My Grandma Hershfelt use to say that you could tell a lot about a person by looking into their eyes. I could tell by looking into Darlene's that she has many stories to tell. She is a bell ringer for the Salvation Army. Every day she man's her post, diligently ringing her bell, wishing everyone who comes and goes Merry Christmas and God's blessings. And, I thought was about time that she had a karma donation.
When I first approached Darlene and told her what I wanted to do I could tell that she wondered if I possibly had an alterior motive or maybe I was medicated, or both. Since I wasn't sure at first if this was her job that she did every day from 10-7 or if she was a volunteer and I definitely wasn't out to offend anyone by way of karma, I asked her. She replied that it was her job and I explained to her that I have seen her here, year after year collecting donations and spreading good cheer and that I wanted to give her a little break. She could sit down and enjoy a nice cup of hot cocoa (which I would make from scratch) and I would take over her responsibilities for a couple of hours. Being the dedicated employee that she is, she refered me to the director of the program, Bob who would have to give the okay on the switch. It took some convincing to assure Bob that I sought no wage for this pursuit, nor any noteriety or fame of any kind. I simply wanted to help. He was reluctant but, when I explained to him that if I manned Darlene's post while she took her lunch that he in fact would receive more donations, he agreed. I thanked Bob, resisted doing a little happy dance for the sake of maintaining professionalism and instead thanked him for the opportunity and told Darlene I would see her tomorrow at two o'clock.
I arrived at my post at a little before 2:00 (Darlene's lunch) so that I could receive instruction and advice on proper bell ringing ettiquette. Although I must admit I was hot cocoaless because Darlene had assured me that it would go right through her. And ever the reliable worker, she hated to take bathroom breaks. She did however show me a tip on how to hold the bell so that my wrist wouldn't get tired which, after hour one I greatly appreciated. Surprisingly enough, most people are more offended by someone saying "Happy Holidays" then they are "Merry Christmas" Darlene told me that when she tried the more politically correct term she received several loudly stated corrections and concluded that the more, specific title would be better received. I took her advice and began doling out "Merry Christmases" and "God Bless You's" and even began receiving them in return. Before long, I had received my first donation and I was just ecstatic! I even had one patron thank me for saying "God Bless You" It was a great feeling. Several little kids came up and placed coins into the bucket. Their eyes beemed and they were so happy. Although, I think the Santa hat perched on the top of my head may have been my "in" with the kiddoz because many of them stood in front of me mouth half open contemplating whether or not they should tell me what they want for Christmas this year.
As I greeted customers and collected donations Darlene took a seat on the bench just inside the doors and ate her favorite, peanut butter and jelly. Regular shoppers noticed this change at the entrance and inquired about it. They welcomed me went on about their way and then would catch Darlene on the way through the store and receive blessings and Holiday greetings from her also. The time went by much faster than I thought it would and pretty soon it was just about time to pick Jenica up from Kindergarten. I thanked Darlene for what she does, handed her the official Salvation Army bell and Santa hat and said goodbye.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
He does mean well. A karma donation for my dear old Dad.
I love my Dad. He is a great man but, when it comes to his gift buying ability for my Mom.....well, let's just say he does mean well. He really does. He believes his gifts are thoughtful, logical, practical and is a firm believer in "it's the thought that counts" I couldn't agree more. It is the thought that counts. However if that "thought" inspires you to purchase a new shower curtain for your Wife for Christmas, you and my Dad have a lot in common.
Dad seemed the perfect candidate for a karma donation. He is legally blind so he is not able to get out of the house unless Mom takes him and if she takes him to the store to shop for gifts she would inevitably see his purchases. Herein lies the dilemma. So, I decided to take him out thereby spending some quality time with my Pops while donating to my Karma Cause. It's a win-win.
"You don't have to do this" he began. "I already have something in mind for your Mom." I stifled back a laugh but, he caught it. "Now, now," this has always been one of his trademark phrases. Just like "One day at at time. One step at a time" and once he found out about the deterioration of his optic nerves he began saying "It's a sense of humor thing." Did I say I love my Dad? I love my Dad. "Okay Dad" I responded, trying my best to keep a straight face, "I'm listening. What did you have in mind?" I tried my best to be stoic, thinking that if I made a conscious deliberate effort to thwart any sort of humorous response that it would actually work. I was wrong. "She has been talking about wanting a clothes rack so she can dry her clothes." He said it with so much sincerity that it was actually kind of sweet but, at the same time he has been married long enough that he really ought to know better by now. When you are first married or coupled or significant othered or whatever alternative politically correct term you wish to apply, there is of course a period of trial and error. I get that. My parents have been married for 38 years. The introductory offer has expired. He is a seasoned rookie and should act as such.
Kind of like when my Mom called me a few weeks ago and opened with "Can you please come get your Father, I just don't know what to do with him." Long story short, she had purchased a DVD newly released and as a promotional gimmick was given an energy drink and a box of band aids for free. An oddly unlikely but, somewhat appropriate pairing if you ask me. Anyway, she let my Father have the energy drink. While it did give him energy, it also made him even more talkative. Please understand my Dad needs to be more talkative like Cookie Monster needs more cookies. He has actually had telemarketers hang up on him. Little old men left sitting on a bench outside the dressing room while their wives try on clothes live in fear of him because they know that he will quite literally talk their ear off. But, again Mom is 38 years in. She should have known better. And, I told her that. Nicely.
The same way that I explained to my Dad that his wife did not want a clothes rack for Christmas.
Dad seemed the perfect candidate for a karma donation. He is legally blind so he is not able to get out of the house unless Mom takes him and if she takes him to the store to shop for gifts she would inevitably see his purchases. Herein lies the dilemma. So, I decided to take him out thereby spending some quality time with my Pops while donating to my Karma Cause. It's a win-win.
"You don't have to do this" he began. "I already have something in mind for your Mom." I stifled back a laugh but, he caught it. "Now, now," this has always been one of his trademark phrases. Just like "One day at at time. One step at a time" and once he found out about the deterioration of his optic nerves he began saying "It's a sense of humor thing." Did I say I love my Dad? I love my Dad. "Okay Dad" I responded, trying my best to keep a straight face, "I'm listening. What did you have in mind?" I tried my best to be stoic, thinking that if I made a conscious deliberate effort to thwart any sort of humorous response that it would actually work. I was wrong. "She has been talking about wanting a clothes rack so she can dry her clothes." He said it with so much sincerity that it was actually kind of sweet but, at the same time he has been married long enough that he really ought to know better by now. When you are first married or coupled or significant othered or whatever alternative politically correct term you wish to apply, there is of course a period of trial and error. I get that. My parents have been married for 38 years. The introductory offer has expired. He is a seasoned rookie and should act as such.
Kind of like when my Mom called me a few weeks ago and opened with "Can you please come get your Father, I just don't know what to do with him." Long story short, she had purchased a DVD newly released and as a promotional gimmick was given an energy drink and a box of band aids for free. An oddly unlikely but, somewhat appropriate pairing if you ask me. Anyway, she let my Father have the energy drink. While it did give him energy, it also made him even more talkative. Please understand my Dad needs to be more talkative like Cookie Monster needs more cookies. He has actually had telemarketers hang up on him. Little old men left sitting on a bench outside the dressing room while their wives try on clothes live in fear of him because they know that he will quite literally talk their ear off. But, again Mom is 38 years in. She should have known better. And, I told her that. Nicely.
The same way that I explained to my Dad that his wife did not want a clothes rack for Christmas.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
Every game has a winner
Professional Shower attenders are stealthy. You can't always pick them out at first. They blend in rather well with their surroundings, sitting in folding chairs at a table addorned in plastic pastel hued coverings. Then they identify all five specimen of baby foods numbered one through five using nothing but a popsicle stick and their accute sense of smell and it becomes completely obvious. They have done this before. Don't get me wrong. I love showers. And, I love babies. But, I have never been that spectacular at party games. Never. In fact, I had been nursing a severe headache, lying on the couch in my pajamas when one of my best friend's Cally showed up at my house and suddenly I'm sitting in the passenger seat of her car headed to a baby shower. A baby shower I had already declined an invitation to. Sitting there waiting for a molten hot coffee to cool simply enough for me to siphen a small siplet from the oval shaped reservoir at the top of the lid it occured to me that this is the same personality quirk that has landed me in three, count them three party lite candle parties, two overly priced clothing/jewlery parties and one painfully awkward mature um, grown up party. Note to self: learn to say no.
So we had just finished identifying the smeared remnance of melted candy bars in baby diapers when the hostess announced that the Mommy-to-be was going to open her gifts, the tell tale sign that the festivities were drawing to a close. I glanced over at the soon to be great grandma of the baby bump seated at the head of the table and saw that although she played with passoionate vigor she was completely prizeless. Meaning, she had yet to best her competition and earn the right to pluck a delicately wrapped trinket of her very own from the gift table. My eyes glanced down to my coveted "What happens under the mistle toe stays under the mistle toe" aluminum sign that I had won by fishing tiny plastic baby bottles out of a bowl full of rice whilst sporting a light blue latex surgical glove. "Alright ladies", the hostess chirped. "Who has the most clothes pins left?" The pins that she spoke of had been handed out, one per victim, er um participant as we walked through the door with strict instructions not to utter the target word "baby" or risk being stripped of said ornament thus ruining ones chance of journying to the prize pile. Great Grandma had long ago been stripped of her red plastic pin when she stated that she wanted her Grandaughter to name the baby girl after a cherished relative. It took merely seconds for the throng of seemingly demure ladies to announce her err in word choice and demand the delicate scarlet clip attached to her denim blue cardigan sweater. An upset during the rice baby bottle fishing expedition had landed Granny a replacement yellow pin and put her back in the game. She glanced down at her recently acquired accessory and then around the room as I did, silently taking count. The top runners had at least two pins, including me. Dismayed Granny turned her attention to the hostess who was going around the table taking stock of the colorful collar adornments. Quickly, I yanked my pair of pins from my blouse and gently slid them across the table, "Here", I said "Now you have three. You win." She smiled. Every game has a winner.
So we had just finished identifying the smeared remnance of melted candy bars in baby diapers when the hostess announced that the Mommy-to-be was going to open her gifts, the tell tale sign that the festivities were drawing to a close. I glanced over at the soon to be great grandma of the baby bump seated at the head of the table and saw that although she played with passoionate vigor she was completely prizeless. Meaning, she had yet to best her competition and earn the right to pluck a delicately wrapped trinket of her very own from the gift table. My eyes glanced down to my coveted "What happens under the mistle toe stays under the mistle toe" aluminum sign that I had won by fishing tiny plastic baby bottles out of a bowl full of rice whilst sporting a light blue latex surgical glove. "Alright ladies", the hostess chirped. "Who has the most clothes pins left?" The pins that she spoke of had been handed out, one per victim, er um participant as we walked through the door with strict instructions not to utter the target word "baby" or risk being stripped of said ornament thus ruining ones chance of journying to the prize pile. Great Grandma had long ago been stripped of her red plastic pin when she stated that she wanted her Grandaughter to name the baby girl after a cherished relative. It took merely seconds for the throng of seemingly demure ladies to announce her err in word choice and demand the delicate scarlet clip attached to her denim blue cardigan sweater. An upset during the rice baby bottle fishing expedition had landed Granny a replacement yellow pin and put her back in the game. She glanced down at her recently acquired accessory and then around the room as I did, silently taking count. The top runners had at least two pins, including me. Dismayed Granny turned her attention to the hostess who was going around the table taking stock of the colorful collar adornments. Quickly, I yanked my pair of pins from my blouse and gently slid them across the table, "Here", I said "Now you have three. You win." She smiled. Every game has a winner.
Happiness Project 2010
As many of you know, I am approaching my 30th birthday. While I have always maintained that age is just a number, in the back of my mind I have this little voice that says "the big 3-0." I decided I wanted to do something "momentous" to mark the occasion. I wanted to be able to look back and say "I did ______ on my 30th birthday and it was great! Until about six months ago, that something was to jump out of an airplane aka skydiving. Why jump out of a perfectly good airplane you ask? Well, because they leave the door open of course. No really, it's on a T-shirt and everything. I had it all figured out. I would mark this once in a lifetime milestone by careening myself out of an aircraft about the size of a pack of gum while strapped to a perfect stranger. A perfect stranger directly in charge of my fate. And then I lost my job. And then, my husband lost his job. Now, as unemployed full time college students the likely hood of me being able to afford to jump out of a plane is about the same as the likely hood of me winning the lottery. I don't play the lottery. Nuff' said.
And then everyone got sick. My entire family struck down with something which is probably a distant cousin of the swine flu. And, we ran out of childrens tylenol. So, there I am standing in line at the grocery store various virus vanishing paraphernalia strewn across the belt and a conversation lifts the foggy sleepless haze clouding my vision. A man and a woman are talking about what time it is. Judging by the verbiage and descriptive content of the exchange I am able to conclude that they are parents, stopping by the store to purchase one single item on there way to picking up their kiddo from school. I glance over to the clock poised above the Managers desk directly to the right of the Playland center. It was 4:05, school gets out at 4:15. I would have been on my way to picking up my daughter also if she were not at home lying in bed, slathered in vicks vaporub. They would never make it. I pictured an anonymous child standing there waiting for Mom and Dad. The same Mom and Dad in line behind me at the grocery store. Without even thinking I turn and face the pair "Please" I began, "go ahead of me." Of course they objected at first, insisting they had plenty of time. I pushed further, "You only have one item, I have no where to be, no schedule to keep" with that I scooped up their one item and set it down in front of mine. I swiftly set the black plastic divider bar down between the two orders to further solidify my intent. They thanked me, paid for their one item and were on their way in less than two minutes, far quicker than it would have been had they had to wait for me.
The feeling that came over me was indescribable. Euphoric. Healing. Empowering. And, little did I know.....addicting.
Then, two days later, in the throws of final exams and a cold snap that brought with it subzero temperatures and a daily high of just ten degrees it happened again. On my way to campus I saw Dutch People and decided to celebrate happy hour. Fantasizing about my coconut mocha, finger drumming to the latest Black Eyed Peas hit when an image drifted into my rear view mirror. He was probably about 16 or so, sandy brown hair drifting into his left eye, clearly a side affect of the extreme side part trend amongst teenage boys right now. Standing there, skateboard leaning against his knee the only thing separating him from Jack Frost's bitter bite was a ratty charcoal hoody partially zipped and a pair of dark blue stain washed skinny jeans. He was obviously freezing and the car ahead of me had just begun their order. I watched him for a couple of minutes silently chastising him for being so ill prepared for the inclement weather conditions when the Batista leaned out of the window and handed the coffee off to the forest green Ford Explorer. Without even thinking I hit the auto roll down button on my power window control, leaned out the window and said, "Hey." He glanced up at me and uttered the stereotypical but oh so predictable adolescent response, "huh?" Grinning, I motioned in front of me, "Go in front of me," I said. I'm not sure if my tone may have had a little too much Mommy voice in it or maybe he realized that if he didn't lift his feet soon they would actually freeze in place but he sauntered up to the window in front of me and placed his order. Suddenly, there it was again, euphoric, healing, empowerment.
Three days later my husband and I were eating dinner at his parents with our two girls, Jenica five and Miaya, nearly two. We were watching the Julie/Julia movie and it hit me. I could blog about my experiences! I love to write and as it turns out I also love to blog. A person very near and dear to my heart told me that blogging is addicting and it turns out she was so right. Imagine my surprise just one day later when I was sharing my idea with my best friend Cally about the blog and she began to tell me about the happiness project blog that she reads regularly. Determined I Googled "the happiness project" and could not believe my eyes. Without even knowing it, I had begun my own happiness project. So, here it is. My momentous event for the big 3-0. Granted, there is far less adrenaline involved but nonetheless I am equally as excited to feel the rush. Basically it breaks down like this. To qualify as a Karma Handout the exchange must meet these three criteria:
1. It has to be free. Sorry. No charity donations, anonymous donors, or currency exchanges of any kind. While I would love to be able to do these things, I simply can't afford it. Hence the reason for this Happiness Project in the first place.
2. It has to be a sacrifice. Nothing detrimental. Don't go throwing yourself in front of traffic or anything. However, you must be giving up something that is why it is called a donation.
3. It cannot be for personal gain. It's Karma. Technically, because of who the person is and the way they live their life the Universe believes they are already entitled to it. You are just paying the debt. No publicity or notoriety of any kind can be enjoyed. You simply do it because it makes you feel good. You can share it with others though, as I have you because you want them to feel good also
Ideally, I will post a blog every day documenting these encounters. As I said, Ideally. As a mother of two, full time student and full time housekeeper I make no promises but, that is the idea. Even if I simply post "what was I thinking?" there will be a post nonetheless.
Okay, here we go. Mind you, I rarely start what I finish, habitually procrastinate and regularly delegate tasks indefinitely so that I will never have to acknowledge that they were never completed. In other words, this should be interesting. I invite you, any of you to follow along with me as I approach the big 3-0. In addition, Google the happiness project. You will not be disappointed. ;)
And then everyone got sick. My entire family struck down with something which is probably a distant cousin of the swine flu. And, we ran out of childrens tylenol. So, there I am standing in line at the grocery store various virus vanishing paraphernalia strewn across the belt and a conversation lifts the foggy sleepless haze clouding my vision. A man and a woman are talking about what time it is. Judging by the verbiage and descriptive content of the exchange I am able to conclude that they are parents, stopping by the store to purchase one single item on there way to picking up their kiddo from school. I glance over to the clock poised above the Managers desk directly to the right of the Playland center. It was 4:05, school gets out at 4:15. I would have been on my way to picking up my daughter also if she were not at home lying in bed, slathered in vicks vaporub. They would never make it. I pictured an anonymous child standing there waiting for Mom and Dad. The same Mom and Dad in line behind me at the grocery store. Without even thinking I turn and face the pair "Please" I began, "go ahead of me." Of course they objected at first, insisting they had plenty of time. I pushed further, "You only have one item, I have no where to be, no schedule to keep" with that I scooped up their one item and set it down in front of mine. I swiftly set the black plastic divider bar down between the two orders to further solidify my intent. They thanked me, paid for their one item and were on their way in less than two minutes, far quicker than it would have been had they had to wait for me.
The feeling that came over me was indescribable. Euphoric. Healing. Empowering. And, little did I know.....addicting.
Then, two days later, in the throws of final exams and a cold snap that brought with it subzero temperatures and a daily high of just ten degrees it happened again. On my way to campus I saw Dutch People and decided to celebrate happy hour. Fantasizing about my coconut mocha, finger drumming to the latest Black Eyed Peas hit when an image drifted into my rear view mirror. He was probably about 16 or so, sandy brown hair drifting into his left eye, clearly a side affect of the extreme side part trend amongst teenage boys right now. Standing there, skateboard leaning against his knee the only thing separating him from Jack Frost's bitter bite was a ratty charcoal hoody partially zipped and a pair of dark blue stain washed skinny jeans. He was obviously freezing and the car ahead of me had just begun their order. I watched him for a couple of minutes silently chastising him for being so ill prepared for the inclement weather conditions when the Batista leaned out of the window and handed the coffee off to the forest green Ford Explorer. Without even thinking I hit the auto roll down button on my power window control, leaned out the window and said, "Hey." He glanced up at me and uttered the stereotypical but oh so predictable adolescent response, "huh?" Grinning, I motioned in front of me, "Go in front of me," I said. I'm not sure if my tone may have had a little too much Mommy voice in it or maybe he realized that if he didn't lift his feet soon they would actually freeze in place but he sauntered up to the window in front of me and placed his order. Suddenly, there it was again, euphoric, healing, empowerment.
Three days later my husband and I were eating dinner at his parents with our two girls, Jenica five and Miaya, nearly two. We were watching the Julie/Julia movie and it hit me. I could blog about my experiences! I love to write and as it turns out I also love to blog. A person very near and dear to my heart told me that blogging is addicting and it turns out she was so right. Imagine my surprise just one day later when I was sharing my idea with my best friend Cally about the blog and she began to tell me about the happiness project blog that she reads regularly. Determined I Googled "the happiness project" and could not believe my eyes. Without even knowing it, I had begun my own happiness project. So, here it is. My momentous event for the big 3-0. Granted, there is far less adrenaline involved but nonetheless I am equally as excited to feel the rush. Basically it breaks down like this. To qualify as a Karma Handout the exchange must meet these three criteria:
1. It has to be free. Sorry. No charity donations, anonymous donors, or currency exchanges of any kind. While I would love to be able to do these things, I simply can't afford it. Hence the reason for this Happiness Project in the first place.
2. It has to be a sacrifice. Nothing detrimental. Don't go throwing yourself in front of traffic or anything. However, you must be giving up something that is why it is called a donation.
3. It cannot be for personal gain. It's Karma. Technically, because of who the person is and the way they live their life the Universe believes they are already entitled to it. You are just paying the debt. No publicity or notoriety of any kind can be enjoyed. You simply do it because it makes you feel good. You can share it with others though, as I have you because you want them to feel good also
Ideally, I will post a blog every day documenting these encounters. As I said, Ideally. As a mother of two, full time student and full time housekeeper I make no promises but, that is the idea. Even if I simply post "what was I thinking?" there will be a post nonetheless.
Okay, here we go. Mind you, I rarely start what I finish, habitually procrastinate and regularly delegate tasks indefinitely so that I will never have to acknowledge that they were never completed. In other words, this should be interesting. I invite you, any of you to follow along with me as I approach the big 3-0. In addition, Google the happiness project. You will not be disappointed. ;)
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