I Miss You, Leonilda, When You Don't Call

This was written in March of 2011, when we were trailer park managers in Prunedale, CA...

I think I “get” Leonilda at unit 18.

She reminds me of one of my long lost relations from the hills of Sweetwater, Tennessee.

Perhaps one that would likely slam the cellar door when she saw me comin!

At times, she reminds me of one of the women on the television series, Big Love.

One of the sister-wives that lives out on the compound, wears her hair long, her bonnet tight and has her hands elbow-deep in cannin' apples before winter done hits.

Leonilda doesn’t like me and I understand that.

Last spring, when she called to let me know “someone” was shooting at her because the side of her 1979 mobile had fresh bullet holes in the skirting, I did in fact burst out laughing.

I didn’t mean to.

I was just lacking in the self-control department in that moment.

Then there was the time she called to let me know “someone” had been trespassing in her carport and left a cherry pit in the crack of asphalt near her back door.

She informed me she hadn’t eaten cherries since high school when she got sick on ‘em, so therefore, she knew it had to be a trespasser.

I sent my partner to investigate that situation and she did in fact locate a single cherry pit in the exact location as Leonilda stated it was.

As a trained professional, I know that I need to show restraint, as well as, compassion but as the years roll on, I find it a bit of a challenge.

And Leonilda knows it. She ain’t no dummie.

She can hear it in my voice, see it in my eyes and that’s exactly why the other night when she phoned and I answered, she immediately asked for my partner. She don't want to talk with me anymore!

I put on my sweet, soft-toned, sympathetic voice and offered my assistance and willingness

to meet her every need. After all, isn't that what I get paid for?

She asks if we had received a package in the mail that belonged to her.

I told her that I hadn’t checked the mail today but I would go right out, check and bring any mail that belonged to her, right down. Mind you, Leonilda and her brother, Leo (No lie, that's his real name) don’t live next door to us. They actually live on the other side of the park, so why we'd have her mail is beyond me, but I question nothing.

She informs me that it wouldn’t have been in today’s mail. “Someone” took it a month ago.

(RIGHT, LEONILDA! LIKE I HAVE BEEN HOARDING A PACKAGE OF YOURS FOR 30 ‘EFFIN DAYS! OR THIS "MYSTERY SOMEONE" IS OUT TO GET YOU, YOU PARANOID WEIRDO!)

Breathe in. Breathe out.

After a mini-Zen-breathing exercise, I find my polite button, press it, and tell her that I haven’t seen any mail of hers, but if there was a tracking number, perhaps the post office could attempt to locate it for her.  But Leonilda feels quite strongly that our postal service does not lose packages and that “someone” either stole it or is holding it.

Hostage I suppose.

Holding it hostage for some kind of trailer treasure ransom that I’m sure will allow us all to buy Boardwalk AND Park Avenue, maybe even all four railroads.

My partner’s jaw never clinches like mine in these situations.

I remember one late afternoon last summer, I phoned Leonilda because I received a call from one of her neighbors reporting she was getting ready to spray paint her mobile with a small hand-held sprayer, not an industrial. The neighbor was concerned the paint would get on his unit.

Before I could explain the rules with regard to painting the trailers at our park, she asked me this, “Can you please call back later… I’m drunk right now.”

That's when I "got" Leonilda.

I actually clung to a tiny, thin thread of commonality in that moment.

I wished her a relaxing afternoon, hung up the phone and poured myself a strong one.

It doesn’t get any better than this, people.

-tpg

Welcome 2014!

You gotta love retail during an American holiday such as Christmas.

The Trader Joe's parking lot, seemingly a suicide alley, an intersection with a 4-way stop light whose non-existent colors of yellow and red ensure horns blaring, folks dropping "F-Bombs" left, right and in between...
All in the name of love, caring and 3 wise men who gave frankincense and myrrh.  In turn, we give IPhones and Home Depot gift cards.  I know there's a connection somewhere and I know I'm supposed to get it, but I don't. I don't get the folks that say, "Keep Christ in Christmas" either. I did see a sign that read, "Keep Christ in Christian" and I get that. Seems the there is a great deal of amplification going on during the holiday season; dichotomies of caring yet irritability, giving yet expecting something in return. Emotions are flared. I read where folks used pepper spray at a Walmart, fought for the bargain on bath towels. I personally think there's an unspoken pressure to be kinder, gentler during the season and yet, that's asking the impossible and people become these human pressure-cookers. 

So, at times, the road is long, friends.
And often, it feels endless. Every damn step brings a minute mental battle and yet, we keep walking. Why? Well, the alternative sucks, that's why. And you know what? There are so many cool humans that I encounter day to day! They are the silent ones. The ones that are plain and ordinary to the common eye unless one takes the time to recognize their "Extra-ordinary."
And my friends, humbly I tell you this, I have done just that and these humans; these homo-sapians, are so beautiful. They are  exquisite and unique stories, waiting to be told.

2013 was a helluva year! It was jam-packed with trials, tribulations, pains, and extremely winding roads.  Yosemite-size boulders along the way.  Larger than life stumbling blocks, that made it hard, no impossible, to get out of bed some mornings for many of us. I have spoken to many a folk who bid "good-riddens" to 2013!

My solution to the whole damn fiasco, is to move on. With that said, I welcome 2014 with arms open wide and a bucket full of personal intentions!  They read, loosely, as follows:

One) Get my ass moving again! Climb a mountain, walk the beach trail, pop in one of my Richard Simmons dvd' s.
Two)  Continue to work, with diligence and commitment, on my writing and art forms.
Three) Let go of the past. (i.e. the yucky parts)
Four) Focus on listening and noticing.
Five)  Travel with my sweetheart.
Six) Breathe deeply and deliberately, especially when I find myself on those long, winding roads.
Seven) Love! Love! LOVE with all my heart.

And yours?  The curiosity is killing me, friends.
I learned, from a dear compadre, Shem, that making intentions for oneself, not just at the start of a new year, but regularly, is a very healing and positive thing to do. Not resolutions. They seem to be more firm and concrete, with an expected outcome. Not goals. Not set-ups to fail... But intentions.

intention |inˈten ch ən|noun1. a thing intended; an aim or plan : she was full of good intentions | [withinfinitive ] the Ukraine and Kazakhstan have both declared their intention to benuclear-free.• the action or fact of intending : intention is just one of the factors that willbe considered.
2. Medicine the healing process of a wound. See first intention , second intention 

I personally like #2.Medicine. The healing part of a wound. I feel as if I should ponder that second "Webster" because isn't that why one would offer up an intention in the first place? To heal. No doubt, the world is in desperate need of it. No one can deny that. But, I propose to you that we each need individual healing as well, and perhaps that's a very good place to start.  The "wounds" of our childhoods, our recent spats with friends, family members, the sickening news story you heard on the radio that you can't let go of, the child being yelled at in a parking lot, the words that regrettably came gushing out of your own mouth, the lies that have been told...All these and more have left our hearts wounded.  
If you think of a literal wound to the skin or bone, the healing begins with surgery or medicine or herbs and fresh air.  But what about the wounds of the heart? They need medicine too.  Of course, setting an intention might not bring quick recovery.  But not setting an intention has zero chance for healing.

   Intentions toward others can bloom from a very pure and noble place, yet bring unexpected results.  Here's a Christmas story...     A close friend of mine shared a very personal account with me over breakfast a few weeks ago. The story has yet to leave my thoughts. With Christmas approaching, while serving in Viet Nam, he decided to bring gifts, a Christmas tree, the festivities of his own childhood, to the people there. His intentions were pure and good.  As he gathered everyone together to distribute the gifts, two things happened that cut so deeply into his selfless heart, that I do believe, to this very day, he ponders his good intentions.  The gift-giving brought jealousy and competitiveness, for the first time, amongst the parents; all fighting one another for the best gift for their child.  And outside the church, where the gathering took place? Poor children stared in, through the open windows, with sad, hollow eyes at a sight they had never seen before. For the first time in their young lives, they realized what they did not have.(heavy sigh)Intention # Six: Breathe deeply and deliberately, especially when I find myself on those painful, winding roads.
This is a painful, difficult thing to swallow; like a large uncoated vitamin that gets lodged in your throat. I had to breathe deeply when I heard my friend share this intimate experience and I have to breathe deeply now, as I share it with y'all.  The lessons of that day, of that time and moment are huge for the people, but more so, for my friend.  As I reflect on his story, my eyes are opened to the heart-felt intentions of his soul. I have a clearer vision of the man he is today and the man he was on that day so long ago. 
The intentions I set forth for myself will be for myself. But, like my friend who saw a wounded world that deserved some medicine, I may, at some time in 2014, make conscious intentions that, though from a moral and loving place, have an unexpected and unintended outcome. 
“When your intentions are honest and pure, when you speak or act from a place of selflessness and love, the feedback and returns are unimaginable and immeasurable.” ~Nike Campbell-Fatoki
Welcome 2014 and all it will bring!!!! Blessings to each of you as we travel this journey together. ~tpg

"Burrito! Burrito!"

What started several years back as a "friendship email" has become what today's culture calls a "blog."
In looking back over all of my blog posts, I am able to see which ones had the most, and least, views. I find it pretty interesting that it's not one from my tales at the trailer park, nor is it one of the adventures of Sweet Pea and The Cousin that has received the most views.  There's one, and only one, with hundreds of views and it's the interview I did with Ellen regarding the F-word. You people crack me up!!! Now, I 'effin understand y'all.
So, I'll begin this morning's ditty by attaching the link of that popular blog written back in May of 2012.
http://trailerparkgirl-vfern.blogspot.com/2012/05/one-girls-journey-to-find-answer.html
It has absolutely nothing to do with today's blog!

My readership asks me all the time, "Do you embellish your blogs about nanny life?"  
And the answer is rather simple, "HELL NO!"
I can't make this shit up and why would I want to? I'm like an umpire behind home plate; I call it like I see it. It's easier that way. Embellishment requires actually thinking. It requires tedious work and concentration.  Formulating interesting scenarios, that do not exist, would require my energy, time and also lead one to believe that I have nothing better to do in my life than to exaggerate.
Embellishment happens on CNN, FOX, ABC, NBC, The Simpsons.
We can all get our "stretched-like-salt-water-taffy truths" there.
But here y'all, is the real f!@king deal.

"I the burrito."

"Burrito! Burrito!"

"Cheese please."

I had a significant lapse in judgement yesterday. I taught them the "burrito game" using the curtains as the tortilla.  Basically, The Cousin wraps Sweet Pea up as if she were the carne-filling and then we'd all yell, "Burrito! Burrito!" The laughter filled the apartment. Instantly, the three of us turned crazy.
Sometimes, I'm a child. During these occasional "breaks" I lose all sense of who's in charge, who know's best, who's the individual that's being paid to keep the kids safe.

This week, I'm double duty; two days of such exhausting nonsense because the grandmother is taking a day off. She deserves it. This grandma is incredible. Unsure if the parentals truly appreciate this woman, but she not only watches these girls for free, GRATIS!, but she does laundry for them as well.
Lottery!!!!
Double duty equates to 18 hours. If I'm still standing by 5:00 p.m. on Friday, it will be an act of God.

Trying to calm them down after Burrito Burrito is not easy. And who's f@!king fault is that?
Anyway, I decide on books and The Cousin insists on reading to me.

"...and then the doggie, and the mommy, and the house and the blue twisting, twisting..."

When The Cousin reads to me, it's as if it's 1967, the psychedelics are rampid and Inagodadavida is playing in the background. I find myself really needing to concentrate on the plot.
Then, half way through the book, that all too familiar smell permeates my nostrils.
It's strong. It's potent. And the last thing the storyteller wants to do is have her diaper changed.
After a minor struggle, she gives in and up on the changing table she goes.

I recall my mom saying to me, "There's always a first time for everything."  
And what was about to take place was just that: a first.

The diaper is full and it's smeared all over her bottom.  I'm attempting to hold her legs up with one hand, keep the shit off the table and clean her with the other.  To make matters more complex, Sweet Pea has climbed up on the not-so-sturdy playroom table...

"Look at me, Baa Bee!"

Wishing I were an octopus, I attempt the impossible of trying to keep the changing table "poop free" and save Sweet Pea from getting yet another bruise. That "first" that my mom talked about years ago, happened:

Yep. That's on the laminate. 

Of course, that 4-letter word that y'all like so much, blared through my head.

Yet, I showed to indication of my stress. "Let's get cleaned up and go outside, ladies!" There's always an underlying motive to going to the park or for a walk. Yes, you want them to learn about their surroundings. Yes, the birdies and the flowers and the cars that go "beep!beep!" These discussions are rich and they aid in their language development. The park certainly helps with their motor skills, not to mention, their social skills. 

But the underlying reason for these types of activities is to wear their asses out! 

The Cousin is in a new phase in her life where she has to take Nomi, her fake baby sister, everywhere. Of course, she tires of carrying Nomi in the first 2 minutes of the walk and guess who gets her.

"You hold Nomi, Wallery."

3:00 p.m. 

Time for a cookie. I think that was the first word Sweet Pea learned and I do believe grandma taught her it.

3:00 p.m. 

Cinderella. (Not my choice for building strong, independent women.)

3:30 p.m.

Project time.

"Can I eat it?"

"Blue circles!"

4:10 p.m.

Things are returning to silly.  I can't help myself.  My response to their "duo-picking" is

"Pick a winner!"  So childish.

And why children eat it, even after they've had a wholesome snack, is beyond me.

But then again, I'm just the nanny.  I'm the nanny who loves when I see the big hand on the 12 and the little hand on the 5.

6:35 p.m.

~tpg

What Part of "NO" Don't You Understand?

"You're very tall, Wallery."

Vocabulary is a wonderful thing.  When youngins begin forming complete sentences, their loving admirers are filled with pride and delight.  Then the sentences become grander; the words multi-syllabic and the content rich with ideas and cute nuances.  It's a wonderful time for all!
The Cousin's language has always been advanced in my opinion.  Her parentals read to her constantly and speak to her in full, grown-up sentences rather than baby goo goo's and gah gah's.
I'm certain she'll earn 100 of those ridiculous "My Child Made the Honor Roll" bumper stickers during her school career.

"It's time to clean up, friends."  
I say this about a fifty times in a day. Sharing the load and cleaning up what one takes out is big for these families. Well, big for the moms and dads, but for the girls, not so much.
I start singing the clean-up song...
"Clean up! Clean up! Everybody do your share. Clean up! Clean up! Everybody show you care."
It wouldn't be such a big deal for me, except they live in a 10 x 10 apartment and Sweet Pea has this lovely fetish, which brings her lots of satisfaction and laughs: She digs dumping all the toys out, throwing all the books off the shelf in one arm swoops and then taking out every puzzle she can find, all the while, mixing the pieces up. The awesome thing is, she has no intention of playing with any of it. She finds pure pleasure in the dumping and throwing.
Amusing.

"Let's clean up so we can go outside and explore!" My rationale is that the outside in nature thing might be a fairly healthy bribe.

This is when the rich vocabulary kick in.
"I'm busy Wallery. Right now, I'm very busy."
"I see that, but I need your help." 
"In a minute, Wallery. I am busy right now."

What could be more important than at least clearing a path to walk?
"What are you doing?"

"I'm putting sunscreen on my baby."

 

"Can you take that shit away from her?"

When children find their words AND discover their power...Look Out!
Take this kid for instance. She's recently stumbled upon her power and now resorts to
asserting it 24/7.

"Let's go change your diaper."
"NO!"
"It doesn't feel good to have a poopy diaper."
NOOOO!"

Now, we want little girls to grow to be strong women, dont' we?
Of course we do, but Sweet Pea, as recent as last week, just found her voice and it's a one-word sentence. And damn-it, she's going use it like there's no tomorrow.

Now, if you're a parent, you know what I'm talking about. That resonating, firm, defiant one-syllable word that comes flying out of their little mouths at the most undesirable times.
But hey, we taught them it, right? Jimmy's running into the street, "No, Jimmy. Come back here!"
Betty Sue takes the candy from Louise, "No, Betty, that's Louise's candy."
And in the case of The Cousin and Sweet Pea, well, The Cousin has been saying "NO!" to Sweet Pea her entire life. Sweet Pea has learned from the best.

"Sweet Pea, it's time to clean up. I need your help."
"NO!"

"What part of "NO" don't you understand?"

I come from the hippie, old-school way of talking with children.  "Positive reinforcement" was the buzz word back in the day. Rather than say, "Don't put that cup on the floor." We'd say, "I like it when you put the cup on the table."  Or instead of, "Do not hit your cousin!" We'd flip it to a positive and say, "It's nice to watch you be gentle with your cousin."  

Sometimes, a negative does slip out.  I mean, imagine in this situation calmly saying, "I'd really like it if you'd remove that flaming cigarette from your mouth."

As you know The Cousin will have a baby brother or sister arriving, special delivery, in October.

The preparation for this arrival started months ago.  I think everybody's a bit worried about the baby surviving a choke-hold in the first week.  In order to prepare The Cousin, they've bought her babies to take care of, read her numerous books on how special baby brothers and sisters are and are even including her in the name of the child.  Her aunt recently took her to a parent/toddler class.

These classes have a variety of subjects; sometimes, there's "Kids Jam" sometimes "Story Hour" and this particular one was all about "Baby Siblings". 

When I asked if she wanted a baby brother or sister, she said, "I want a baby brother, Wallery." 

Perhaps the decision was made after she played with this anatomically correct doll at the toddler class.

"Look! Momma gave birth to E.T."

Getting kids outside frees their souls.  When I was a kid, we always played outside. We'd play kickball in the street, ride our bikes until sunset, build blanket forts in the backyard.  It was safe 'back in the day' and I have so many awesome memories of those outside times.  Very little structure.  No need for much discipline by adults.  We kids worked it out.

There's something so important and fundamental about children playing together in the great outdoors on a regular basis.

"Outdoors language" requires very little discipline, very little adult control.
It's pure and unfiltered glee. Cooperation is on overload.

Well, that is until it's time to leave...

"NOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!"

~tpg

Two Little Birds

Things change from one week to the next. Last week, The Cousin loved that we sang Happy Birthday over and over again while she blew out the candle on her Playdoh birthday cake. 
She and I must've sang that f@*king song 2 dozen times. This week, after the cake was prepared and decorated, I sang the same song and she looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, "Wallery. Stop singing. Stop singing, Wallery. It's over." This little shit gives a whole new meaning to mood swings.  And bluntness.  I never could carry a tune.
One minute she's all bubbling over like a bottle of cheap champagne and the next, she's flat on the floor, all limbs stretching outward, throwing a full-on fit of frenzy.
You're right.  I understand her.  I do.
This has been the story of my life since I was old enough to belly up to the bar with my old man and drink a Shirley Temple. It's just the gift many of us were given and The Cousin is no exception.
It's as if, while she was lying all wrinkly and new on God's conveyor belt with all the other babies being born on her birthday, God took an extra special moment, and with his thumb, poked her little pink chin and said, "You will be tempestuous and you will feel every damn emotion, every day of your life."  And she does.  And sometimes, there's about a baker's dozen in a single minute.  

So proud of this puzzle completion AND my mood swings.

But you know what? We have an unspoken understanding for one another.

"Wallery, why you look so tired?"

Moody mamas zoning out.

We can handle it.  This thing called Life.  It's just that feelings, moods, melt-downs, sensitive moments, they all seem to pose as pebbles in the road for girls like us.  But they're rarely boulders and we never ever remain face down in the dirt for too long. We always f#*king get back up and back on track.

I tell her, she'll have days like this; days where the rocks seriously cause tumble after tumble. I also try and be a good listener as she explains her plights. Then, I offer up some tools of survival for when the rocks seem massive.

We usually have these "therapy sessions" over juice cocktails, when "you-know-who" 

is sleeping.

"I'm catching some zzz's away from those two emotional train wrecks."

One day, I'll vote for her for Congress because people like The Cousin, those rare individuals who have passion and conviction, are clearly non-existent in politics.  

And, she don't take no shit, nor can she be bought.  Sweet Pea absolutely places her on a queen's throne.  In Sweet Pea's opinion, The Cousin is Queen Cleopatra.  

End of discussion. 

I think one day Sweet Pea will see her shortcomings, but not now. Now, Sweet Pea is at her beckon call. Anything The Cousin does to her, including bite her cheek, is fair game because she's The Cousin.

"I'm all yours, baby."

When it changes for Sweet Pea, and it will, The Cousin is in for the biggest surprise of her life. Those rocks we've been talkin about, will turn to boulders in her road.  She will climb over them, but they will require some serious climbing gear.  Because the longer I'm around Sweet Pea, the more clear it becomes. She's going to be a "Don't-mess-with-me-kind-of-girl."  It's not the mere fact that she could sign-up now for a roller derby team; No, it's not just her physical strength.  It's her mental muscle.  She's an ardent observer and she's absorbing all the persons, places and things around her. 

She's taking mental notes, which she will use appropriately at the proper times.    

For now, she's just high on life.  

And she's teaching me not to sweat the rocks in the road. She's advising me, showing me how to just let go and move on.

"Life's a summer day, Baa Bee."

And The Cousin?  She's my mirror. Always reminding me to be who I am, feel what I'm feeling, stay in the moment!

Another note about The Cousin: 

She dives into blue paint like she dives into her emotions: with gusto!       Sweet Pea can handle that, and her.  For now. 

I think these two little birds, though different, are just about as sweet to my thirsty soul as honey to a bee. Yesiree.

~tpg

                                            

Strangers Among Us

Today's ponderings is peculiar, a different voice if you will. I guess I'm venturing away from the whimsical a bit in order to release this pensiveness that seems to be hounding me since the tragedy in Boston, the explosion in Texas, the vote by our NRA-owned Senators with regard to background checks for guns...
My heart sits heavy this week; like an anchor.
But forge through it with me, for the end will leave us with a small gift.
The gift's called Hope.

On the Stranger Side of Things

If there was ever a week to deviate from my usual subject matter for just a few  paragraphs or two, it was this last one. What do ya know?
A race. A city known for social activism and charity. A celebration. A stranger(s).

One family waits at the finish line.  And then the stranger decides to change their lives and the lives of hundreds and hundreds of people in a push of a button.  Happens every day, somewhere in the world, just not on our soil, damn it.

Hard to understand. Complicated.  And the painful aftermath is a stinging heartbreak that, for so many, will cut deep for a lifetime. 

There are as many solutions as there are people offering them. Opinions I have read, voice sentiments ranging from “All we need is love.” to “Pray for the victims.” to “Jesus is the answer.” to “Find and kill the bastards.” 

In the day, I truly believed in number 1; Love is the answer.  All we need is love, John Denver and pretty daisies growing freely in an open field.  But I suppose time has left an edge of rust or crust on me and though I love to love, I no longer believe it is the only answer.

An inventor named Charles Kettering once said, "Keep on going and chances are you will stumble on something, perhaps when you are least expecting it.  I have never heard of anyone stumbling on something sitting down."  We need to stumble on some solutions. As I'm writing, it's becoming quite clear that this kind of mindset, and it is a mindset, begins with me; begins with me not sitting down but rather getting my ass up and making a difference. Simply reading articles on Facebook about all the harms, injustices, violence in the world, and then reposting those articles, isn't enough.  For me, I can't just fall to my knees, put my palms together and pray for God to save us all and bless America, especially 8-year olds watching a race in his own city.
For me, I can't simply complain to anyone who will listen, or write a letter to the editor of my local rag or a meaningless blog...  I must swing my front door wide open and run, not walk, out into this world and take action!
I must speak up every time. I must donate my money to the causes I believe in and not donate my money to representatives that do not represent me. I must make phone calls.  I must...We all must.
Because history tells me, that's the only way to create change. And I must remember that all strangers are not bad people.  That we must not give up on humanity as a whole, even though small parts are evil.

We're taught as children, don't talk to strangers. Of course, for so many, the boogie man or boogie woman was not in fact a stranger, but a known "friend" or family member. But nonetheless, there was a conditioning that strangers could and would potentially harm us. And look what happened in Boston. They can. They do.
But what if the strangers that pass us on the street, stand next to us in a grocery store line, wait on us at our favorite restaurant...what if they are are rare gems, loving individuals? And what if we actually took the time we think we do not have, to extend ourselves to them? 

This last week, when strangers were hurting strangers in Boston and all over the world, I had two incredibly meaningful encounters at the gift shop where I work part-time when I'm not doing my nanny gig. 

Shelby browsed for well over 2 hours. (she had to move her car twice 'cuz she was parked in a one-hour parking space) She asked really lame questions and didn't appear to have a need to buy a damn thing.  In my mind, I was irritated with her and I could have come across as slightly chilly.
She (finally) came up to the counter with a few items and out of the blue she compliments me on my ring and asks if I am married. For some reason, that probably has to do with being the smart-ass of my family in order to make a point, I replied, "Sort of."  Her smile was anything but stranger-like.
The next hour (she had to move her car one more time) was spent talking, laughing, crying (no joke) revealing refreshing and intimate tidbits of our passions, our beliefs, our life-stories, our feelings on religion, politics and other human stuff...
She paid for her items and I bagged them up.  As she was leaving, she took one item out of her bag and she gave it to me.  "I want you and your partner to have this so you will always remember how valued you are as a committed, married couple." 
The item was a pair of origami figurines that signify marriage.
She had bought them to give to her fiancé.

Renate is a German woman in her mid-70's.  I've waited on her before and we have talked genealogy, tea and travel. Superficial shit.  But it was always surface chit-chat and, prior to the other day, I hadn't the desire to ask her name.  When she came in this time, her aura was noticeably heavy and sad.  I could feel it across the store but hey, I'm no therapist.  I sell tea.
So, I continued working and left her to her own business. Besides, striking up a conversation with a stranger, especially one that appears forlorn or down, takes effort and desire, of which, I didn't think I had either.
At some point, I noticed her eyes.  They were dull, colorless. I noticed that and I also noticed the way she held her handbag; tucked way into her side, almost clinched with both hands as if her purse was her security blanket.  I'd label her "fragile."
"You look like you could use a cup of tea. May I buy you one?" Those words came out of my mouth and I actually surprised myself.   We sat on two wooden chairs, sipping our tea.  She seemed hesitant, so I didn't ask anything. I simply babbled about the slowness of my day, the dusting that I've been putting off and the fierceness of the wind outside. 
She didn't say much at first; just forced a smile and sipped her tea.  Finally, she spoke in a whisper- voice, "My husband was just diagnosed with two kinds of cancer, both Stage 4. And my daughter, in Berlin, is getting a divorce. I wish I could be with her but I can't leave my husband right now."  (This shit is real, I thought.)
She kept her face down, stared into her cup of tea.  I could tell she wasn't used to telling a stranger her most personal sadnesses.  The next half hour or so was like a waltz; a perfectly executed waltz in which our conversation flowed back and forth with precision and grace; a timely balance of hesitation and forthcoming.
She reminded me of my mother.
When I hugged her good-bye, I hugged her as if she were my mom.
Then I noticed that some of the dullness in her eyes had lightened a bit.

Sometimes strangers are worth knowing.

On the Lighter Side of Things

The Cousin is a bit shy and needs some coaxing when she encounters a stranger that has "friend-potential."  Miles is 3 years old and lives across the street from her.  Miles has absolutely no problem making pals.  Yesterday, The Cousin and I were on her front lawn soaking up the rays while Sweet Pea was napping, when a cheery and confident voice calls out from across the street, "Hi! Do you want to come over and draw on the sidewalk with chalk? I'm drawing a ship!"
So, what does The Cousin do?  She immediately retreats behind my left thigh and grips my pant leg.
I always attempt to ease her mind. After a comforting "nanny squeeze" I yell,
"Thank you! We would love to see your ship!"  We head over to meet the little stranger.  After some time, The Cousin feels at ease and the art flows out of her like water from a sink's spicket.
She especially gets going when Miles has to depart for daycare.

Artists are born when the Sweet Peas of the world are napping.  It's a great time for The Cousin and I; forty minutes of "let's see what we can make, create, explore, solve together."  It's lovely until it's time to share again. Share the nanny.  Share the toys.  Share the cookies.  Sharing is an exceptionally difficult concept for The Cousin to grasp. ( I can't wait until her bro or sis arrives!) However today, she exhibited occasional signs of cooperation.

We hit the pavement running after lunchtime and it didn't take long for both of the munchkins to crash. THANK GOD!

When you gaze at them in this state, you have to ask yourself, "How could anything be more perfect?"

And you know what? Nothing is. This is pure perfection, folks. 

So is their laughter.  And like the meaningful connections we make with strangers, who are not the bad guys, but the good ones;

The sweetness of these two babies has left a "forever-mark" on my heart.

And so did Renate, the German woman who I hope will find me again. And so did Shelby, who has a heart as big as The Atlantic Ocean and whose intelligence and compassion is selfless.  And let's not forget Miles, who hasn't (yet) been tainted by people who are unkind.

All of these individuals, and their acts of connection, offer me respite from last week's tragic events.

I'm mushy today.  It is what it is.

~tpg