Stay the Moment

Driving through the mountains at night where the only illumination is the car's headlights and a waning moon, with Bach's Prelude in D minor the only companion for miles, gives one time to think, to consider the hours and days that have passed and what they have wrought. Though the world would appear to be spiraling out of control I have to say that in my small corner of the world there is much to embrace with satisfaction and a modicum of joy. Time is fleeting and we must take the opportunities to enrich the lives of those around us when they come, despite our own concerns. Somehow when we have given to others, our own lack, our personal fears and foibles, fade into the breathtaking sensation of knowing that on this particular day we have made a difference, we have helped someone know that they matter. It is the investment in the lives of the people we call friends or strangers, that we receive the return we are missing in the business of everyday, and we come away prosperous, even rich in ways that cannot be recorded in ledgers or bankbooks, but will forever be noted in our hearts.

Magpie Amongst the Produce

The words that are most on the tip of my tongue these days are, “can you go any faster?” It is a paranoia I have, thinking that the person checking my groceries has deliberately set a pace that will make me want to reach across the conveyor and slap her. I wonder where these people come from. These people who always have enough time to take their time, and are oblivious to the perspiration building on the brows of those around them. It seems that when my time is at its most fleeting I end up in the line with the checker who wants to know my recipe for whatever it is I'm making that night. “Looks like you're making Fettuccine Alfredo. What do you put in yours?” she asks as she passes the butter, the Parmesan, the heavy cream and the cream cheese over her scanner. They should mark the check out isles, not with number of items, but personality types. I would always go to the Type A line where they understand that I am not here to share recipes. I am here to gather ingredients to cook a meal for my family in time to get the dishes cleaned up this side of MIDNIGHT! I want the grocery store that has a call ahead line, where you just shout out what you're making that night so that when you pull up to the store, the groceries are all waiting curbside, next to a person ready to put them in your trunk. Then I want the call ahead husband line where you just shout out that you've been to the grocery store preparing him to greet you at the door, take the grocery bags from your arms and hand you the open bottle of Valium.

Can I Help Whoever’s Next?

I fear we are slipping to the dangerous side of angry. I have been in the Post Office twice in the past week and both times I witnessed a confrontation between angry mailing patrons and a postal worker. Both times were men; red-faced, cursing, stomping out of the room men. Note to self: when you’re going for the big, offensive exit , wear something other than sneakers. They just don’t have the impact on the tile floor. I have to wonder what goes on in a person’s life that allows them to spend so much energy on mailing a letter. Seriously, you’re walking into a building and leaving a piece of mail, be it a package or a letter, it is still just mail. Granted, the people behind the counter are not gushing with joy at seeing you, but they’ve learned that even the kindest of mail patrons will turn on them if they happen to run out of the Albert Einstein stamps. I watched a woman today trying to stuff a pair of shoes into one of those flat mailing envelopes that will go to the moon and back for less than $5. They were rather large shoes, like maybe a man’s size 13 and she was huffing and spitting, doing all she could to make them fit into the thin cardboard receptacle. I could see her blood pressure rising as the seconds ticked by and I made a decision. I’ll mail my stuff tomorrow.

Privilege

Crest the hill on I-70 at just about the Genesee exit and you will find yourself staring at a phenomenon without equal as layer after layer of mountain range comes into view, purple and ethereal, a majestic expression of the miracle of creation. Now go back and crest the hill again with Mozart’s 40th Symphony filling your car, a furious cacophony of notes and instruments flooding the airwaves and your soul with the brilliance of a man near the end of his life – a majestic expression of the miracle of creation. Mozart, in conjunction with mountains may take more breath away than the average human can embrace. So much fearfully perfect energy wrapped into a single moment can’t be explained in words so must be appreciated without comment. So be silent in the midst of the screaming beauty, the unfathomable riches, and try to remember to breathe.