You may never have heard of the Sadnotes. That is because we are really the Gladnotes. Never heard of them, either? Well, it is a fine singing group made up of elderly singers who enjoy singing to even more elderly people. We go to nursing homes or retirement centers or other such places where most of the people there are ones who are alone in the world. Nobody much touches them. Or gives them a hug or kiss. Or tells them they are loved. Most are homeless and ill. Some just sit and stare at nothing in particular, seemingly just waiting to die.
So once a week we gather and put on our show. It is all worth it when we see one trying to sing along or smile a bit. When we are through singing we usually try to go to every one and hold their hands or give them a hug. We try to laugh with them if they will let us. Then we leave giving thanks for the wonderful life we are still able to enjoy while wishing there were more we could do to give them even a little bit of joy.
It is difficult to tell just how much I enjoy singing with this group. There are not many soloists in the group but we all make a joyful noise. So now let me share with you one very special time with the Sadnotes:
We had just finished our routine and were about to greet all we could. I had watched an elderly woman while we sang. She sat still with her head sort of bowed. Her lips were moving and I thought I could see her singing along with us. I watched as she tapped her fingers on her armchair as if she were playing a piano along with us. At the end of each song she would slightly look up and I thought I could see tears running down her cheeks. When we were done singing I went to her and reached for her hand. She looked at me with the smile of an angel. I asked her if she would mind standing up. She wanted to know why so I told her I wanted a hug. She stood no, hopped up and threw her arms around me sort of like a mother hugs a loving son. And we stayed like that for a long time. After several minutes we parted and I stepped back just in time to see a beautiful set of eyes glowing while tears were running down her cheeks.
“Young man,” she said. (I am almost eighty years old.) “I cannot remember the last time anyone hugged me. As a matter of fact nobody ever even touches me anymore. And you hugged me as if you really wanted to. You showed me love and heaven knows people my age need that. Thank you for caring.”
I kissed her on the cheek and told her I loved her. I told her that we were both God’s children so we were sort of brother and sister.
I hope as you read this you do not think I am trying to toot my own horn trying to make you think I am some kind of special person. I am not.
But the people we sing to are!
It has been a while since I told you that I love you but I still do. Come back soon. We will be joyful together.
Friday, December 2, 2011
Wednesday, November 30, 2011
Green Tomato Catsup
Green Tomato Catsup
When I was in the Navy they sent me to Sangley Point, Isle of Luzon, Republic of the Philippines for two years. Actually it was two years, two months, and two days, but who was counting? During that time I really enjoyed myself. I got to play baseball most of the time and had several of the easiest jobs the Navy had to offer. So much for fighting a war, eh? Well, when it came time for me to go home I was surprised to find out that I was homesick. And when I got home my mother didn’t help that much. She was so elated to see me that I felt like a little boy again. The first thing she asked me after I gave her a chance to talk was: “What do you want me to fix you for dinner? You can have anything you want. Just name it!”
My response was quick because I had been dreaming about exactly that all the way home. I told her, “I want white soup beans, green tomato catsup, and cornbread!”
“No, really! I said anything: steak, lobster, anything.”
“Mom, I really want white soup beans, green tomato catsup and cornbread. I have been waiting for that meal for two years, two months, and two days. (But who was counting?)
You see, that was the main meal I grew up on. That may be why I am so short. But anyway to me it is still the best meal ever. She did fix it for me and after that dinner I was ready to die. I had attained it all.
I guess by now you are wondering just exactly what all this dinner really is. So I am going to tell you, although it would help if you spoke West Kentucky Slang.
First off, white soup beans is just a category. Any bean that is white or even some that are not (such as pintos) qualify. As you probably already know, any bean dinner will not only fill you up but it will enhance your social life afterwards. (If you don’t understand that, then it is very likely that you are not a bean connoisseur.)
Second, everyone knows about cornbread unless of course you in fact do not have a life. So I will not talk too much about that part’
This blog is really about the third element: green tomato catsup. You may not have even ever heard of it. And if it is known by you, you may be more apt to call it relish. Whatever you may call it, in my family it is known as green tomato catsup. So there!
I have written a lot today just to get to the story I want to share. You see for years my mother actually made green tomato catsup each year when the tomatoes were about to end. But she made it by herself and nobody else knew her recipe. When she died at the early age of sixty-four none of us in our family knew that recipe. She took it with her. My two sisters and I were devastated. Now what would we do? No more green tomato catsup.
Then one happy Christmas Eave (I was singing that) I got a wonderful surprise in the mail from my sister Bette. It was a pint bottle of green tomato catsup. And it was just like Mom’s! What had happened? Well, Bette had been talking to a friend and telling her about how our family had been torn away from the real recipe. The friend laughed and told her that Mom had given her the recipe several years before she died. The friend had never tried it. I highly suspect she was educated beyond her intelligence. But Bette tried it and sent me a pint. And the recipe. We had now all come to life again.
So we all got together and made a massive decision. We were to all meet at Bette’s house and form an assembly line and make several pints of this fine condiment. We agreed on twenty pints, plus or minus. My job was to bring the green tomatoes, enough for the planned number of pints. I went to our local homegrown store and asked them how many tomatoes did they think we would need. I was told that it would probably take about two bushels. Unless math is in feet and inches those kinds of answers didn’t mean much to me. So I got the two bushels.
Others had procured the rest of the needed ingredients. And they were really good at math so they all had the right amounts. I was assigned as the chopper. Or more like a grinder because that is what we used. Why? Because that is what my mother used. What did you think? As the day went by my nephew made many trips back to the store to get even more ingredients, each of us trying our best to keep up with that two bushels of tomatoes. At the end of the day we stopped and counted hoping that we had our goal of twenty pints. We did. And more. A lot more.
All in all we had sixty-six jars. But not all were pints. Nine of them were quarts. A couple were left over. Two buckets full. Big buckets! We discarded them with a closing prayer.
We are going to do that again next year. You see that was three years ago and we all still have some. Would you like a taste? Or a pint to take home. If you like it we will have some more to share next year.
But one thing that we all agreed on. Someone else will bring the tomatoes. I get to bring the salt. We don’t use that.
This has been my yummiest blog. I think I am going to ask Linda to cook some white beans for tonight. We seem to have plenty of green tomato catsup.
When I was in the Navy they sent me to Sangley Point, Isle of Luzon, Republic of the Philippines for two years. Actually it was two years, two months, and two days, but who was counting? During that time I really enjoyed myself. I got to play baseball most of the time and had several of the easiest jobs the Navy had to offer. So much for fighting a war, eh? Well, when it came time for me to go home I was surprised to find out that I was homesick. And when I got home my mother didn’t help that much. She was so elated to see me that I felt like a little boy again. The first thing she asked me after I gave her a chance to talk was: “What do you want me to fix you for dinner? You can have anything you want. Just name it!”
My response was quick because I had been dreaming about exactly that all the way home. I told her, “I want white soup beans, green tomato catsup, and cornbread!”
“No, really! I said anything: steak, lobster, anything.”
“Mom, I really want white soup beans, green tomato catsup and cornbread. I have been waiting for that meal for two years, two months, and two days. (But who was counting?)
You see, that was the main meal I grew up on. That may be why I am so short. But anyway to me it is still the best meal ever. She did fix it for me and after that dinner I was ready to die. I had attained it all.
I guess by now you are wondering just exactly what all this dinner really is. So I am going to tell you, although it would help if you spoke West Kentucky Slang.
First off, white soup beans is just a category. Any bean that is white or even some that are not (such as pintos) qualify. As you probably already know, any bean dinner will not only fill you up but it will enhance your social life afterwards. (If you don’t understand that, then it is very likely that you are not a bean connoisseur.)
Second, everyone knows about cornbread unless of course you in fact do not have a life. So I will not talk too much about that part’
This blog is really about the third element: green tomato catsup. You may not have even ever heard of it. And if it is known by you, you may be more apt to call it relish. Whatever you may call it, in my family it is known as green tomato catsup. So there!
I have written a lot today just to get to the story I want to share. You see for years my mother actually made green tomato catsup each year when the tomatoes were about to end. But she made it by herself and nobody else knew her recipe. When she died at the early age of sixty-four none of us in our family knew that recipe. She took it with her. My two sisters and I were devastated. Now what would we do? No more green tomato catsup.
Then one happy Christmas Eave (I was singing that) I got a wonderful surprise in the mail from my sister Bette. It was a pint bottle of green tomato catsup. And it was just like Mom’s! What had happened? Well, Bette had been talking to a friend and telling her about how our family had been torn away from the real recipe. The friend laughed and told her that Mom had given her the recipe several years before she died. The friend had never tried it. I highly suspect she was educated beyond her intelligence. But Bette tried it and sent me a pint. And the recipe. We had now all come to life again.
So we all got together and made a massive decision. We were to all meet at Bette’s house and form an assembly line and make several pints of this fine condiment. We agreed on twenty pints, plus or minus. My job was to bring the green tomatoes, enough for the planned number of pints. I went to our local homegrown store and asked them how many tomatoes did they think we would need. I was told that it would probably take about two bushels. Unless math is in feet and inches those kinds of answers didn’t mean much to me. So I got the two bushels.
Others had procured the rest of the needed ingredients. And they were really good at math so they all had the right amounts. I was assigned as the chopper. Or more like a grinder because that is what we used. Why? Because that is what my mother used. What did you think? As the day went by my nephew made many trips back to the store to get even more ingredients, each of us trying our best to keep up with that two bushels of tomatoes. At the end of the day we stopped and counted hoping that we had our goal of twenty pints. We did. And more. A lot more.
All in all we had sixty-six jars. But not all were pints. Nine of them were quarts. A couple were left over. Two buckets full. Big buckets! We discarded them with a closing prayer.
We are going to do that again next year. You see that was three years ago and we all still have some. Would you like a taste? Or a pint to take home. If you like it we will have some more to share next year.
But one thing that we all agreed on. Someone else will bring the tomatoes. I get to bring the salt. We don’t use that.
This has been my yummiest blog. I think I am going to ask Linda to cook some white beans for tonight. We seem to have plenty of green tomato catsup.
Monday, September 12, 2011
My friend Bob
It was just a normal day at the liar's club. I was sitting with a few friends and we were settling many world problems when the subject of home fix-it stuff came up. I wanted to share so I told them about our kitchen sink. You see, Linda had just told me that when she tried to turn on the water, water sprouted out through the top. My wanting to impress her I quickly explained to her that it was probably just an o-ring that had worn out. So I called the company where we had purchased this fine piece of hardware and ordered a set of o-rings that they suggested. That was all I said. It was not much of a story but it was all I had at the time. My friends sitting near me promptly changed the subject.
As nearly always happens at that club it was not long until almost everyone there had left, leaving only two or three of us who were still trying to think of something interesting to say.
That was when Bob entered the picture. He had been sitting at the far end away from me but apparently had heard every word. He walked up to me and said, "Come on, Willy. I am taking you home and I am going to fix your sink."
I barely knew Bob. Yes, I had met him but we rarely talked. And there he stood ready to help me. And he was sincere. He wasn't looking for any thank-yous or wanting any pay. He simply wanted to be nice. It was a random act of kindness we do not often see. It was a gesture I will never forget.
It was about a week later when I noticed that we had not seen Bob for several days. And then John came in with the story: Bob had been in a wreck and was at the hospital in a coma. It didn't look good and the doctor had said that he was probably not going to make it. He had been hit head on by a car driven by a young man who had just been released from jail having been guilty for the third DUI in less than a month.
Bob died. And I never got the chance to tell him how much I appreciated his very kind offer to help me. So now I want to share it with anyone who happens to be reading this. He was a fine man who spent time longing to help others. What a legacy! I truly think that there is a special place in Heaven for Bob. Rest in peace, my friend. You will be missed.
As nearly always happens at that club it was not long until almost everyone there had left, leaving only two or three of us who were still trying to think of something interesting to say.
That was when Bob entered the picture. He had been sitting at the far end away from me but apparently had heard every word. He walked up to me and said, "Come on, Willy. I am taking you home and I am going to fix your sink."
I barely knew Bob. Yes, I had met him but we rarely talked. And there he stood ready to help me. And he was sincere. He wasn't looking for any thank-yous or wanting any pay. He simply wanted to be nice. It was a random act of kindness we do not often see. It was a gesture I will never forget.
It was about a week later when I noticed that we had not seen Bob for several days. And then John came in with the story: Bob had been in a wreck and was at the hospital in a coma. It didn't look good and the doctor had said that he was probably not going to make it. He had been hit head on by a car driven by a young man who had just been released from jail having been guilty for the third DUI in less than a month.
Bob died. And I never got the chance to tell him how much I appreciated his very kind offer to help me. So now I want to share it with anyone who happens to be reading this. He was a fine man who spent time longing to help others. What a legacy! I truly think that there is a special place in Heaven for Bob. Rest in peace, my friend. You will be missed.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Another Act of Kindness
It was just two wooden stools. I am not even aware what they were used for. But there they were, sitting in the fellowship hall of our church. So Jim came in and pulled one of them over to sit on. It was pretty shaky so he tried the other one. It was worse. I watched him go find another chair that was stable enough to sit on. I thought that was the end of the story.
But it wasn't.
Today I was in the choir room at church when someone opened the outside door. And there I saw Jim coming from the parking lot carrying two stools. He came in, sat them down, looked at me and smiled.
"Now someone can sit on one of these things if they want to. And it will hold them," he announced.
You probably have guessed what he did. Yes, he did. He took those shabby stools home and made four extra leg rails to stiffen the four that was supposed to do the job, re-glued the other joints, cleaned them up, painted them and brought them back for anyone to use if they needed to. They were like two new stools.
What is it that I am trying to say here? Well, if I had sat on either of them while finding that they needed fixing I would probably have said that I thought someone should fix them and drop it at that. But Jim took them home and fixed them. Without being asked to do so. He did that without telling anyone what he was going to do and returned them without telling anyone what he had done. It was just a simple act of kindness for which he expected no reward at all. He didn't even expect a thank you because he didn't tell anyone what he had done. I would not have known had I not witnessed it without his knowing it.
The little things we do for others come
back to reward us no matter how hard we try to keep it secret. And you could see the reward Jim had received by seeing the smile on his face.
There was a smile on my face, too. I was proud of Jim. And my guess is that God is smiling as well. We don't have to change the world by doing great things. We help change the world by small acts of kindness. Don't you wish we were all a bit like Jim?
But it wasn't.
Today I was in the choir room at church when someone opened the outside door. And there I saw Jim coming from the parking lot carrying two stools. He came in, sat them down, looked at me and smiled.
"Now someone can sit on one of these things if they want to. And it will hold them," he announced.
You probably have guessed what he did. Yes, he did. He took those shabby stools home and made four extra leg rails to stiffen the four that was supposed to do the job, re-glued the other joints, cleaned them up, painted them and brought them back for anyone to use if they needed to. They were like two new stools.
What is it that I am trying to say here? Well, if I had sat on either of them while finding that they needed fixing I would probably have said that I thought someone should fix them and drop it at that. But Jim took them home and fixed them. Without being asked to do so. He did that without telling anyone what he was going to do and returned them without telling anyone what he had done. It was just a simple act of kindness for which he expected no reward at all. He didn't even expect a thank you because he didn't tell anyone what he had done. I would not have known had I not witnessed it without his knowing it.
The little things we do for others come
back to reward us no matter how hard we try to keep it secret. And you could see the reward Jim had received by seeing the smile on his face.
There was a smile on my face, too. I was proud of Jim. And my guess is that God is smiling as well. We don't have to change the world by doing great things. We help change the world by small acts of kindness. Don't you wish we were all a bit like Jim?
Friday, March 11, 2011
Looking Back
Each of us might feel better if occasionally we looked back at our lives. Hopefully we can learn from that experience. A really smart man told me one time that we never learn from our mistakes. I was shocked at that statement until he explained. He asked me to to think about horseshoes. If you throw a horseshoe ten times you may only get one or even no ringers. However if you keep throwing them eventually you will toss perhaps ten or at least close to that. If we learned by our mistakes we would never be able to get a ringer because we made ten mistakes the first try. But as time goes by and we keep throwing we learn to do it right because we have learned by the things we have done correctly. Does any of this make sense?
Because I am getting old I looked back on my life. And what did I learn? Not much I'm afraid. But one thing stands out for me.
For fifty years or so I designed houses for a living. Altogether I think I designed somewhere around three hundred. Some of them were McMansions and some were small houses that could be built with dynamite boxes and thumbtacks. All were extremely well done. (Please forget I said that!) I never argued with a client. If they told me they wanted a three foot wide closet with a two foot door that is what I put on the drawings. I knew that I was not allowed a preference as to anything in the house. The house for most people is the largest and most important investment they will ever make. It is personal and dear to the ones who will live there. So it was my job to draw away and otherwise keep my mouth shut. When, if ever I designed one for myself, then and only then would I be allowed a taste. When I was asked to include something that I was certain would not work I would suggest that they might reconsider but if they insisted then there it was on the drawings.
So how did I keep my sanity? Well I sometimes think that I didn't. But I did have a speach that I always gave when the drawings were through. I would sit them down and ask them if I could say a few words before they began construction. If they said that it was all right then this is the words I gave them, free of charge:
"Folks, I can give you anything you want on your design. It is easy to put such things on drawings. I can do this even if I disagree with the things you have asked for. That is my job. And when all has been accomplished then you will have the house you wanted. However it will still not be a home. For that to happen you will have to do your part. You will have to add the love. Love for each other. Love for your family and the friends who will visit your house. You will have to work together to build the family who will share what you have built for them. I appreciate your letting me be a part of all of this but be aware that in the future you will look upon this design as yours. Your ideas! Your desires. Your wants. Your needs. So enjoy your house and enjoy the love that it encases."
I have seen the inside of perhaps a dozen of my designed houses after the furniture was in it. The house is a personal thing and the designer at that time is no longer needed or wanted in most cases. They get you ready for this in Architectural school and so it ends up being what we all want. In the end the love wins!
I have had a good life and now am retired. What would I do different? Maybe I would have tried harder to learn to play that stupid banjo.
Write me and share your story, eh? It is all right for you to laugh at mine but I promise not to laugh at yours.
Because I am getting old I looked back on my life. And what did I learn? Not much I'm afraid. But one thing stands out for me.
For fifty years or so I designed houses for a living. Altogether I think I designed somewhere around three hundred. Some of them were McMansions and some were small houses that could be built with dynamite boxes and thumbtacks. All were extremely well done. (Please forget I said that!) I never argued with a client. If they told me they wanted a three foot wide closet with a two foot door that is what I put on the drawings. I knew that I was not allowed a preference as to anything in the house. The house for most people is the largest and most important investment they will ever make. It is personal and dear to the ones who will live there. So it was my job to draw away and otherwise keep my mouth shut. When, if ever I designed one for myself, then and only then would I be allowed a taste. When I was asked to include something that I was certain would not work I would suggest that they might reconsider but if they insisted then there it was on the drawings.
So how did I keep my sanity? Well I sometimes think that I didn't. But I did have a speach that I always gave when the drawings were through. I would sit them down and ask them if I could say a few words before they began construction. If they said that it was all right then this is the words I gave them, free of charge:
"Folks, I can give you anything you want on your design. It is easy to put such things on drawings. I can do this even if I disagree with the things you have asked for. That is my job. And when all has been accomplished then you will have the house you wanted. However it will still not be a home. For that to happen you will have to do your part. You will have to add the love. Love for each other. Love for your family and the friends who will visit your house. You will have to work together to build the family who will share what you have built for them. I appreciate your letting me be a part of all of this but be aware that in the future you will look upon this design as yours. Your ideas! Your desires. Your wants. Your needs. So enjoy your house and enjoy the love that it encases."
I have seen the inside of perhaps a dozen of my designed houses after the furniture was in it. The house is a personal thing and the designer at that time is no longer needed or wanted in most cases. They get you ready for this in Architectural school and so it ends up being what we all want. In the end the love wins!
I have had a good life and now am retired. What would I do different? Maybe I would have tried harder to learn to play that stupid banjo.
Write me and share your story, eh? It is all right for you to laugh at mine but I promise not to laugh at yours.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The happiness maker
This past Valentine's day Linda gave me two tickets for a show at our Kravis Center. We went to see it last night. And what a show it was!
In the early 1950's my favorite show was a show about some sailors on a small boat who were always in some kind of trouble. I was in the Navy at the time which made it even better for me. I would watch it and laugh and laugh and laugh. Other sailors watched it with me and we all laughed together. Why, you ask? Well it was basically because of a short funny Ensign who was forever and always saying the unexpected and hilariously funny lines. It was a sad day when it was announced that the show would no longer be on.
But the Ensign lived on. He was later to show up in another show where he continued to come up with words and phrases at odd times that seemed to always apply but still made everyone laugh. It was often times when he would say things that were probably not in the script at all at which time the others in the show would laugh in spite of themselves. I read about this fine entertainer and found out that he was active in many activities that helped children. Maybe children of all ages! He is also a family man. I took a good look at why I liked this man so much. He was funny, yes. He was talented., yes. But there was something else. I think that I zoomed in on what his real talent was and still is. He is sincere. In all of the times I have seen him perform I have never heard a harsh word out of his mouth. All of his humor is clean and family style. A natural humor that all of us ought to carry in our hearts.
Last night as I was enjoying the show my thoughts went briefly back to my younger days. I remember telling my family that all I wanted to do with my life was to make other people happy by making them laugh. I sincerely wanted to be a stand up comedian. I even took classes. I would practice what I wanted to say at any occasion. I was really into it all except that I had one small problem. I wasn't funny. So I got a paper route.
So maybe that is why I have such a deep regard for that wonderful entertainer who does so much for all of us while keeping it all clean and worth while.
I sincerely wish that we had more decent entertainers like my friend (who doesn't even know me) Tim Conway!
In the early 1950's my favorite show was a show about some sailors on a small boat who were always in some kind of trouble. I was in the Navy at the time which made it even better for me. I would watch it and laugh and laugh and laugh. Other sailors watched it with me and we all laughed together. Why, you ask? Well it was basically because of a short funny Ensign who was forever and always saying the unexpected and hilariously funny lines. It was a sad day when it was announced that the show would no longer be on.
But the Ensign lived on. He was later to show up in another show where he continued to come up with words and phrases at odd times that seemed to always apply but still made everyone laugh. It was often times when he would say things that were probably not in the script at all at which time the others in the show would laugh in spite of themselves. I read about this fine entertainer and found out that he was active in many activities that helped children. Maybe children of all ages! He is also a family man. I took a good look at why I liked this man so much. He was funny, yes. He was talented., yes. But there was something else. I think that I zoomed in on what his real talent was and still is. He is sincere. In all of the times I have seen him perform I have never heard a harsh word out of his mouth. All of his humor is clean and family style. A natural humor that all of us ought to carry in our hearts.
Last night as I was enjoying the show my thoughts went briefly back to my younger days. I remember telling my family that all I wanted to do with my life was to make other people happy by making them laugh. I sincerely wanted to be a stand up comedian. I even took classes. I would practice what I wanted to say at any occasion. I was really into it all except that I had one small problem. I wasn't funny. So I got a paper route.
So maybe that is why I have such a deep regard for that wonderful entertainer who does so much for all of us while keeping it all clean and worth while.
I sincerely wish that we had more decent entertainers like my friend (who doesn't even know me) Tim Conway!
Thursday, February 10, 2011
The thoughtful one
Every once in a while I hear a story that I think everybody aught to hear. And such is the story told by Oscar. (another made up name) I will tell you a little bit about Oscar but I will change some of it to protect the guilty. And besides if I do it that way I can even lie about things if I choose to do so.
Oscar is almost as old as I am but he is a whole lot smarter. And better, as you will see if you keep reading. He is retired but, as is the case with most of us who have done such a crazy thing, he was bored. So he started to do volunteer work. His favorite is taking food, that has been prepared by other volunteers, to St. George's Kitchen. I went with him a couple of times and cannot believe the good that happens there. Every day they feed many people, most of whom are homeless. When you go there, even if you do just a little bit of work, you leave with a lump in your heart. You feel like you have given a gift to God. And instead of expecting God to say thank you you want to thank Him for the opportunity.
But that is just part of the story.
Oscar decided that he would get a job somewhere to supplement his meager income. So he got one at a large grocery store working as a bag boy. Not too bad for a retired engineer, wouldn't you say? He loves the job because he gets to talk to all the customers while he gives them smiles and wishes of good will. He will tell you that he gets a lot more than he gives. I know I am proud of him.
The policy of the store where he works does not allow tips. He told me that when he helps people with their carts they more often than not offer him a tip. He politely tells them that that is not acceptable at that store. But sometimes they will insist. So does he take it? Yes he does, but not before telling them that he does not plan to keep it for himself, but that he is going to donate it to St George's Kitchen. If they ask he then explains to them just how wonderful St. George's Kitchen is and what they do for needy people. Often they will reach into their wallets and add to the tip because they want to be a part.
Each person who does that leaves with a deep feeling that he or she has made our world a little bit better in which to live. And from where I stand it makes them all a little bit better also. Love your neighbor! In true action. That is why I am proud to call Oscar my friend. Now I have three.
See you soon! Volunteer somewhere, won't you? Let's all work together to make this a better world to live in.
Oscar is almost as old as I am but he is a whole lot smarter. And better, as you will see if you keep reading. He is retired but, as is the case with most of us who have done such a crazy thing, he was bored. So he started to do volunteer work. His favorite is taking food, that has been prepared by other volunteers, to St. George's Kitchen. I went with him a couple of times and cannot believe the good that happens there. Every day they feed many people, most of whom are homeless. When you go there, even if you do just a little bit of work, you leave with a lump in your heart. You feel like you have given a gift to God. And instead of expecting God to say thank you you want to thank Him for the opportunity.
But that is just part of the story.
Oscar decided that he would get a job somewhere to supplement his meager income. So he got one at a large grocery store working as a bag boy. Not too bad for a retired engineer, wouldn't you say? He loves the job because he gets to talk to all the customers while he gives them smiles and wishes of good will. He will tell you that he gets a lot more than he gives. I know I am proud of him.
The policy of the store where he works does not allow tips. He told me that when he helps people with their carts they more often than not offer him a tip. He politely tells them that that is not acceptable at that store. But sometimes they will insist. So does he take it? Yes he does, but not before telling them that he does not plan to keep it for himself, but that he is going to donate it to St George's Kitchen. If they ask he then explains to them just how wonderful St. George's Kitchen is and what they do for needy people. Often they will reach into their wallets and add to the tip because they want to be a part.
Each person who does that leaves with a deep feeling that he or she has made our world a little bit better in which to live. And from where I stand it makes them all a little bit better also. Love your neighbor! In true action. That is why I am proud to call Oscar my friend. Now I have three.
See you soon! Volunteer somewhere, won't you? Let's all work together to make this a better world to live in.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)