I will say nothing, and love you with my eyes

With all this internet access, sometimes people are more eager than they should be to show everything. I mean, Everything. Clear up to what great-uncle Edward did with the upstairs maid 75 years ago.

In many cultures, older persons are accorded wisdom. Sometimes, even among Anglos.

As one of those older persons now, I smile, and show my dentured teeth.

What old people know, and young people don't get, is that wisdom is not what you say.

Wisdom is how I listen to you.

Wisdom is not dumping the info I already have on the recipient.

Wisdom is not triangulating the information, and if you don't know what that is, you probably are doing it. It's when your mother tells your Aunt Doris what a failure you are and Aunt Doris tries to get you to speak more respectably to your mother. And you try to get your boy friend to tell your mother it isn't true.

I am not often wise, but sometimes I am. I listen. I keep my mouth shut. I used to give advice. Now I just listen, try to give a little love, and let life happen.

I think I have stumbled on the definition.

Wisdom is loving, trying to understand and sometimes succeeding, and saying nothing. With a loving smile.

Why do we want to exterminate the homeless?

I seem to be better at remembering names than I used to be. Every Friday, I hand out food and water to people who are homeless.

I have found I am good at learning one name or the other, and I work on last names. Because when I address those I know by Mr. or Ms., they are respected, and they accept it. So many names I know now. So many I don't. When I have to ask, I feel I am dissing them. Almost all forgive me, because they see I truly am apologetic.

After 8 months, sometimes they tell me a bit. Sometimes they don't. I am getting to know them and bits about them.

I have learned how to winter-proof a culvert on a cold night. I am learning the woods where some live for long periods. I am learning the records that keep many from starting over.

The soup kitchen where I volunteer has many volunteers. I am astonished that most don't want to meet the clientele, only work in the kitchen, provide support, raise funds for them. They find the homeless frightening. Actually, we have many with homes and short resources. We help those, too. A lot are in perfectly normal neighborhoods. We just help them stretch their resources.

And I have misspoken, because many of our voluntee4rs actually are homeless or near to it. They like working for their food. Not many places will let them work. Probably a third of the many volunteers are also "clients".

Walmart, Target, and others send goods. I like knowing that. Stuff, good stuff that is out of date ad otherwise would go to waste, come to the kitchen. Yesterday a volunteer was opining that this was the best place in the world to get fruit salad, because the stores send it at peak ripeness. So we serve the best. Munching on mine yesterday, I agree.

Be proud. Be aware that while 14 agencies are involved, all of us seek federal money in addition to local funds.

I think tea party voters want us to depend entirely on donations. I know government is a big other choice. I know our soup kitchen relies mostly on local funds. Some federal are
required.

In the meantime,I am getting to know and respect people you see, but will never know. Unless you volunteer. I see my people all the time, every where.

Friends tell me restlessly, " Where are these homeless? I never see them."

And I chuckle a little. One just walked by.

Wishing for the Visuals

I have never wished more I could transport photos to my blog. The impotence is great.
On my Timeline Page, though, is a picture of a fresh red rose across a railroad track.
It was poignant. Probably seminal. My son put it there. He was, let me see, 24 at the time? Yeah. He was. I was 52. Yes, 18 years. The family has put it out there, and all of us remember.

I had the day off from work for a doctor's appointment. He and I were going to have lunch. I drove up to the rented house he had by the university.

He walked out and said, "Tina is dead."

I said, "What?"

He repeated, then added, "A train hit her car."

Again, I said, "What?"

The third time, I comprehended what he was saying.

His best friend's sister had been hit by a train on her way to high school. Three more weeks, and she would have graduated. She wanted to be a doctor.

He said, "I need to go to the house."

I suggested he take some extra clothes. Often he had cared for their home in the past. It was a big house. I could see him staying overnight.

"I need to mow," he said. "Rain is coming. It needs to be mowed."

I drove him there. May 5. Yes, it needed mowing. It was a large property, and he got it done before the storms came.

My son wasn't the only one who knew where the key was. Women were in the house, straightening, polishing. Food was already arriving.

The family is a neat and tidy one. The accident happened before they even could make their bed. They were all at the hospital. Early morning dishabille. The women washed, cleaned, dusted. Not a teacup went unplaced. This was an active, loved family in the community. They did many things. They still do. We didn't know what was happening, but we all wanted to help. And the girl was in ICU in a coma. Not good.

I went to my doctor's appointment, came back and started a phone and food log. I came back, did the same, put out food and washed dishes, for three more days. I met family members who still mean a lot. Sometimes we laughed over bubbles in the sink, because this was a community experience, not only a death.

In the late afternoon,May 5, Tina was decreed brain dead. Her organs went to at least nine persons. That was the night of the huge, softball size, hailstones in the area. The parents walked out of the hospital's glass-roofed atrium only a half hour before
hail would destroy it. They were out of the danger zone before the hail started falling.

Rain and hail fell hard. I drove through flooding to get home. There were four days of heavy mourning. This was the first.

On the second, a man they didn't know graveled their dirt (post-storm mud) driveway so people could get in and out. They had never met him. On the second and the third days, so many brought food, did any chores, offered help. Fourth day was the funeral.

The parents have so far met a number of the recipients of their daughter's last gifts.

The recipient of her liver came to my son's wedding later. We were so glad to welcome him.

This was in no way a turning point. I say that, but that is probably not true. It was meaningful, for sure. These four days, however, are so important to all of us that shared them. This young girl saved the lives, changed the lives, of many by her death. Much good occurred...for one thing, there are crossing bars now over the road and track that killed her.

I wish you could see the metal train tracks, with a fresh red rose, lying over one track, another train coming any moment. The rose is so fragile, and fresh. The track, so implacable. My son put it there. I am sure he cried sometime. I never saw him. He took the rose, and placed it on the track, with no one watching. I wish I knew how to show you.

Maybe, since I cannot show you, it will not make you cry.

When we are happy and others are crushed

A friend on Facebook asked if it was okay to narrow in on her own happy life with the awful stuff going on around the world. She cited an Australian boy who was swept away after he insisted rescuers pick up his brother first. Then a friend chimed in with footage of a girl trying to save herself and her dog in South American floods. She had to let her dog go to save herself.

How do we deal with this?

It is, probably, a little easier if they are not young. But not always.

I think we have to care, however sad. I also think we have to care about what is going on in our own lives.

If there is something we can do, well, we must.

Today, things go well. Tomorrow--hopefully the same. But we love each other. We love our neighbors.

My own life is happy currently. Mud slides won't crush us. Tornadoes, and other events, could.
What I have, what the victims had, is today. Let us make use of it. Let us say "I love you" every time. It could be the last chance we have,

And that is not a sadness. It actually is a way of life. I try to make sure I say it with every person I love in conversations. It makes me feel better. And if anything happens to me, I hope it will comfort them.

When you can't be there in person

Don't you hate it when you call a friend who is going through physical pain, or emotional pain, or maybe both, and they say, "hey, I'm in the middle of something, can I call you back later tonight?"

And you say, "sure."

And you carry your phone around, because you don't know when they will call or if they will call, but you want to Be There if they do.

They hurt, and you wishyoucouldhelpit, but you can't.

Maybe they need answers, and youwishyoucouldhelpit, but you can't.

But you can listen. You can say, "Hey, I'm here."

It may be all you can do. It seems like so little.

But you hold the phone and wait for the call.

Because that's what friends do.