If you make changes to a check that I've written to help you, and it gets caught, causing me to file a police report and spend much time and anxiety trying to right the wrong that you created, please don't ever call looking for assistance again.
Because when you do?
There's absolutely no freaking way that I'll help you.
I'm just sayin'.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Remarkable
The 101-year-old greeter met me at the door in her wheel chair.
Good afternoon, she said. How are you?
Good, I responded, leaning in toward her to shake her hand. And how are you?
Never better, she said with a laugh.
I laughed back and said I was always happy when I was wearing sassy shoes, and so I lifted my leg to show off my blue patent flats and she admired them with a cluck of her tongue and a shake of her head. I’m sure she didn’t think I was anyone’s pastor.
I made my way to his room where he and his wife of 63 years wait for me, smiling as I went. This visiting, after all, while I struggle to make the appointments and even some days to look forward to it, breathes new life into what I do.
I don’t know if they’ll see 64 years together. They might, but they might not.
She’s a remarkable woman, he says to me, looking at her, his eyes filling with tears.
Oh, I don’t know about that, she responds with a modest giggle.
I think you’re both pretty remarkable, I say. And when I think about the truth of that statement – of what they’ve seen and the way they’ve lived and the delight they still take in a life that has changed so drastically the past couple of years – my own eyes fill with tears.
I think you’re both pretty remarkable.
Good afternoon, she said. How are you?
Good, I responded, leaning in toward her to shake her hand. And how are you?
Never better, she said with a laugh.
I laughed back and said I was always happy when I was wearing sassy shoes, and so I lifted my leg to show off my blue patent flats and she admired them with a cluck of her tongue and a shake of her head. I’m sure she didn’t think I was anyone’s pastor.
I made my way to his room where he and his wife of 63 years wait for me, smiling as I went. This visiting, after all, while I struggle to make the appointments and even some days to look forward to it, breathes new life into what I do.
I don’t know if they’ll see 64 years together. They might, but they might not.
She’s a remarkable woman, he says to me, looking at her, his eyes filling with tears.
Oh, I don’t know about that, she responds with a modest giggle.
I think you’re both pretty remarkable, I say. And when I think about the truth of that statement – of what they’ve seen and the way they’ve lived and the delight they still take in a life that has changed so drastically the past couple of years – my own eyes fill with tears.
I think you’re both pretty remarkable.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Too something
It's too cliche to say that I've been busy.
More like, I have these half-posts in my head, sort of formulated, and relatively lovely, until I try to write them down at which point they come out clunky, like a toddler wearing heels.
More like, I have these half-posts in my head, sort of formulated, and relatively lovely, until I try to write them down at which point they come out clunky, like a toddler wearing heels.
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