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May your days be merry and bright
By Deborah Taylor-Hollis
While ordering at Le Boulanger one fine cold morning, I realize I've left my checkbook at home and I only have $2 on me for a $12 order. As I ask Bonnie to hold my purchases until I come back at 3 p.m., a woman I've never met before says, "Let me get that for you. I'll give you my card, and you can mail the money back to me."
I gracefully decline the kind gesture--I'm in the bakery at least twice a day, and it's barely a minute from the elementary school--but her touching offer to help a total stranger makes me feel warm and humble. I will have to remember to be kinder today.
Stuart and I come home one afternoon from running errands and find a wonderful Harry Potter poster on our front-porch conversational table. There is no note or anything to indicate who could have left us such a wonderful surprise.
My friend Janet's ancient cat, Casper, is almost 19 and slowly dying of old age, yet she loves to be outdoors. Janet indulges her elderly whims by letting her stay outside on warm days. So far, I have had to intervene three times as kind, caring people see the thin, scrawny cat and proceed to either try to feed her or try to catch her to take her to the vet--and pay for her care themselves. Janet and I are making a large note for Casper's collar: "Not sick--just OLD."
Last winter, I heard noises behind the house on the railroad tracks, and went out at noon to find a man maneuvering a shopping cart full of his life into the thick bushes against my fence. He was nervous and apologized repeatedly for bothering me. He wasn't dangerous, and he appeared fairly well kept. Rather than call 911, I asked him what he was doing, and I found out that you can't take shopping carts full of your life into shelters when you need a shower and a meal. He wanted to hide the cart from strangers while he was gone overnight. It was such a small thing to ask. I eventually promised I'd check on it for him around 10 p.m.
A truck driver who works with my husband is the single father of four children, all under 13 years old. In October, his house caught fire and burned to the ground. Although the family and their pets got out safely, they lost everything they owned. The next week, without his knowledge, his company sent home a letter to everyone, telling us of the tragedy and asking for a one-time payroll deduction of any amount to help the family out. I'm told the response was nearly 100 percent from the 110 drivers on the lot.
Our first-grade teacher wanted to fill the planting boxes around the classroom with new dirt for the kids' vegetable and fruit garden, but needed someone to donate some dirt. Just one phone call to San Jose Recycling got our school not only all the dirt we want--anytime--but also more than 100 daffodil bulbs to plant in it.
When we moved into the neighborhood in 1984, the first person to arrive at our door was my neighbor, Carol Zarote. She had a card and a plate of cookies in hand. Over the next 15 years, she hosed down the court one hot Fourth of July, drove the neighbor's dog to the vet when it got sick and he wasn't home, and helped countless neighbors who needed a sitter, a working phone or someone to let the PG&E person in their houses. She has never forgotten a birthday, a Christmas, a Mother's Day or a Valentine's Day. She is our court treasure.
Susie Little--neighborhood volunteer, PTA historian, day-care provider and "woman who can't say no"--puts in more than 20 hours a week at the elementary school, handles the boys in the playgroup with ease and still is the first one to volunteer for jobs no one else wants. So, it's no surprise that she helped Anja and Sam McClain take some kids to see the Pokémon movie when it opened in November. A dozen kids to be exact.
My 6-year-old cries when I go to the post office without him. Ophie and Oneal have been the best friends a community could have. They remember the names of every kid they meet, pass out good cheer and coloring books, help with disasters and smile no matter how hard their jobs have become. And the kids love the little candy suckers.
My pastor, Dave, months ago gave a sermon about how "God holds you in his hand." To illustrate the point, he handed out these goofy little smiley-face superballs and had the whole congregation hold them in their open palms. I keep mine in my purse and probably hold it tightly in my hand at least once a week--just to remind myself how small I am in the bigger scheme of things.
Readers can contact Deborah at DTHollis@metronews.com.
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Willow Glen, California Since 1992
