One Good Deed a Day: A Helping Hand

[It's been a sobering week, and watching the news tonight reminded me of this quote by Indira Ghandi: "You cannot shake hands with a clenched fist."]

Last night my son and I were walking out of Lowe's Home Improvement Store when I noticed an elderly woman in the parking lot struggling to get out of her electric scooter. She tried to stand, managed to get halfway up, but then sat back down. She looked around helplessly.

I approached her and asked if I could help.


"Yes, thank you," she said. "I need you to hold my hand. Just hold it firmly."


And so I did. I grasped her hand, gently pulled her to her feet, and then held her hand a few seconds longer so she could get her balance. She thanked me, we chatted a few minutes, and that was that.


Later, I thought how the act of extending "a helping hand" is the simplest, most basic way to reach out to someone; that, at its heart, it's taking an opportunity God gives us to give of ourselves. Sometimes extending a hand isn't easy, and often it can take us out of our comfort zone, but mostly it opens the door for God's grace to flow so we can experience compassion and love at its basic level. It's wholly uncomplicated -- it's a teenager holding the door open for a mother pushing a stroller, a neighbor mowing the lawn for someone in the hospital, the librarian going the extra mile to help a student with a research project, or a stranger helping to pick up a bag of spilled apples in the store.


Sometimes it can be a college student who helps a nun.


The first time Sr. Gaudiosa stayed with us she told us how, on her very first flight from Tanzania, she had to change planes in Germany where she was forced to take an escalator to get to her gate. This was the first escalator she had ever seen and it terrified her. She stood to the side, studying it. She watched how people got on. She approached it, lost her nerve, and backed away again. She didn't know what to do.

Then she heard, "Sister? Do you need help?"

It was a German student, male, in his mid-twenties. When she pointed to the escalator he immediately understood. He picked up her bag and took her by the arm.

"Not to worry, Sister. I will help you." And he did. He helped her step on, he held her hand all the way down the escalator, he told her when to step off, and then he escorted her to her gate.


Lending a helping hand. It seems like such a little thing, a minor thing. Insignificant. But last night I was asked to extend my hand ... literally. And it reminded me yet again of the wonderful interconnectedness of humanity.


I held a stranger's hand and it was a beautiful thing.

Timothy, lending Sr. Gaudiosa a helping hand
at the Augusta Museum of History.

A Pink Balloon Day

i like

the un-looked for,

but found—

a love note in a book

a peppermint in my pocket

an out-of-nowhere idea;

the not asked for,

but given—

a non-birthday gift

just because hugs

a spoken appreciation;

moments filled with the unheralded

and unexpected—

a pink balloon day. 

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

something said

there’s something to be said

of the new, shiny,

young and bold,

things that sparkle

and covered in gold,

of adventures planned

and futures untold.

there’s something to be said

of the old, ramshackle,

bedraggled and rusty,

things faded

and a little musty,

of pathways traveled

and footpaths dusty.

there’s something to be said

of the anticipation of tomorrow

or the reflection of yesterday. 

one seeks a future story

the other,

grasps at past glory

to tell a teaching story.

*from the files of very bad poetry by bia

Do you know a funny story? Do tell, it's Laura's birthday!

Today is my sister's birthday. I like to talk about my sister. I have LOTS of stories about my sister. Allow me to tell you everything about Laura that she doesn't want you to know ...

1- She is the best travel buddy ...

2- She sends surprise packages, sometimes for an occasion but sometimes just because.

3- She has been known to use the Men's Restroom

Yes, 'tis true. When we were in Italy this past September, she walked into the Men's Restroom not once but TWICE. This happened despite the fact she knows how to read and speak Italian. She says she didn't realize, but on one of those occasions she actually walked in as a man was walking out. You should have seen the look on his face. Laura was oblivious until we yelled at her "WRONG BATHROOM!!!"

4- Laura is a tattle tale. When we were in Italy, she sent the WHOLE GROUP a picture of the state of our hotel room. In my defense, I was PACKING. 

5- She doesn't like Haikus.

6- She does NOT like the color yellow. It gives her a headache. So she avoided all the pretty sunflowers we saw in Tuscany.

7- But she does like Haribo Gummy Bears and Sour Patch Kids. Like, really really likes them. This is one of her orders from Amazon.

8- Be careful what you ask because Laura can be very thorough. The text below went on for some time.

9- Everything I can do, she can do better. Like drawing. And singing. Especially singing ...

10- She is a great shopper. She has an EYE ... you know? Joe gets scared when I go shopping with Laura ;-)

11. I have thought long and hard about this ... but I think I'll keep her. Happy birthday Ua! 

Ode to a Kitchen Table

For over 20 years you have been the heart and soul of our home, the seasons of family life reflected throughout the years in the Advent wreaths, Easter candles, Halloween pumpkins, Masters welcome baskets, and birthday cakes displayed in your center.

For over 20 years we have sat around you to eat dinner together as a family, and we have gathered around you for family prayer—Stations of the Cross during Lent, the rosary on Sunday nights, and morning devotionals.

For over 20 years you have witnessed our laughter, frustrations, and joys. You have listened in on conversations, debates, arguments, and whispered prayers. You have offered your surface for board games, Lego competitions, Hot Wheels, and homework. You have been used as a St. Joseph altar, a buffet table, and even a picnic table when we carried you outside so we could dine under the trees.

And now, after over 20 years, we need to say goodbye. Not because we do not still need you, but because someone needs you more. So, you will go with Jonathan to Atlanta where you will offer him a constant reminder of home. 

In the meantime, there will an empty spot in our kitchen because it will take time to find something that will serve us as well as you have.

Croquet on Mother's Day

When we think back during this time of sheltering at home, one standout memory will be our nightly croquet games. 

It has become a ritual. Every evening after dinner, we gather in the backyard for 2-3 games, and to keep things interesting every few nights one of the boys will change the layout of the course. As a game it may sound pedantic, but croquet involves strategy, technique, and cunning moves. Additionally, you get to whack someone's ball out of the way.

And don't think of it as a genteel sport. It is cutthroat and my guys are out to win. 

Which is why I never win. Ever. 

But tonight, with it being Mother's Day and all, the guys went easy on me. They let me move my ball out of the pebbles, they chose to hit my ball THROUGH the wicket and not away from it, and they even let me have a do-over.

I still lost.

But who cares? The day couldn't have been more perfect: gorgeous weather, breakfast made by Joe, lunch from Villa Europa, a driveway visit with my parents, phone call (and nice conversation) with Nicholas, Cold Stone Creamery treats on the deck, and guitar music books, two novels, and a beautifully bound and illustrated version of John Steinbeck's East of Eden from the Folio Society of London. 

Mother's Day was perfect ... with or without croquet. 

Covid-19 and Turning 16

It didn't bother Timothy that we had to celebrate his 16th birthday during a pandemic, and he was fine with celebrating quietly. What he WASN'T okay with was the DMV cancelling his driving test THREE times.

For someone who has car posters on his wall, whose favorite television shows are Top Gear (British and American) and Formula I: Drive to Survive, and who can tell you the make and model of every vehicle on the road, the fact that he couldn't take the driver's test was painful. 

But then Georgia's governor, Brian Kemp, issued an executive order. If a full-time student has had a learner's permit for a year and a day, with 40 hours of driving experience (including 6 at night), and could provide validation of having completed both Joshua's law (a 30-hour online course) and ADAP (an online Alcohol and Drug Awareness Program), then the student could apply apply for a license online. NO DRIVING TEST REQUIRED.

Timothy was all over that in a hot minute. He filled out the online form, provided all documentation, and submitted everything exactly one day after the Governor's announcement.  

Yesterday his driver's license arrived. 

And just in time, too, because he has a summer job. 

The Window

I am sharing an Instagram post from Gallerie degli Uffizi (the Uffizi Gallery) of this painting by Giuseppe Abbati.  It's a beautiful image reflecting where we are and where we hope to be. I translated the post for you ...

A window open to the countryside on a sunny afternoon. The thick walls of the old house keep the cool inside. The bricks and the dark wood show the signs of aging … everything evokes a simple an frugal living, in contrast with nature's lush vegetation outside.  An image in the the 19^th century Giuseppe abbati explored the effects of light over daily life and nature. The sun breaks in a dark space protected by shadow, bringing with it light and warmth, and maybe even hope. 

For us, waiting for the end of this long quarantine, it can be the image of the future. An opening, a sunny view of the world that warms our life, brings expectations, and hopefully, new perspectives. 

Giuseppe Abbati (1836 - 1868)

"La finestra" 

Palazzo Pitti, Galleria d'arte moderna

Firenze

Una finestra di un casolare in campagna aperta su un pomeriggio di sole. I muri spessi delle vecchie case che conservano il fresco all’interno. I mattoni a vista, lo scuro di legno con i segni del tempo… tutto evoca un vivere semplice e frugale, in contatto con la natura rigogliosa che si intravede fuori.  Il sole invade uno spazio scuro e protetto dalle ombre, porta luce e calore, forse speranza.

Per noi, oggi, che aspettiamo la fine di una lunga quarantena, è l’immagine del “dopo”. Un’apertura, un affaccio sul mondo, una vampata di calore che riscalda il quotidiano e riempe di aspettative e speriamo, di prospettive nuove.

The Folder: Transitioning from College Life to the Real World

In less than two weeks our second son will be moving to Atlanta. After receiving his master's degree last week Jonathan is officially done with college and ready to move on. He has a job working as a tax associate at an Atlanta accounting firm, a brand new apartment (literally, newly constructed), and looking forward to life in The Real World.

As parents, helping our sons "get ready" for a transition is nothing new--we were there when they took their first steps, attended the first day of Mother's Day Out, studied for their driver's license, asked a girl to the prom, or applied for their first job. All through kindergarten, middle school, high school, and college we stood by their side to encourage and advise.

But this time, with this move to Atlanta, it is different. It's one thing to help your son move into a dorm room, but helping him move into an apartment where he will be completely on his own puts a different spin on the whole letting go thing. And yes, we've been through this before, but no, it doesn't get easier. After we helped our oldest son move to Little Rock, and after I bravely hugged him goodbye, I cried all the way home from Arkansas to Georgia.

During these last two weeks we have been busy preparing for this newest transition with furniture, new bank account, credit card, kitchen items, bed linens, and a last minute dental cleaning. Nonna and Nonno gifted him a set of pots and pans. This morning Joe helped Jonathan purchase car insurance, and yesterday I put together a Pantry Starter Kit (spices, olive oil, cooking spray, kitchen towels). Today we are painting some bookcases.

But the real sign this transition is different, that it is permanent, occurs with the official transfer of THE FOLDER. Joe handles this part, but basically the folder contains all the documents Jonathan needs to begin life in The Real World: his social security card, copy of his birth certificate, the latest prescription for his glasses, copies of his federal and state income tax forms, and the extra set of keys to his car. Inside the folder are also notes from Dad about insurance, budget planning, and tips about this and that.

The folder makes it real. This. Is. Happening.

It's an exciting time for Jonathan, and we are so happy for him, but still ... I think I will keep a box of tissues nearby.

One son in Little Rock (here he is graduating from Clemson)

One son in Atlanta (with a Masters in Accountancy)

One son, our baby, in high school