Tiny Tim Goes Shopping

There is nothing my mother enjoys more than shopping.

Well, okay. That's not entirely true. We all know she likes collecting men  But just after collecting men, she likes shopping.  And if she can collect men who will take her shopping...all the better.

Of course she likes her wine too...I'm not sure of the exact order of things, but shopping ranks right up there as something my mother enjoys most in life. Wine. Men. And shopping.

She particularly likes to go shopping at Christmastime. My mother firmly adheres into the notion that Christmas is about the buying and giving of stuff. Every December she calls me and whines that she doesn't get to go shopping and wants to buy presents. And I, who dislikes shopping and holiday crowds, tell her how cold it is and how frenzied the stores are, and negotiate the purchase of gift cards on her behalf, which can be opened on Christmas morning so that she feels she's given a gift and I've avoided having to take her shopping in December. It was a system that was working just fine until Steve entered into the mix. He's such a little Christmas elf.

Every year Steve suggests we take Mommie Dearest shopping, just for the pure joy of getting out in the hustle and bustle with her. Every year I say no. The words pure, joy, and shopping with my mother cannot be formed into a single sentence. This year when he started saying we should take her shopping I responded only slightly less adamantly than I would have if he said we should vacation in North Korea.

NO.

So he tried an different tactic by appealing to Anna's sense of compassion and, less jaded than I, she agreed. They went yesterday, Bob Crachit and Fred, and loaded little Tiny Tim and her walker into the car and took her out into the Christmas decorations, lights, and music. It even snowed all storybook and perfectlike.

Scrooge stayed home and worked.

(Source: Google Images)

They didn't take her out for long or to very many places. She doesn't have the stamina for much. They took her to a Charming Charlie store loaded with costume jewelry, purses, and scarves where she got so excited she developed a  headache, heart palpitations, and lightheadedness.  She had to sit down for a while. Three times. Fortunately she didn't have a stroke. That would have put a damper on the whole storybook outting. Nevertheless, she was thrilled and her Christmas was made. He joy was complete.

All it took was a kind-hearted man and his daughter to put in the effort to take an elderly woman out to do what she loves best. Or second best. Maybe third. Regardless, they lived out the meaning of Christmas. And giving. And sacrifice. They personified what this Christmas business is all about. I can see that now and I've considered what they did.

I'm prepared. Next year when Mommie Dearest calls me complaining that she can't go Christmas shopping I'm pretty sure I know what my answer will be.

Bah Humbug.

I'm gonna need a few more ghostly visits for that one.

The Kindness of Noticing

Random Acts of Kindness is a thing.

I like to hear of someone paying for the next person's venti, half-caf, low-fat, vanilla latte at the Starbuck's drive-thru window (proof that drinking coffee makes one a nicer person) or the benevolent tipper who leaves a huge sum of money for their poor, hard-working server. Those things matter. Regardless of how small, they make the world a better place. I'm especially appreciative of how intentional these givers are. I assume they, in some way, have planned their act of kindness.

Source: coffeecupsandcrayons.com

But, I also appreciate acts of kindness that flow out of people without any pre-meditation. Those things that happen... just because they noticed something.

Twice this week I've been on the receiving end of the kindness of others, not because they planned to do a kind act that day (I don't think) but just simply because they noticed something. I doubt either person knew how much what they did mattered to me. I suspect they didn't give it much thought.

But I did.

Before I explain what they did, I'll just say both acts made me think about how easy it is to encourage someone. Of course, it is just as easy to discourage someone, but this story is about encouraging and I don't want to mess up the goodness mojo with negative talk.

Story number one begins with me stopping at the grocery store for toothpaste. Just one little tube of minty fresh toothpaste was all I needed.  I was on my way home from work and for whatever reason, that day I was feeling particularly tired. Not at all minty fresh.  I went to a store that never seems to have any customers, thinking I could get in and out quickly. After locating the toothpaste I went to the check-out lines only to find that the seven other customers who went to the store that day had all come at the same time, filled their carts, and were just ahead of me.  What I did next seems, in retrospect, a little on the petty side.

I counted items.

Having gone to the Express Lane - which had a sign that said "15 Items or Less"  (and should say "15 Items or Fewer"...but that's just me being petty again) - with my one item, I found myself feeling irritated at the woman in front of me who had more than 15 purchases. Fortunately she didn't see me peering over the edge of her cart, counting. Moments later, however, when I was gazing in the other direction, she turned to me and said, "Oh, you only have one item, go ahead of me."  Feeling a little sheepish about my attitude toward her only seconds before, I thanked her, moved in line ahead of her, bought my toothpaste and left quickly, which had been the goal in the first place.  It wouldn't have killed me to wait but I appreciated her kindness in not making me.  It was a tiny thing. But it made my day brighter. My weary little self felt less weary.

Perhaps I was more aware of her act of kindness because, having been on the receiving end a few days earlier, I had already been thinking about how meaningful simple gestures can be.

As much as I haven't wanted to think about it, my friend Debbie is moving away. For years we have talked about that someday when she and her husband would move and settle into retirement. I didn't worry much about it because it was always in the future. Except now it isn't. Now her house in Colorado is on the market, another one in Kansas purchased, and someday is upon us for real. As much as I am trying to be a grownup and embrace the change, thinking about it makes me forget to breathe.

Debbie and I became friends years ago while singing in our church choir. We both had sons named Parker and before long we discovered we each thought the other was hilarious.  We've shared a lot of life over nearly twenty years. Some good stuff. Some bad stuff. Some silly and some serious. Always with laughter, we've been deeply invested in each other's lives for a very long time.

It feels a little like I've been told I'm having a vital appendage removed.

Last weekend at a gathering of the music ministry, there was time set aside to honor Debbie for her years of service and to pray for her 'new life.' Many wonderful things were said of Debbie and heartfelt prayers were offered for a smooth transition. It was lovely and caring and meaningful and all about Debbie when, out of the blue, one quiet, unassuming man offered a simple prayer for me because, as he put it, "Sue will be lost without Debbie."

He is right. I will.

This man doesn't know me well, but clearly his powers of observation are intact. Amid care and concern for Debbie, he thought to remember what this would mean for me. He had bothered to notice how close we are and anticipate how different my life will be with Debbie in another state.

Something so simple. So kind. So meaningful.

Both the woman in the grocery store and the man in the prayer circle reminded me that kindness is not just about doing, but also about noticing. The art of noticing and caring and then doing.

Perhaps in addition to Random Acts of Kindness, we should start a movement of Random Acts of Noticing, Which In Turn Result In Random Acts of Kindness.

Although the title might need work.

Whatever the title, it doesn't take a lot of planning or effort but simple kindness can mean so much.

Making Assumptions

What's that saying about making assumptions?

Last week I decided to put a pink streak in my hair. Well, it was supposed to be a pink streak. It ended up being a pink splotch. But still, I thought it would be fun so I did it. In retrospect I realize I probably should have found out how long pink dye in blond hair would last before I committed to the splotch. I didn't think about that at the time.

I haven't done anything crazy to my hair for a while now. Having admitted my addiction to color changing chemicals I've been very rational and grown up about my hair recently. I have resisted the desire to make drastic color changes. Until Saturday. When I had a relapse. There I was, home with a free hour and a tube of fuchsia dye in the linen closet. Temptation overtook me. This happened.

It was supposed to be a subtle hot pink strip that just sort of peeked through the blond. Instead it ended up looking a little like I had suffered a head injury.  But, I was late for a party so I didn't have time to worry about it.

I found it interesting that hardly anyone at the party mentioned the bright pink clump of hair on the side of my head. Granted many who were in attendance know me well enough they probably weren't surprised. I'm sure some people couldn't say they liked it so they just chose not to say anything. And it was a pretty polite and conservative group so I wouldn't have expected any of them to say, "What the (insert expletive here)?" 

One relatively young man did say he thought a lot of people would assume a woman my age had dyed her hair pink in an effort to cling to youthfulness. But he added that he knew me and figured I had done it, 'just because.' He is right. I did it just because. Just because I could. Because it was Saturday and I had a free hour and a tube of fuchsia hair dye in the linen closet. And because I'm an addict.

I thought a lot about what he said though. He is right. A lot of people who don't know me would think I had done it in a desperate attempt to look young and hip. Let's face it. If I were going for young and hip I would have changed my hair and clothing style to something a lot more edgy.

Nevertheless, his comments made me think about how often we make assumptions about people.  As if, by mere observation we can actually know something about someone. I'm pretty sure we can't know something about someone unless we actually know the someone. But that doesn't seem to stop us from assuming.

I wanted pink hair because I could. Just that simple.

We all do it. We all make assumptions about people based on what we see. We assume things about people who are fat and skinny and young and old. We make assumptions based on skin color, accent, mannerism, style of dress and a myriad of other arbitrary criteria. Unless we know a person, though, we've no place making assumptions about them.

I'm ashamed to admit that I've made bad initial assumptions about some of the best people I know. Neither size, shape, nor color make the person. It's what can't be seen that truly matters.

I didn't end up loving my fuchsia clump but it was a fun experiment. I'm now conducting a fun experiment trying to get rid of it. I'm always hopeful that I will continue to have hair in that spot even as I try a variety of things to bleach it out. Instead of the bright shock of fuchsia, I currently look like I got a wad of pink cotton candy stuck in my hair.

I can't say I've learned to be more rational about hair color from this experience. I haven't. But I can say it has made me think about how often I make wrong assumptions about people. And about how making those assumptions keeps me from offering grace and kindness and compassion. Without grace and kindness and compassion we can't make this world a better place.

Assume grace.

How Not to Decorate a Cake

We have a philosophy in our family: Celebrate Everything. From the truly special to the truly mundane. When the kids were little we had birthday parties for stuffed animals, made May baskets for neighbor friends, and to this day everyone in the family gets a gift on the first day of snow. It might be a little overly precious, but we like to celebrate. And we like cake. So, it only made sense we would celebrate, with cake, after Anna's International Baccalaureate Recognition ceremony this week.

The ceremony was nice. Sort of like a mini-graduation. It reminded me a lot of the Hooding Ceremony I participated in as a doctoral graduate. Students were given their IB sashes to wear at graduation and there was an air of pride and jubilation. The students conducted themselves politely although as one young man crossed the stage wearing a fedora and carrying a cane I wondered why he was dressed as a young Mahatma Gandhi, the way I remembered him portrayed in the 1982 film. I found out later he was impersonating Snoop Dog. I was clueless, which made me feel a little old and uncool but hey, I guess I am old and uncool. So be it.

We left the ceremony and decided to have a little impromptu celebration at home, which is sort of how a lot of these things go. We make a spontaneous decision to create a celebration and then quickly pull it together. Steve, Parker, and I stopped at the grocery store to find a little pre-made cake. We intended to have "Congratulations, Nerd!" written on it.

We are immensely proud of Anna's accomplishments and we lovingly refer to her as our little nerd. She has managed to go through the rigorous IB program almost like it was nothing. I've noticed that the program evokes a good bit of whining and complaining from a lot of IB students but Anna hardly ever mentioned how challenging it was. We are all a little in awe of her. Not only did she breeze through IB, she also took a job and worked at least 20-hours per week through her junior and senior years. Now granted, Steve, Charles, Parker, and I all held jobs in high school, but none of us came anywhere near the academic achievements Anna has.  Although she didn't have to, she paid for all of her own IB exam fees and maintained a GPA that far surpassed anything the rest of us earned. While we have a pretty smart family, none of us got our act together as early as Anna did. I think my goals in high school were just passing my classes and flirting with boys. I probably didn't get a cake for that.

Anyway, she's pretty much our hero. So she deserved a cake and a celebration.

We found our little cake covered in chocolate frosting with white edging and sugar daisies and took it to the decorating station with its array of partially squeezed, colorful frosting bags. I asked the cake decorator if she would please write on it for me. She took the cake from my hands without a word, as if I was inconveniencing her terribly. I cheerfully asked if she would write, "Congratulations, Nerd!" on it.  At this point she seemed a little angry at me as she glared and said, "Congrats." Meanly. "Um...sure...congrats!"  She grabbed a tube of blue frosting and I started to say, "Oh, how about you use a different color," since blue didn't really coordinate with any of the colors on the cake. I wanted to request yellow but her hostility was palpable so I let it go. I mean, it was cake, not a cure for cancer. I couldn't see provoking her any further. Clearly, asking her to perform her job had created enough conflict. She hastily wrote, 'Congrats, Nerd' and wordlessly, but angrily, handed the cake back to me.

Alrightythen.

We walked away from the bakery department and once we were out of her earshot Steve said quietly, "Well, she was a happy cake lady," which made Parker and me laugh but it did make me wonder why she is working as a cake decorator if she is that miserable. Cake is often involved in happy celebrations. Not always, but most of the time. Her attitude, it seemed, was almost as incongruent as the blue frosting she used to write our sentiment.

I can't begin to know the circumstances of the Grumpy Cake Lady's life. I can't know what made her so angry. If decorating cakes makes her that mad, she might want to find another line of work but I suspect it goes deeper than that. We all have issues and troubles. Some more difficult than others. Some of our own making. Some out of our control. But, I wonder how treating a stranger with disdain could possibly help.

Maybe if Grumpy Cake Lady, you, and I all started treating people even nicer on the days when we feel like being mean, it might make everybody involved just a little happier. I know everyone isn't outgoing and vivacious. I'm not asking for perky. Just polite. Please don't impose your bad day on me and I won't impose my bad day on you. That's all.

It isn't that hard to be nice. Nice people make the world a better place.

And a better world is definitely worth celebrating.

With cake.