves were still full.

He says they are cleaning out stuff they don't need so it won't be a burden on their daughters.

The couple happen to be in their eighties.

He started showing me all the "stuff" they  have that no one will want, and just shook his head. 

I spied something that made my  heart skip a beat. "You've got a typewriter!" I exclaimed.

"Yep. Want it?"

Want it? WANT it? 

"Seriously?" I asked. This was too good to be true.

But he was serious. Husband carried it out to the car for me. 

Here are two of my innermost fears: If we were to go "off the grid", how would I be able to get to the library to steal   borrow books? And secondly, if computers and word processors no longer worked, how could I write books? My hands are in too bad a shape to write longhand.

Stop laughing at me!  I know we need food and stuff, too.

But now, I am the proud owner of a Royal manual typewriter. I'm going to Google ribbons for it and buy a bunch. Clean it up and  maybe even type on it a little.

Very little, because it's going to take a lot of arm strength to use it, but boy, oh, boy, what a surprise.

Felt a lot like  Christmas morning. 

Feted at IHOP

Yesterday was Mother's eighty-sixth birthday. She was very excited about the cards and telephone calls she was receiving, many from our church. She doesn't attend anymore, but she's still on our birthday calendar, and I let folks know at the end of church service Sunday that I was grateful she was still around.

I appreciate people remembering her.

She was tickled.

She got some gifts, too. She always complains about gifts, as I think I've mentioned here before.

Daughter was very upset that she wasn't going to see her Nanny on her birthday, but she overslept (as usual), and then had to work. She knew that by the time she got off work, it would be too late to visit.

So, I suggested that Husband and I pick up Mother and journey over to IHOP to eat an early supper. We figured we'd surprise Daughter and have a jolly good time.

Which we did.

Daughter saw us pull up (radar) and excitedly opened the restaurant door for us, eyes dancing. She'd already alerted other wait staff, and they were wishing Mother happy birthday as we came through to be seated.

Then Daughter insisted on paying for the meal, since it was Nanny's birthday. She's never really been able to do that before, and I think it made her feel good.

We gave her a LARGE tip, and left pleasantly full.

As they say; a good time was had by all.

The Sound of Silence

In Bible Study we somehow got around to talking about how we don't spend enough time in silence before God. That early morning prayer time with God the Father is obedience, because the Christ did that.

I asked everyone to make a determination to start doing this today, which I did.

When we went into corporal worship, the preacher preached on stillness and silence before God.

I think he had his ear pressed up against our door.

As he was talking yesterday, I realized that a lot of times when I am silent, my head begins to write, and characters begin to speak, and I watch a scene unfold before me.

That has bothered me some. But God speaks to us in different ways, and I believe He has given me the gift of story telling, and He has to give the stories first.

Anyway, this morning I sat on the back porch, read the 3rd Psalm, read about the 3rd Psalm, and asked  God to speak to me.

I took off my glasses and was engulfed by a Monet painting - everything became fused together, the leaves dreamily soft, the dogwoods reds blending with the greens. The lipstick red geranium's one bloom shimmered before me.

And sounds became louder, more distinct. The birds chattering to one another, the squirrels arguing over something, the wind bustling through the leaves.

I love Monet's work.

And it came because of a visual disability that grew worse with time.

That startled me.

You see, I have had a hard time with my own disability. I have seen no good come from it, no one helped, no wisdom gleaned.

But I never wrote a book until I was in excruciating pain and unable to stay in bed and sleep.

I don't think I'd ever moved to that place, instead I would have kept working with my short stores and my poems and my essays.

My books may  not be great literature, but I do know for a fact they have brought laughter and tears to many, and I have been told folks have been blessed by something I have shared through the stories in my books.

So, finally, maybe, I have stumbled upon something.

Maybe my disability slowed me down enough to do what God had in mind all along.

Food for thought, that.