“No one has ever come in to visit just to thank me!” - Pat Harris

Living for Crumbs

Pat Harris was working in his office on the second floor.  The room is large.  It is also largely full.  The walls are covered with photos, newspaper clippings and other personal memorabilia.  So much so that one could spend days surveying them.  It is museum-like with each piece being a crumb making up part of Pat’s life.

“No one has ever come in to visit just to thank me!  They always come in to complain about something.”  Pat said, after hearing the sincere thank you expressing gratitude for all he provides.  Yet, this one thanks initially seemed like a crumb, as if lost in an ocean, compared to the sea of other comments he was referring to. But, a crumb can be a suggestion of the availability of more.

“Quiet.”  I said to Harry Pupper while on our morning walk and feeling crumbs at the bottom of his bag of treats.  The words alone captured Harry’s attention.  But, there was more of him to capture.  So, I felt around inside his treat bag until I felt two nuggets and pulled them out, while expending my arm in preparation to drop them as a reward.  Harry watched my hand intently as my fingers rolled the two scrumptious pieces.  But, the main pieces didn’t drop.  A couple of crumbs fell instead.

Harry surged forward seeking his much-anticipated reward.  His nose twitched.  His legs darted back and forth searching for the inadvertently dropped crumb.  He was searching for more.  Deeper satisfaction.  He was so intent on finding the crumbs, he barely heard my request to look up.  To look for more.

More was on its way.  I finally put my hand down near his snout so his sense of smell could shift his heart so it could be controlled by his brain.  Finally, he sat quietly, looking up expectantly.  I dropped one treat.  He caught it in a watering mouth.  I dropped the second tidbit.  His heart was full as soon as it tingled his taste buds.  Harry was glad he hadn’t simply settled for crumbs!

Pat Harris was settled in, working in his crumb-of-memories-filled office on the second floor.  The room is large.  It’s also seemingly largely full.  The walls are covered with photos, newspaper clippings and other personal memorabilia.  So much so that one could spend days studying them.  It is museum-like with each memorable piece being crumb-like, making up part of Pat’s life.

“No one has ever come in to visit just to thank me!  They always come in to complain about something.”  Pat said, after hearing a sincere thank you, expressing gratitude for all he provides.  

One small thanks may initially seem like a crumb, as if lost in an ocean, compared to the sea of other comments he was referring to. Yet, a crumb can be a suggestion of the availability of more.

Showing personal gratitude to those we live and work with may not seem like much.  But, when offered regularly, simple, added-up appreciation has the ability to shift a brain, overwhelmed by crumbs of unhappiness, toward heart-felt joy and satisfaction.

“I thought the whole place looked perfect, beautiful until I went to look at the foundation.” – Caroline Wheat

Bad Luck

There had been a large snow storm three weeks before.  The sun then warmed things up for a couple of days before an ice storm hit like a full punch in the face from Mohammad Ali.  That ice storm lasted four full days before the sun returned and began to melt it away. It had been bad!  And, the last of the ice was still hanging around for the following two days before the rain began.

The rain wasn’t a hard rain, but it was steady.  It melted the last of the ice by the end of the first day it fell.  That didn’t stop it.  It rained more, as if the Jolly Green Giant had picked up the watering can from his garden and allowed it to sprinkle, and sprinkle, and sprinkle.  By late in the afternoon on the second day it was obvious that Jolly Green’s watering can was about empty.  The rain was coming to an end.  But, that wasn’t all that was coming to an end.

Caroline’s trip into town was ending as well.  She had driven with her husband, Anthony, and their belongings all the way from Florida.  Her parents had come too.  They’d driven from their home in Louisiana to see the new home their daughter was about to purchase.  The four of them arrived together and they were all smiles as they stepped out of their comfortable car.

Their smiles broadened as they walked through the front door of Caroline’s soon to be new home.  You know how it is.  They were visualizing where they would place their furniture and how it would look.  Everything was just as they had hoped.  Yet, their hope was soon to be washed away by the rain.  As soon as we walked into the dark crawl space.

Perhaps crawl space is a poor description.  There was no need to crawl beneath the house.  They flipped on the light and the once dark space was instantly illuminated.  By the time the underside of the house was alight the rain had stopped, but the sound of falling water hadn’t!

“I thought the whole place looked perfect, beautiful until I went to look at the foundation.”  Caroline said.  “This is a disaster!”

So, it would seem.  There was a garden hose sized, steady stream of water springing from the foundation just about five feet from the front of the house.  It had been running for a long time.  It was the unseen side of the rain storm.  And it jumped out, as if a jack-in-the-box leaping out in surprise.

“I know it looks that way.”  Caroline’s father answered.  “But, I’d say it is good luck!”

He had a lot of experience in this kind of circumstance, being a civil engineer.  He explained that the issue could be solved with some contextual repairs, a carefully placed rain gutter, French drains to push the flowing water away from the house, and a cut through the foundation to make sure the water hadn’t eroded the packed-fill beneath the garage floor which was located right above and behind the leaking wall.

“You haven’t closed on the purchase yet.”  He continued.  “We’ll meet with the contractor tomorrow so we can speak with him about these essential repairs.  Can you imagine what could have happened later, lurking unknown, below, without having this kind of rain culminating at the exact right time?”

There had been a large snow storm three weeks before.  The sun then warmed things up for a couple of days before an ice storm hit like a full punch in the face from Mohammad Ali.  That ice storm lasted four full days before the sun returned and began to melt it away.  And, the last of the ice was still hanging around for the following two days before the seemingly “bad-luck-rain” began.  

That same rain also changed what at first appeared to be bad luck into a new understanding.  Experience and perspective didn’t stop the rain, but it changed the way one young woman’s view became fresh as rain.  What luck!

 

“The very secret of life for me, I believed, was to maintain in the midst of rushing events an inner tranquility.” – Margaret Bourke-White

The Very Secret of Life

It had been two years!  The news had just reached me, these many days later.  In fact, the number of days was four-hundred-five since my friend’s daughter had passed away.  Receiving this news was difficult.  It can only be described as something akin to having one of those huge, yellow dump trucks, like the giant ones used at Kennecott Copper, suddenly park on my chest.  And upon that truck’s arrival, all of my inner tranquility was immediately crushed!

One quote, from photographic genius Margaret Bourke-White began playing as if looped directly into my ears.  “The very secret of life for me, I believed, was to maintain in the midst of rushing events an inner tranquility.”

Then, as if an internal playlist had completely taken over my thoughts, another voice of advice, one from my teenage years joined the chorus.  “Do not be blind to the sight of one who needs you.”

I didn’t know how my friend Debra Beresini would feel about receiving a call from someone who had been blind to her painful circumstance for so long.  So, I took a deep breath before I touched her number on my phone; hoping she would still need me, even though late.

My call went to voice mail.  I left a conciliatory message.  “Hi Debra, I just heard that your daughter passed away a couple of years ago.  I’m so embarrassed I didn’t know before now!  Will you please call me so we can catchup?”

When no call came back to me within the following couple of hours I called again.  Not because I wanted to be a bother, but to show I was genuine in my desire to speak with her.

Ding!  “I’ll call you back.”  Debra’s text read, flashing across my screen.

When we began conversing on the phone a few minutes later, the huge, yellow-copper-mine-dump-truck started its slow ramble off my chest and out of my heart.  Debra had remembered the exact time of our last conversation.  2018!  Then, she kindly described what she had been going through since.

“I hadn’t been ready to reach out to anyone because of the pain I was still feeling.”  She explained.

“No one should have to feel the pain of outliving one of their children.”  I responded.  “It’s against the natural order of things.”

“Yes, it is!” Debra rejoined, quick as a lightning strike.

We spoke for about a half hour before she began to transition our conversation toward its end.

“Thank you for calling!  It feels so good to have someone I thought I had a strong friendship with come to me when I needed them!”

“The very secret of life!”  I said to myself, “A photographic finish!” Knowing that not being blind to the sight of someone who needs me, was just confirmed to be the best advice I’ve ever received.  Because, in the midst of rushing events an inner tranquility immediately distilled my heart.

“If you listen and pay attention, I bet you can find a deeper journey you are meant to be on, too.” – Paul Millerd

Pathless Path

I looked at the pile of bailing twine in front of me.  The truth is that I had been looking at that heap of twine, in its not very lonely spot, in the hay barn for a long time.  After all, I, along with a couple of others, are the ones who had been putting that twine, strand by strand, into its large holding-garbage-can for months on end.  And, I didn’t want to go to the hard work of tackling and moving that gargantuan, Godzilla looking, mess. This particular viewing was different though.  It allowed me to realize that this seemingly, significant pile of strands was one component of a continual disquieting.

My friend Paul Millerd had talked with me about this kind of disquieting not long ago. He said, “If you listen and pay attention, I bet you can find a deeper journey you are meant to be on.”

He went on to describe like intermixed strands of bewilderment by admitting that, generally, no one knows what comes next in their life and that he doesn’t have an idea, all the answers, in his own life. But, he’s spent enough time on life’s uncertain journey to know that when it comes to building a life around what you love, there are no short cuts, roadmaps, or instructions. The best we can do is share our stories. Stories that will help others untangle their own strands and figure out the “real work” of their lives: finding things to work on that matter.

At one point or another I’m sure you’ve faced your own trash can filled with innumerable strands. You’ve felt overwhelmed. Well, if you're like the rest of humanity anyway! Such disquieting feelings tend to come to the surface when we feel as if we’re facing unknown unknowns, a pathless path.  A path we just don’t know how to walk; ideas and paths for which there is no map. 

Paul says that in an effort to untangle his own way he embraced a principle he calls “design for liking work.”  “The reality is that most people want to be useful, and that means some form of work in people’s lives. With patience and a willingness to feel lost and take it slow, over the last few years, I started to find a better relationship with work. Inspired by ideas from internet writers, poets, books on spirituality and religion, my own writing, self-experiments, and those conversations with internet friends from around the world, I’ve been able to build a life I am excited to keep living. While it took me more than five years to come close to matching my previous income—a reality that holds many people back from leaving their jobs—I can say without a doubt, it might be harder on this current path, but it’s worth it.”

“It might be harder in a way.  But, it might, just as well be easier!”  I said to myself as I took hold of two strands of bailing twine and quickly rolled them together into a hand-sized circle before easily slipping them into the pocket of my jeans.  Untangling just one or two strands, from that huge pile every day, was easy and comforting as I watched the once seemingly unconquerable pile shrink over time.  After a few weeks all of the strands had been untangled; the mess was gone and my newly created path had become well-worn.

When you find yourself on a pathless path, be a little patient.  Be willing to feel a little lost.  Take it slow, until what was once a pathless path becomes the well-worn path of your own choosing.