Best story I heard today was someone else's

This, from Tia: 

I wanted to share with you something that happened to me today.

I ate lunch at one of my favorite places in Streetsboro today. When I went up to pay my bill the girl said...

The man sitting next to you said...tell that woman thanks for smiling that smile, it's warm and it made me feel good. He said he wanted to repay you, so he bought your lunch.

I stood there a minute kind of overwhelmed with emotion, not believing that a stranger said that and then bought my lunch.

...and then it inspired me to take action.

As I looked around the restaurant there were three tables of people still eating.

The old couple that were sitting behind me, not talking to each other the whole time.

The two detectives that I see about once a week.

The two older women who I have also noticed in the restaurant before.

I could not choose just one table to buy for so I bought lunch for all of them.

I asked the girl not to tell them who paid, but instead asked her to tell them...if they could...at some point pay it forward.

I walked out to my car and drove away.

I went to the nursing home up the street, I was doing wound care on a patient had to go to the nurses station for supplies.

Donna, says you are not going to believe this. I went to get lunch at Blasioles and someone had paid for it.

She said the waitress said that it has been the craziest day.

A guy bought a woman's lunch because he said she said her warm smile made him feel good.

That woman bought lunch for the three tables of people left in the restaurant.

The waitress said the woman that bought lunch for everyone asked me to say, if you can pay it forward.

She said mentioned that to the two older woman who said...there is no one left here for us to buy lunch for.

...and the waitress said...I did just get a to go order from the nurses down the street.

Donna, just could not believe it. I did not say anything.

I walked out of that office feeling so good, a smile inspired a random act of kindness which inspired three other acts of kindness which inspired another.

...and how crazy is it that one of the nurses where I go was involved.

What if these rocks once had skins
and, in the midst of a wild westerly storm,
they all spoke to each other
and decided to skim off the outer sleeve?
And, what if, for thousands of years,
before anyone of this generation,
or 100 generations before, ever saw them,
they chose this? What if they wanted
to set their roughness out in the sun?
Expose their wide fatty hips? 
What if they found their nooks and noses
to be as wondrous as the weathering rain,
what if they wanted their long fingers
extended closer to the moon every night?

Sticks

If I were a tree, I would be the purple kind.  And though I like the ginko leaf, I do not like it enough to have that shape of leaves.  I am thinking something  more sycamore-shaped, leaves that start orange, then flame red at the end of the season.  Just like my Japanese maple, but less crinkled and brittle after they die.  They'd still be glossy, waterproof, with a sheen.  The purple tree would be in the far edge of a forest, overlooking a wide vista.  Some people would come, and once arriving, they would be stunned.  They would bring other friends, but only the one who would appreciate the hike and the final sight.  People would sit under the tree, poking at the floury soft dirt. Playing with the purple twigs. They would be silent lots of the time, but when they would speak, they would speak from their spine.  No cheek.  No hand movements.  Just words, solid truth, coming from the heartwood.

A slow drip of a day.
As if I turned the bottle of time over,
waiting for it to puddle at the bottom,
so that I could eventually squeeze some day out.
Slapping the side a few hard whacks
just to dislodge an hour or two
from the walls that contained them.
Waiting, wanting, a dollop of that Friday
feeling to start the weekend off right.

What I am thankful on this day

I could say friends, of which there are many.
My job, my work.  The life it affords me.
My home, my family.  Those things received in the past,
and that which is surely to come.  But I want to be more specific.
That ordinary litany, while true, seems like a pageant answer.
Today, what I am really thankful for are these things:
Sleeping well into the middle of the morning, my knee healing in the sleep.
This day with it's bright blue sky, so warm I could feel the sun on my back.
This rose, still hanging on for a late November bloom.
The call from Johanna saying, "Thank you for the beginning friendship."
Anne asking if she could mow my lawn for me.
Seeing my mother's handwriting on a recipe card.
That magic moment when a roux turns liquid silky then thick.
The man at the gas station who laughed at me.
Hearing Sheridan's voice outside.  Imjung too. 
And Helen's raspy alto voice, the way she always joins the grown-ups.
The meal set before me, and the people around me,
not feeling so much on the outside anymore.
Each one of us older, but somehow softer.  The easy laughter. 
20/20 vision.  The sight of three sisters together.
The smell by the firepit.  The smell of the turkey.
Teenage boys with short haircuts.  Fiestaware orange.
Seeing the ribbon of genes so clearly.  The dog finally laying by my feet.
The drive east along the lake.The front porch light on to welcome me home.

George

"His light was so bright that it shamed the darkness."

Vacation

I love the rush of my days.  I put in a full 8 hours, or more, every day.  Twelve yesterday.  Some days, I actually sit with the mediators for 10-15 minutes and eat lunch.  Other than that, I am doing something, helping someone, consulting with someone else, emailing, writing a document, teaching a group of kids, planning a meeting.  The days whiz by.

And yet, and now, I have this: five days.  Five days.  Someone asked me today what I was going to do with the time, and I said nothing.  That, right now, seems flat out stupid.  I know I could rest, sleep, watch TV.  Tinker with this, putz around with that.  But I ought to do some thing, many things.  The art museum.  Drive to Detroit.  Find that apple farm I once went to a sit by the fire.  Make a pie.  Read Exodus. Go away, if only for a night, to see life from another vantage. I ought to make a recipe I have never made.  Go to an aquarium.  Write a letter, with pen to paper, to someone I have not written in a while.  I should get a book out of the library.  Answer a wanted ad.  Ride my bike.  Visit the eye doctor.  Right a list of the things I need to do before I am fifty.  Fix the hole in my black turtleneck. 

Five days, I have the gift of five days.  What am I going to do with it?  Something, I tell you, something will be done.