Month: May 2020

“Kind words can be short and easy to speak, but their echoes are truly endless.”–Mother Teresa 

 

“Act with kindness, but do not expect gratitude.”–Confucius

 

 

Oh no, not again.  Surely, my memory is mistaken.

 

I stood patiently.  Waiting my turn to enter the aisle.  I needed an item directly in front of a man standing in the middle of the aisle examining all of the choices.  I get it.  Looking at all of the available choices (or alternate choices, if your favorite is unavailable) can be overwhelming.  Plus, add in the new directional rules that are in effect at some stores as well as shortages of certain items, shopping can now take more time than ever. 

 

“What’s your problem?”

 

Oh, no, here we go again.  It. Is. The. Same. Man. 

 

“I’m just waiting.  Take your time,” and I added a smile, but then realized, unless I was also smiling with my eyes, he couldn’t see my mouth due to my mask.

 

That’s when I noticed he wasn’t wearing a mask, nor gloves as I am used to doing when now going out to shop.  However, wearing personal protective gear is a choice.  I get, honor, and respect personal choice.  My own choice stems from my desire to err on the side of caution.  Regardless, everyone views things differently.

 

“Well, here you go,” he said in a voice rich with sarcasm as he feigned a gallant bow extending an arm in a sweeping gesture.

 

Oh boy, apparently, he thought I was waiting to go through and past him.  Why didn’t I communicate more effectively?  

 

“It’s ok.  I can wait.”

 

Again, I try to smile, but of course, it’s not visible.

 

That’s when it happened.  The very thing for which I was afraid.  Expletives exploded from his mouth, his face contorted into a fiery red emoji worthy expression.  He tried to march past me, saw there wasn’t any room, said some more finely selected words, and stomped around a display that was arranged in the center of an aisle.

 

 

I am fairly certain this was the same man, who only three weeks ago, I had encountered in this same store–only in a different aisle.  At that time, he was offended, I think, because I stepped aside to let him pass six feet away from me, despite the fact he was not following the store’s directional arrows.  He took one long look at me then and about-faced with a nearly purple visage, spewing curse words for all to hear.  

 

This time, I momentarily froze, shaken once more by the negative emotional energy left in his wake.  It was almost as if I wanted to let his surrounding Pig-pen-like dark cloud of anger dissipate before I walked on.

 

 

Later, as I moved through the store, I kept encountering a woman who appeared to be just off work based upon her tired, but kind, eyes, scrubs, and hospital lanyard.  It always seemed as if wherever I pushed my cart, she ended up right behind me waiting as I made my choice and moved on.  She never said a word, never indicated a hint of impatience. 

 

In the freezer section, I was taking an exceptionally long time as I thoroughly searched for bags of frozen chopped peppers and onions, which had not been in-stock for weeks.  Not finding them, I slid down to the next set of freezer doors to grab a few bags of frozen vegetables that were in stock.  That’s when I noticed the same woman was behind me.

 

“I am so sorry if I was holding you up,” I sincerely stated.

 

“No, no, no. Not at all.  In fact, I was going to offer to hand something to you in case it was out of reach.”

 

Of course she’s significantly taller than me.

 

“Aw, thank you, but no.  There’s nothing.  They’ve been out of frozen chopped peppers and onions for weeks now. I was just double checking to make sure I wasn’t overlooking them.”

 

We chatted a few more minutes, both of us keep a safe distance, but still continuing to shop.

 

“Listen, just so you know, I figure it like this.  I’m going to let you take your time picking out what you need because I sure plan to take my time when it’s my turn.”

 

Exchanging polite farewells, I moved on and wrapped up my shopping.

 

 

Some days later, I reflected on the two experiences within the context of COVID-19.  The man’s anger, despite the fact I did not know him, had bothered me.  It was an irrational response, I know, but I tend to struggle with shaking off any form of strong emotion, but especially those of a negative nature.  However, the unknown woman’s words were like the sip of nice wine or bite of good chocolate at the end of a hard day–you don’t need or want a lot–just enough to calm the nerves.

 

Which led me to the renewed lesson of the power of words. Kind words, spoken or written, are never wasted.  Never.  In fact, my mom has often advised me to etch sweetly spoken words–or any positive moment for that matter–into my heart’s memory for those times when there seems to be void.  

 

 

Unfortunately, my encounters with this man most likely reflect his level of frustration and/or anger at the COVID-19 situation.  Perhaps, he has lost his job, is isolated from loved ones and/or friends, and he doesn’t have an outlet–a viable way to deal with his disappointment.  Of course, he could be reacting to any number of things, and I just happen to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time–although I suspect I am not the only one with whom he’s blown up.  Bottom line, I don’t know his story, but he is clearly suffering some form of anguish, and I sincerely hope some form of ease enters his life–preferably before I encounter him again.

 

 

About a month ago, my 8th grade students and I considered a quote from a novel that stated, “Reciprocity is not mandatory.” These words refer to an idea that when giving a gift, one should give it freely without any expectations. Thus, my students and I, through virtual means, discussed the notion of whether or not it is possible to give without expectations. It was a lively debate and inspired thoughtfully written responses which ran the gamut of opinions.

 

 

Personally, I fall on the side of freely giving simple acts of kindness without expectations.  Smile at a stranger.  Thank the employees who help you check-out groceries.  Hold the door for a person whose hands are loaded.  Offer heart-felt compliments.  Help an elderly/disabled (or short LOL) person grab something from a top shelf or rack.  Call or text a loved one. Write a letter.  Send a card.  There are so many free, nearly free, or inexpensive ways to spread kindness.  

 

 

It is my sincere belief that while reciprocity is not mandatory–eventually, all that goodness you put out in the world makes it way back to you in some form–even if you don’t recognize its original source.  Thus, don’t let the negative behavior of some override the good that is out there because . . . IT. IS. THERE.  It’s like glitter.  

 

Remember making a craft with glitter in school?  Hours, why, even days later, you could still find a bit of sparkle in the darndest places.  That’s what kindness is like. And, if you don’t see it, then by golly get out your proverbial bottle of kindness glitter and start sprinkling bits of it here and there.  Just like that glitter from that long ago art project, you’ll soon find a few random sparkles returning right back to you in the most unpredicted ways.

 

“Relax, Recharge and Reflect. Sometimes it’s OK to do nothing.”― Izey Victoria Odiase

 

 “Farmers learned to plant fallow fields with clover, which recharges the soil with nutrients.”― Charles C. Mann

 

 

 

“I got him!”  I said in reply to John who said he thought he heard our newest house member calling from the back of the house.

 

“I’ve spotted him!” I shout down the length of the short hall back toward the kitchen/dining/family area.

 

“Oh, no!  He’s hurt!”

 

As I bend towards him, I can see the broken arm.

 

“Poor little, guy!” I say as I gently pick him up, along with the broken arm, and I carry him back towards the kitchen.

 

 

Ever so carefully, I place him on the kitchen counter as he remained still and lifeless.

 

“If you weren’t such a spot-rod, zipping in and out of all of the rooms.  I warned you that you needed to clean up your act, and be more careful.  Like all youth, you’re determined to keep spinning your wheels,” I state with a sigh to the now inactive sweeping beauty.

 

Before Spot, our COVID-19 sense-of-humor was, like my towering 4’ 11” stature, on short-order. Days upon humorless days were, well, sucking the life out of us    However, since we’ve adopted Spot, our level of one-liners has been on a sweeping-frenzy.  Seriously, our level of laughter is piping spot.

 

 

Spot is a Roomba iRobot vacuum.  We named it Spot when it swept us off our feet with its first spin around our home gathering dirt on us. It’s been cosweeping with us ever since!  Gazing down at it as it quietly remained inactive on the counter, barely alive, I could feel the wheels in my mind spinning to the days of Steve Austin, the Six Million Dollar Man. 

 

 

Soundtrack cued . . .

 

Camera close-up on Steph’s Surgical home-club operational suite.

 

“We can rebuild him.  We have the technology.  We can make him better than he was.  Better, stronger, faster.”

 

“Flat-head screwdriver?”

 

“Check!”

 

“Bionic arm?”

 

“Check!”

 

“Forceps?”

 

“What do you need those for?”

 

“Wound hair removal. It most likely created stress, and ultimately, precipitated the fracture. We must proceed with caution. It could be a hairy situation.” 

 

“New air filter?”

 

“Check, but will it be spot-blooded, again, doctor?”

 

Moments later . . .

 

“There you go, Little Buddy.  Now, be careful. You’re spot off the presses, so don’t go binge-spinning.”

 

 

 

My daughter once told me that I am like Spot in that I am small and always moving, but need to be recharged at the end of the day.  She is spot-on when it comes to my personality as I am an introvert.  Most people assume being introverted means being shy; and while that can be true for some introverts, it has more to do with how a person recharges.  

 

For example, my husband, John, loves being around people, the more he’s talking and interacting with others, the more energy he absorbs and generates. Whereas, for me, while I enjoy interacting and conversing with others, small talk does not come naturally for me.  In fact, I have to focus really hard to keep a conversation going and would much prefer to listen rather than initiate conversation. It’s not that I don’t like talking, it’s keeping the conversation going that I find challenging and often draining to me.  This can lead to nervous energy, which leads to overthinking, which can sometimes lead to rambling about self-experiences in an attempt to connect with the person speaking– which can sometimes lead to unintentional, insensitive, thoughtless, or down right stupid comments.  Afterwards, I ruminate for great lengths worrying about all of the words, phrases, and questions I should have or should not have said instead. It can be exhausting.

 

 

Therefore, one of my biggest jokes during this COVID-19 quarantine has been that as an introvert, I was preparing for quarantine my whole life!  And, in a way, it’s true.  The older I get, the more I have found that I feel emotionally depleted at the end of my pre-COVID work-days.  I describe it as feeling as if little bits of me are taken and/or given throughout the day from all of the interactions and/or energy absorbed by those with whom I come into contact.  Currently, (pre-COVID) those interactions would include over 80 students, nearly 50 co-workers, and anyone else with whom I would typically encounter throughout a workday.  By the end of the day, especially around holidays, special events, full-moon days, and the like, I was emotionally drained and fought the urge to go home, hug my knees to my chest, curl into a tiny ball in silent space, and simply decompress. 

 

You would think, then, that quarantine has been the greatest event of my life, but it is not.  Being at home means I cannot avoid all of my emotions, insecurities, and fears I have attempted to quash over the years through my busyness.  Now, with all the stillness in my life–the get up, drink coffee, work at the computer all day, eat, and repeat–those inner demons have time to rear their heads, causing my emotional wheels to spin until, like Spot, I am fractured–only not by hair wound around my arms base–but, by something seemingly inconsequential such as my inability to understand the newest technology platform/skill that I am expected to master on my own within a short amount of time in order to meet an imminent deadline.  

 

 

 

Unlike Spot, though, I can’t wait for someone to fix me.  There isn’t someone who will empty my proverbial bin of emotional detritus. I have to fix myself–my mind, my outlook, my emotional state of being.  It must begin with me, and that, at times, is not an easy undertaking.  

 

 

Therefore, if like me, you find this social isolation revealing ugly hidden truths about yourself, it’s okay.  You’re not alone in this, well, sweeping development.  Reach out to others, pray/meditate more, take time to read, get outside, practice yoga, walk or participate in other forms of exercise, garden, paint, create, or, like me, write your way through these emotions. Be your own source of peace.  If you have a bad day dealing with emotional dirt, take a cue from Spot, feel your pain, let it all drain out through whatever activity you choose, then plug into your higher Source for energy renewal, and start all over.  Like all devices, any moment can turn into a reboot moment, if we choose it.

 

 

Who knows? You may discover new seeds to sow, new skills to harvest, and the winds of emotional freedom blowing within you as you lighten your load, or should I say, empty your bin.   You might even find you are on a spinning streak and shouting, “Aye Caroomba!” as you look at yourself, your problems/challenges, and our world with new eyes.

 

So strike while the iron is spot, put on your spinning cap, and get caught up in a self-care sweeping frenzy. 

 

This spinning-streak spot of humor was brought to you by a writer learning to sweep with the enemy by poking holes, or should I say, spots, into her inner demons.  I hope I was able to spin a web of humor, and perhaps a bit of a lesson, into your day!

 

“There is something in the pang of change, more than the heart can bear, unhappiness remembering happiness.”–Euripedes

 

“Sometimes you have to accept the fact that certain things will never go back to how they used to be.  Life goes on.”–Unknown

 

 

As a young girl, the first death that I remember was Great, Great Aunt Mandy.  Although there had been previous deaths within my family, I had been far too young to remember the grieving process and the funerals that go along with that.  My mom tells me that Great, Great Aunt Mandy, Amanda Crockett Walker, was my Grandmother’s mother’s sister who had lived in Portsmouth, Ohio at one point in her life, but when her husband and two sons died, my Grandmother moved Mandy to a senior living apartment in Flatwoods, KY to allow her to be closer to family.  I recall Mandy visiting my immediate family’s home for a Thanksgiving dinner once, and I also remember interacting with her on a number of occasions at my grandparent’s house.

 

 

My memories of Mandy are somewhat murky as I was still quite young.  She smelled, to my child-like perspective, like an “old person,” an impression that it is hard to elucidate other than to say it’s a storage-closet type scent, combined with the aroma of talcum powder and bar soap.  Her long grey hair was always gathered in a bun at the nape of her neck; and, her body, and skin, were soft and loose.  She lived a modest life, and, as best I can recall, she was quiet, gentle, and seemed content to look and listen to surrounding conversation. However, my further impression of her was that even though her vision was not great, her awareness was sharp, keen, and highly observant.

 

 

 

Great, Great Aunt Mandy’s dresses (no trousers for her) appeared to be simple, homemade frocks–at least to my childish impression.  She was regarded in the family for her sewing and quilting as well as for regularly reading her large print Bible.  Unfortunately, many of my memories of Mandy, and this time period of my life, are intermixed–much in the way my grandmother’s vegetable soup was a jumbled assortment of leftover vegetables all tossed together and cooked into a muddled, savory scent of past meals.

 

 

This is Great, Great Aunt Mandy at my childhood home for Thanksgiving.  Neither the first picture (L), nor the second picture (far R), are of great quality, but I still wanted to include her in this remembrance.

 

Sadly, one of my strongest memories of Great, Great Aunt Mandy was being pulled out of school early to attend her funeral.  This was a big deal, not only for the obvious reason of missing school, but also because I would be riding in a limousine!  I had never before ridden in such a fancy car, and in my young girl’s mind, it seemed like a grand adventure.

 

 

Honestly, I recall very little of the limo ride or the funeral.  However, I do distinctly remember riding in the back of the limo through the small town of Flatwoods, KY on our way to the cemetery, and I was astounded by the amount of traffic, well, as much traffic as this small town could have had in the 1970s.  It struck me as odd for two reasons.  The first was the new understanding that even though I might be in a school all day long, life continued moving, never pausing, outside the walls of our school building.  Furthermore, and even more striking, was the fact that even though Great, Great Aunt Mandy’s life had ended, life was going on without her.  This poignant lesson has since occurred to me through each and every loss or traumatic event. 

 

 

Again, not the best quality of pictures, but as you can see in the pictures, she was married in 1915 in Raceland, KY, the hometown for my parents, their parents, and so many of my relatives.  Raceland, KY, to this day, is near and dear to my heart.

 

For example, I could not believe that life could carry-on during the fateful day of the 9-11-01 attacks.  Cars continued to drive past the school in which my husband and I worked, and yet, we were very aware of the devastation of that day.  Why wasn’t time standing still out of respect?

 

 

                        Great, Great Aunt Mandy’s boys.  I look at this picture and feel sad knowing that each one left the bounds of this Earth before her.  I am so grateful Grandmother moved her closer to family once they had passed.

 

When a beloved teacher retired from an elementary school in which I not only worked, but had also been a student, I recall thinking that our school would never be the same.  How could our school continue without this formidable force of instruction guiding the way for the rest of us?  The following year, staff members occasionally recalled her, expressing how she was missed, how she would have responded to this new policy, or that type of behavior, but with each passing year, as more new staff entered, and other staff left, her memory grew more faint until now, I would imagine, no one at the elementary even remembers her.  Even now, my own memories of this once gigantic influence in my professional and personal life (She was teaching when I was a student at this school.) are clouding in the way a sunny day is steadily overtaken by an overcast day with the gradual gathering of grey. 

 

 

                    More pictures of Great, Great Aunt Mandy and her boys.

 

 Despite the fact that I currently live beside a major state route, there are no nearby businesses, and thus, since the beginning of our COVID-19 quarantine, there has been a drastic reduction in traffic near our home.  Additionally, working from home feels like a bubble–get up, sit in front of the laptop for seemingly hours on end, answer emails, grade papers, hold virtual meetings, and never leave our house as most information and communication now comes to us. 

 

 

Driving to a nearby walking path recently, I felt overwhelmed by the amount of traffic zipping to and fro on the main roads.  Suddenly, and with great clarity, my early memory of driving through Flatwoods in a limousine for the funeral of my Great, Great Aunt Mandy came back full circle with a crashing realization. Memories, not only of the limo ride, but of Mandy and her peaceful, unpretentious, calm spirit. 

 

Life is going on in spite of COVID-19, just like it did on the day we buried my Great, Great Aunt.  How we live, interact, and move is changing, evolving, and adapting in real time, but life continues on.  Soon, COVID-19 will be a memory, and eventually it will be a blip on the radar of history, like the shooting of Lincoln, the trench wars of the first World War, the rise of Hilter, the shooting of JFK, the Cold War . . .  .

 

Meanwhile, Mandy’s memory will most likely pass once I am gone, but the lesson of her funeral drive is eternal.  

 

My Dear Readers, you won’t be housebound and/or restricted forever.  You won’t be eternally labeled as essential or nonessential; and, hopefully, you won’t always have to worry about finding supplies such as toilet paper and disinfectant wipes. Life goes on.  Life continues, and eventually all of these memories, like my grandmother’s vegetable soup, will all merge into one collective. 

 

Have faith.  Honor and learn from the past, but don’t cling to it.  Trust that the Creator of Life will allow this event to serve a purpose–even greater than my remembrance of my humble Kentucky aunt.  Above all, rest in the knowledge that nothing lasts forever, not even a virus, and you are not alone as we navigate this new terrain.