AJ and the Queen

This is not about the Windsors, this sweet series about a road trip.

A.J. first appears as a little boy whose drug-addict mother has gotten them evicted.  (A terrific child actor, by the way).

The queen is a drag queen down on his luck but very talented, a good man--and a good woman when she's Ruby Red.

That's all I'm going to tell you except to recommend it if you need an enjoyable distraction--which we all do after the 51 to 49 vote to ignore witnesses and documents in a faux trial.

Wednesday

When we join the Mama Bear Club, we're in it forever, I guess, even long after our cubs are all grown up and don't need us in the ways they used to.  Sometimes things happen that throw us back to the days when we were just learning how to be mama bears.

Yesterday morning, I got a text--a text of all things!--from Day telling me she was in a Phoenix emergency room.  She's there for a conference, got a back ache, told her friends to party without her, and tried to sleep in her hotel room.

I'll keep it short: she has diverticulitis, and she's going home to Virginia later today.

Her text said lots of things; it was a nightmare night; her friends hadn't heard their phones; the story involved a walk from one hospital to the other with a blanket wrapped around her; a creepy man followed her in a car until she feigned talking to an imaginary man on the phone who was almost there to meet her; creepy man then sped off; she was taking drugs and needed to sleep; don't call right now.

I may have had an outsized Mama Bear reaction, but the first thing I did was to start washing clothes and getting ready to pack for a trip to Phoenix. But you know how it is, Mama Bears: when your babies (even long after they are babies) are "lonely and scared." you want to be there.

It throws you back to when they were actually little: sick in the hospital; having surgeries; heartbroken; scared--all the times when Mama Bear was their main person, the one they called out to from inside x-ray rooms and places you couldn't go. It took me back to the year she was in third grade, a terrible year--but that's a story for another day.

Will took us out to celebrate good report cards last night, so a day of worry turned into a night of celebratory Thai food at Kin's--way out at Dominion.  It took me over an hour to do I10 traffic at rush hour, but I made it and we had fun.

Today I pick up both kids, take one to musical arts, the other to karate, then take them home to bed until their parents get home, then drive home and put my own self to bed.

Tuesday

This moving project has become more time-consuming than I expected-but I love the results so far.  The house feels more peaceful and the casita makes an excellent place to do my messy and all-consuming projects.  I can now close the door on the messy parts and the house is tranquil again, or will be when I finish tomorrow.

Except for going to Helotes to celebrate good report cards tomorrow night and then picking up the kiddos from school on Thursday, I'm not going to leave the house except for food until spring cleaning is done.

I was delighted to see Barbel and Karel this morning.  They drove up unexpectedly in a Mini Cooper and we visited for about an hour.  They are moving to Holland (Karel's home) after this San Antonio visit, so excited and in love!  I'm looking forward to seeing them again on Saturday at their going-away party.

After they left, my neighbors across the street, Curran and Harvey, came over to return a cake plate and we had a good visit around the now-empty dining table.

So now, it's nap time, then back to the work of bringing order to my living space.  I'm having a good time doing it and the weather is beautiful for spring cleaning!

Saturday in San Antonio

The Farmers Market

Home-Schooling

Pam and I are both taking Wanderlust 2020--which delivers into our inboxes a lesson every Friday.

This week's lesson is taught by Jeanne Oliver.  While she is teaching mono printing and carving of linoleum blocks, which I don't plan to try, she also taught us how to die fabrics with avocado pits and dried hibiscus flowers.  This I do plan to try.  On her handout she shows ways to use other herbs and spices and flowers for dying, so this could be a good way to use my herbs and spices, too.

Jeanne embodies what I love about a good teacher: she's cheerful and clear in her explanations, just the right pace.  Like all the teachers on Wanderlust, she provides handouts that summarize the class and lists materials for students to try.

Watching these classes is like having a guest teacher in my house every week for an hour.  Whatever they are teaching, I usually learn at least one thing in each class.

So with spring coming, this class gives me a way to use leaves and flowers in a variety of ways.

Another way, not mentioned in this class, is what I've learned in a previous class: pressing leaves into the gel press and imprinting them for print-making.

Pam is also taking a class called "Radical Compassion" and she shared with me one of the interviews this morning--with Liz Gilbert author of Eat, Pray, Love and other books. It was a very inspiriting conversation in which she shared going through the death of her best friend and love, Rhea, and how she got through that terrible time of loss.

If you're interested in this entire class, it's still available on Sounds True.

I'm also reading a book called Love for Imperfect Things by Buddhist monk and professor and writer, Haemin Sunim.  Another of his books is called The Things You Can See Only When you Slow Down.

"Since the world is interconnected and interdependent, if one of us is in pain, we all feel it."

Lifestyle changes?

On Monday, in a rush of virtuous intentions, I signed up for one of those Udemy classes on nutrition.  The teacher was a very well-informed and argued persuasively for a plant-based diet, each of her claims backed up with convincing science.

I watched about thirty minutes of the seven hours of the class and asked for a refund--which they gave me.

The nutrition police would probably not approve of  some of my dietary choices.  In my twenties and thirties, I tried: Adele Davis' high protein meal plan, macrobiotics, vegetarianism, and Weight Watchers.  Then in my sixties, I went gluten-free for a while.  In each case, I was a true believer for a few months.

Each time, however, I found myself falling back into my normal eating patterns and lifestyle choices (as they call it in the business).  Some of my choices might get me a silver star on the good person chart,  but some would definitely get me a sprinkling of demerits.

When the teacher of the course said this was not a diet but a lifestyle change, when she said "never cook your fruit," I knew I was done.  I couldn't imagine myself going to the store and buying me some millet and bulgar, and I knew I was going to cook my fruit whenever I wanted.

When, after showing plate after plate of vegetables and brown rice, she beamed: "And you get to have treats!"--and showed some very unappetizing blobs of cacao and coconut milk. I was a quick drop out and happier for it.

So I'm going to eat more fruit and phyto-nutrient stuff, but I'm not going to buy the whole Kool-Aid of any one way of eating.

My own inner angels are rebellious and playful and they said, "This won't do.  Not for you."

I like the way they think.

Adventure at Schnabels

I try to always buy my hardware at Schnabels--and if you don't know them, you should.  They also fix things too and I needed a fix.

As it turns out, I was trying to multitask and open the hatch back while talking on the phone to Jocelyn--and I whacked the heck out of my head, so I walked back inside for paper towels (it took three handfuls to stop the bleeding).  One of the customers came right over and looked at it and told me to put ice and pressure on it for an hour--turns out he was a nurse!  Then the two clerks and the other customer came and brought me paper towels and and made me sit there for a while before driving.  What nice people they are over at Schnabels!

One of them was a retired coast guard/professional fisherman and I got a little crush on him for a few minutes.

When I came home, I went over to Jan and Kate's just to show them my boo boo and they washed it with hydrogen peroxide and Kate looked at my pupils and then they gave me an ice pack and a cup of soup to bring home.  What wonderful friends and neighbors, right next door!

Angels and Demons Fight It Out

Today was a sort of good and awful day in the kitchen play room studio.

The limited real estate on my kitchen cabinets must be shared: blueberry boiling and bottles of ink (one of which was open and spilled all over the counter top--ugh!); gel presses and cutting board for lemons; a loaf of bread and a few bottles of acrylic paint.

Some days puts me in touch with a few angels and demons--my own and the ones outside my own head of un-washed hair.  (Okay, who has time to wash hair when ink spills and the phone rings all at once?)

Phone calls from my optimistic cheerleader of a mama and my tent-trailer-builder-just-back-from-Big-Bend camper son, a good long phone conversation from Lorraine and a buoying visit from Pam were the parts of the day that brought out the angels.

Starting the day with news of this ridiculous stand-off impeachment "trial"--that put me in touch with the outer demons, the unbelievable farce that I have decided, for the sake of my sanity, to stop watching--following Carlene's lead.  She's decided to listen to music and do fun things to get her mind off what's going on in Washington, and she sounded quite peppy having made that change.  (Not to pay so much attention to the things we can't change.)

The demon inside me--well, that's another matter entirely.  That one creeped in today and asked, "What do you think you're doing?  You have enough art supplies to be a real artist and you're just messing around!  Nothing you're making is worthy of all this time and all these beautiful colors of paint!"

Well, I listened to that mean voice for a while and felt like a balloon whose air has seeped out all the way, a flaccid little empty piece of rubber.  I decided to quit this making-things foolishness and get on with something that matters--whatever that is.

I watched The Danish Girl on Amazon--which was wonderful.  (Talk about unconditional love!--this story is a must-see.)

And then--having given the devil his limited due--I got a new idea for something I want to make. So at  midnight, I sought advice (online) on one technical detail I needed and met a new artist who had exactly the answer I was looking for.  Woo-Hoo, Happy Time Returns!

So now I hear celestial harps and humming again.  Some people call that sound the songs of angels.  I call it the return of my moody muse.  

Just Mercy

If you loved "Just Mercy" as I did, be sure and take a listen to the author of the memoir on Fresh Air:

https://www.npr.org/2020/01/20/796234496/just-mercy-attorney-asks-u-s-to-reckon-with-its-racist-past-and-present

Good Goods

If you haven't been there yet, and if you like to visit a small artsy environment, please check out this little store on Austin Highway near Silo's.  D'Ette, the owner, has a wonderful sense of design (she's an interior decorator), and she and her husband put together a shop of old and new things, well curated: a little of this, a little of that, and called it Good Goods.

It's where a furnisher refinishing shop used to be, right next to a turquoise pizzeria.

You'll find something you like there, I'm quite sure, but whether or not you do, it's a shop you'll enjoy wandering around in and soaking up the inspiring atmosphere.

I ventured out into the world for long enough to go there with Victoria just now and to buy groceries, mostly berries, for my immaculate and re-organized kitchen.

There's a video I want to share about a Chinese woman who moves to a remote mountain spot in China to take care of her grandmother.  It's amazing to watch, or as Improvised Life calls it: mesmerizing.

https://preview.mailerlite.com/c3o7d6/1335675180382426232/x2z8/

Blue Medicine

All week, I've felt draggy and low-energy with nasal congestion.  

Last night, I accidentally discovered the best medicine--blueberry soup!

I boiled a cup or so of blueberries in water, sprinkled them with a tad of sugar, then drank the soup. That and a bowl of Jan's Junk Soup has practically cured me and jazzed up my energy.

When Jan came over this morning to bring me some cheese, I was in the middle of a messy messy gel printing session.  So glad to wake up with enough energy to do anything at all, I just jumped right in. The kitchen was a mess.  Cabinet doors were open, paint was all over the countertops, and it was just, well, embarrassing to be caught mid-mess.  

So I decided to take a few kitchen appliances to the storage room and make better use of the space in which I play with paints more than I cook.  That meant cleaning the entire storage room--which also led to throwing away a bunch of things in my outdoor laundry area. In short, I worked from sun-up til sun-down and got a week's worth of work done in one day!

So tonight I am going to bed feeling better than I've felt in a week.  And first thing tomorrow morning, I'm going to go buy some more blueberries.  

Happiness and Reading and Education

"The true object of education, like that of every other moral process, is the generation of happiness. Happiness to the individual in the first place. If individuals were universally happy, the species would be happy."

William Godwin as quoted in today's Brainpickings.

Maria Popova, founder of Brainpickings, add this: At the heart of this happiness-generating education, Godwin places the importance of instilling in children an early love of literature, which would “inspire habits of industry and observation” that by young adulthood would ferment into “a mind well regulated, active, and prepared to learn.

So what's education all about?  According to this writer/philosopher, father of Mary Shelley who wrote Frankenstein, the whole point of learning is, ultimately, happiness.  Children who learn to love reading become thoughtful, curious, and open to changing their minds.

"How To Grow Old" Bertrand Russell

“How to Grow Old” by Bertrand Russell

In spite of the title, this article will really be on how not to grow old, which, at my time of life, is a much more important subject. My first advice would be to choose your ancestors carefully.... 

If you have wide and keen interests and activities in which you can still be effective, you will have no reason to think about the merely statistical fact of the number of years you have already lived, still less of the probable shortness of your future.

As regards health, I have nothing useful to say as I have little experience of illness. I eat and drink whatever I like, and sleep when I cannot keep awake. I never do anything whatever on the ground that it is good for health, though in actual fact the things I like doing are mostly wholesome.

Psychologically there are two dangers to be guarded against in old age. One of these is undue absorption in the past. It does not do to live in memories, in regrets for the good old days, or in sadness about friends who are dead. One’s thoughts must be directed to the future, and to things about which there is something to be done. This is not always easy; one’s own past is a gradually increasing weight. It is easy to think to oneself that one’s emotions used to be more vivid than they are, and one’s mind more keen. If this is true it should be forgotten, and if it is forgotten it will probably not be true.

The other thing to be avoided is clinging to youth in the hope of sucking vigour from its vitality. When your children are grown up they want to live their own lives, and if you continue to be as interested in them as you were when they were young, you are likely to become a burden to them, unless they are unusually callous. I do not mean that one should be without interest in them, but one’s interest should be contemplative and, if possible, philanthropic, but not unduly emotional. Animals become indifferent to their young as soon as their young can look after themselves, but human beings, owing to the length of infancy, find this difficult.

I think that a successful old age is easiest for those who have strong impersonal interests involving appropriate activities. It is in this sphere that long experience is really fruitful, and it is in this sphere that the wisdom born of experience can be exercised without being oppressive. It is no use telling grownup children not to make mistakes, both because they will not believe you, and because mistakes are an essential part of education. But if you are one of those who are incapable of impersonal interests, you may find that your life will be empty unless you concern yourself with your children and grandchildren. In that case you must realise that while you can still render them material services, such as making them an allowance or knitting them jumpers, you must not expect that they will enjoy your company.

Some old people are oppressed by the fear of death. In the young there there is a justification for this feeling. Young men who have reason to fear that they will be killed in battle may justifiably feel bitter in the thought that they have been cheated of the best things that life has to offer. But in an old man who has known human joys and sorrows, and has achieved whatever work it was in him to do, the fear of death is somewhat abject and ignoble. The best way to overcome it -so at least it seems to me- is to make your interests gradually wider and more impersonal, until bit by bit the walls of the ego recede, and your life becomes increasingly merged in the universal life. An individual human existence should be like a river: small at first, narrowly contained within its banks, and rushing passionately past rocks and over waterfalls. Gradually the river grows wider, the banks recede, the waters flow more quietly, and in the end, without any visible break, they become merged in the sea, and painlessly lose their individual being. The man who, in old age, can see his life in this way, will not suffer from the fear of death, since the things he cares for will continue. And if, with the decay of vitality, weariness increases, the thought of rest will not be unwelcome. I should wish to die while still at work, knowing that others will carry on what I can no longer do and content in the thought that what was possible has been done.

[from “Portraits From Memory And Other Essays”]

Just Mercy

With this cold or cedar fever, about all I do is watch movies and sleep.  Yesterday, I watched "Just Mercy," in which Jamie Foxx plays (brilliantly) a falsely convicted prisoner on death row.

A young African American lawyer from Baltimore takes on his case and others--along with a female activist against capital punishment in Monroeville, the hometown of  Harper Lee.

The lawyer and the prisoner share similar backgrounds in poverty.  "It could have been me," he said when he heard about the trumped up charges in the court case in which the man had been convicted: no physical evidence, just the forced testimony of one felon.  But before he even went to court, he had spent a year on death row!

(Six years later, the felon recants his testimony--but the judge refuses to be moved by it.)

The cumulative prejudice and bias of law enforcement, even lawyers and judges, favored "getting some justice for the white victim" over facts and evidence.  Any black man was at risk of random arrest.   "He just looked like he did it," one sheriff said of another inmate on death row.

I cringed every time I saw the bigoted powers-that-be refuse to hear evidence and face the truth--echoing what is happening in the Republican Senate right now regarding the impeachment "trial."

I cringed that the stereotypical racist sheriffs were Souherners--in the next door state to my home state.  But I have seen the type; we all have--and not just in the Southern states.

On the day of his execution, one of the African American inmates says, "People have been nicer to me today than all the rest of the days of my life."  He requests "The Old Rugged Cross" to be played during the execution.  The other inmates clang metal objects on the bars as their friend is being executed.  This scene is excruciating to watch.

One can't help wondering how many fewer acts of violence might be conducted if individuals and the culture-at-large were "nicer" to young boys who grow up in poverty.

This is a film that's impossible to forget.  It's profoundly moving--a film about one man willing to take risks to make a dent in injustice and racial prejudice.

Bags, Boxes, Blank Books, Baskets, and Bowls

When you're poking around in shops and galleries, are there certain objects that call your name and pull you like gravity to them?

My five things all start with a B,  an alliterative coincidence.

Carlene calls me the bag lady because I have so many different bags: oilcloth bags, leather bags, fabric bags, quilted bags. Bags hold our treasures and potential treasures.  Bags are soft little houses where our cameras, notebooks and pens live.  In my perfect world, everything would always be in the bag it's for and all the parts organized.  Nothing would be in a jumble.

The Big Mama of bags, the suitcase, suggests adventure, antiquity, exploration, and mystery.  These old hard-sided suitcases have way more allure (though not the convenience) than the way more manageable roller bags we all use.

It's hard to choose a bag for another person, but Day knows my taste to a tee. This Christmas she gave me two: a pocket book (aka purse) that looks like soft worn leather but is actually made in Tuscany out of paper, and a hand-quilted bag with beautiful birds appliquéd on the front and back--perfect for carrying an iPad, a journals or art supplies.

I have enough bags already to last me--as my Aunt Audrey, the preacher's wife, used to say of shoes, "enough to last me until Jesus comes."

Same with baskets and bowls--enough already!  But I love picking up a handwoven basket or a painted bowl that reminds me of where I was when I first spotted it and had to have it.

I love little boxes--decoupaged or decorated in mosaics.  Or boxes with locks on them.  Or tackle boxes--because they remind me of my daddy.

Blank books (especially handmade ones) may be my favorite container-of-potential at the moment--all those pristine blank pages!  Blank books are vessels for thoughts, lists, sketches, and lines.

My favorite "B" things are all containers and keepers--yet if they are antiques or hand-crafted, they go way beyond their practical functions and express the artistry of their makers.

Cora Brooks' five-part obituary 2018

Jan introduced me to Cora Brooks, a Vermont poet, painter and activist.  Following this link, I was able to meet her, as Jan did, by reading five tributes by friends who knew her in her life and art and death.

https://www.vermontwoman.com/articles/2018/1118/05-cora-tribute/cora-brooks.html

The Birthday Party

Animals and Eight-year-Olds

Elena's jungle-party was the best ever. A van drove up the hill at 2:00 and the children were entranced with the animals that emerged one by one.

Among the guests:

a prairie dog
a ring-tailed lemur
a coatimundi
a kinkajou
a hypo-boa snake, and
a fox.

Each time a new animal was presented, the kids screamed with delight.  Even though they may have seen some of these animals at the zoo, it was altogether different to get to interact with them.

The party closed with a zebra piñata, pizza, an elephant cake, and stuffed jungle animals for party favors.

If you or someone you know is hosting a party for children, the owners of Happy Tails Entertainment do a great job of teaching the children about their unusual  animals: https://www.happytailsent.com

Nathan, Elena,  and the hypo-boa

I'll put a few more pictures on the next page after the photos finish downloading.

Bonfire of Destiny

Today I have the makings of a cold--though it could be just allergies at this point.   I'm spending this beautiful Saturday in bed eating some delicious white beans and ham Freda gave me and watching The Bonfire of Destiny, a French series on Netflix. I'd planned to work on my gel printing, but my nose is all runny and I don't have the energy for it just yet.

And about to do what my parents always considered the best cure for anything--a good soaky hot bath (after a long nap.)

I had bought two oval shaped pans recently and spent the morning making Elena a two-layer birthday cake with sprinkles in the batter and chocolate frosting.  Tomorrow I will put the glittery 8 on top and deliver to her party along with books I've chosen as gifts for our  eight-year old.

Last week, she was watching TV with Will and someone on an ad used a phrase including the word, hell.

"What did he just say??" she asked Will.

He repeated the phrase, also a bit surprised that it was being used in the ad.

"Dad, that was just a rhetorical question!" she said.

I can hardly believe that our little four-pound-and-change premie has turned into a tall 8-year-old girl so fast!  She rides horses with her mom and she makes crafts with Day and me.  She loves to fish and work on projects with her dad and play games with her brother, especially Clue.

Even though I don't see her every day, this "curly-haired hippie" (as her dad recently called her) has brightened every one of my days for the past eight years.

Two Good Movies

"Little Women"--what a beautiful adaptation of the Alcott novel!

"Two Popes" (Netflix)

Early Birthday

Elena turns 8 on the 16th.  So today, we had a pre-birthday afternoon and dinner at Little Italy--after our yearly trip to Build A Bear.  Her parents met us after dinner and I didn't need to drive all the way to Helotes.

Since BAB had a sale (buy one, get one for $10),
Elena insisted I buy a bear for myself.
Hers is Caramel; mine is Cocoa

Ink, String, Paper, and Glue

52-and-change years ago,  a hard-puffing, sweating, red-faced encyclopedia salesman gave me this phrase: "All you're paying for is ink, string, paper and glue."

Poor guy, he must that known he'd hit a dwelling where nobody was going to buy his books, but he said it over and over again, probably his  bring-it-home selling point with every potential buyer. We gave him an hour's attention, a glass of water, and a chair in which he could smoke a cigarette and take a load off his feet, but an upstairs two-room apartment of newly-weds ?  No sale.

He had books with plastic pages layering the human body in its component parts, books with pictures and maps, books with potential knowledge--all of which appealed to me in our virtually book-free apartment.  For a lot of reasons, including sympathy for the exhausted salesman, I probably would have signed on the dotted line for seven dollars a month, but those were the days when seven dollars a month wasn't easy to come by.

It wasn't the content of all those books that interested him or the cumulative effort of writers.  He wasn't particularly interested in the content, but in the parts that made the physical books--ink, string, paper and glue.

Today--in my current state of making things--I have all those things in spades.  It's my indulgence in possibility--much the way amateur photographers buy expensive camera equipment.  If you have it, maybe the artful will come.

For ink, I have every color of paint--which can be mixed to make even more shades and hues. I have markers--alcohol and water-based. Crayons and brushes and powders.

For string, I have ribbons, jute and threads.

For paper, I have cardstock, Yupo, Japanese papers, handmade papers, printed papers from the scrapbooking aisle of crafts stores, tracing paper, vellum.

For glue, I have tacky glue, double-sided tape, Washi tape, glue sticks, matte medium,....You name it, I've got it.  I can connect things til the end of time.

I've sometimes wondered if I will live long enough to use up all these inks and strings and paper and glue.  (I've resolved to live a long time so as not to waste anything!) But it doesn't matter.  It's important to have what it takes to indulge in possibilities.

Robert Motherwell said, "Art is an experience, not an object."

Albert Einstein said, "Creativity is intelligence having fun."

Excerpts from Daughters of Copper Woman

https://faithljustice.wordpress.com/2013/07/01/book-review-copper-woman/

 Ownership of natural resources

Just because you inherited ownership, didn’t give you the right to mess up a place. And if you didn’t take care of it, you could lose it….Having ownership just meant having responsibility. You’d been chosen, you see, your whole family had been chosen, to look after and take care of something.

 Personal responsibility

A woman could come to the circle as often as she needed, but the circle wasn’t there to encourage a woman to only talk about her problems. The first three times you came with the same story the women would listen and try to help. But if you showed up a fourth time and it was the same old tired thing, the others in the circle would just get up and move and re-form the circle somewhere else. They didn’t say the problem wasn’t import, they just said…it was time to stop talkin’ and do somethin’.

 Warrior Women

A warrior woman had to be able to recognize the face of the enemy or she couldn’t be a warrior woman. Anyone who just dithered around like a muddlehead and didn’t do anthin’ about her problems would have her warrior headband taken away….Women are recognizin’ the enemy. Women are lookin’ for the truth. Speakin’ to young women, tellin’ them that rape isn’t anythin’ at all to do with love or even with lust, tellin’ them it’s just another way for some people to convince themselves they’ve got power, any old kind of power. Women are learnin’ to use their bodies again, learnin’ to defend themselves again and speakin’ the truth.

Saturday Night in Texas

1.

My Uber driver took me to the wrong terminal this morning.  I'd already told him I was going to Southwest and I assumed he knew where it was, so I wasn't paying attention.   (I was reading the news on my phone of the latest havoc wreaked by the "stable genius" occupant of the White House.)

When I unloaded my two suitcases and large back pack, I discovered that I was in the wrong terminal. In Atlanta, that's a big deal if you're balancing three bags.

The first man I asked for directions happened to be pushing a cart from another airline. "Put your bags here," he said, lifting all three onto his cart. "I'll take you there."

Flash was an African-American man who's worked in the Atlanta airport for forty years.  As we walked to the other terminal, I noticed that person after person smiled when they saw Flash, and that they all had nicknames for each other.

"Hey S-West, how's your mama?"

"Hey, Flash, she's doing better!"

When we reached Southwest, I held out money to pay him for the huge favor, but he refused.

"I knew the minute I saw you with all those bags I was going to help you," he said.  "It's like Moses crossing the Red Sea--you want everybody to get across."

2.

This really happened:

I had plenty of time in Terminal C to eat breakfast.  Five young women were cooking eggs and pancakes and bacon.  (Somebody hadn't shown up for work and they announced that the pancakes were going to take five extra minutes if we wanted to wait.)

Suddenly, two of them started singing, "Lean on me." It started out a little trickle of a song, but then they really got into it and you could hear a choir of five singing and laughing as they helped the pancake pourer pour pancake batter on the griddle.  Then one of the women waiting for her order joined in!

Lean on me, when you're not strong
And I'll be your friend
I'll help you carry on
For it won't be long
'Til I'm gonna need
Somebody to lean on....

You just call on me brother, when you need a hand

We all need somebody to lean on

3.

Yesterday, Carlene rode with me to the Dollar Tree to get her favorite animal crackers. It took a while because the first people in my line were counting out ten dollars in pennies.

The second person in line ahead of me was a curly-haired young man who was returning four items, hoping for a cash refund.

When I asked him how he was doing, he said, "Just trying to make it."

It turns out he's homeless, living in the woods, and his tent had flooded the night before.  He was intent on his exchange and didn't ask me for anything, but I saw in his face a kind of fear that looked new, not the kind of look of one who's been homeless for years and more or less used to it.

"We're just seeing what we can do to get dry for tonight," he said.  Not a complaint, not a request, just a fact.

I offered him a few dollars and he said,   "Bless you, bless you, bless you. Now I can buy a tarp!"

******

So that's how my 2020 started: a stranger helped me across the Red Sea (everything's Biblical in the South); a choir spontaneously sang "Lean on Me,"  and I got to help another stranger in ever-so-small a way to dry out after a night in the soggy red dirt of Georgia and got "blessed" three times for it.