Kindnessgirl

Ladder for Booker T. Washington by Martin Puryear

Spontaneity is one of my most favorite qualities in a man. Jorge surprised with me with a day trip to NYC for Christmas. The financial worrier in me was quieted by the anticipation and thrill of being surrounded by tall buildings, the best museums and restaurants, and my hand securely interlocked with my other’s.

It was a little like country mouse does the big city. Neither of us had been in over 15 years (maybe 20 for me) so we wandered in awe like first timers. I was amazed my the sheer amount of people that cross the street together, it felt like we were caught in a rushing water. The energy of so many so close, all positive and negative charges of emotion and thought. My sensors were in overload, especially my spidey sense for people’s feelings. It was an unexpected rush.

I spent half the day just looking up at the height of every tower, cathedral and building. I tried so hard to take it all in, the people, the shopping, the food, …but it was the art that got me. The lines were long at MoMA but we were stellar in our planning so nothing felt too long and being alone with out 3 children made everything seem fast and easy.

I had no idea MoMA would feel so sacred. We walked into the main foyer to an exhibit of Martin Puryear’s work. There were a million reasons to love this artist. He worked in Sierra Leone with the peace corps, his organic material and views about his work, his eyes.

My favorite by far was

The Ladder for Booker T. Washington

Here is what he had to say about it:

“Putting your buckets down where you are and working with what you’ve got.”

I can so relate to Washington’s views and struggles as my heart often chooses harmony, peace, and a gentle way to change. This path is slow and long. I can only imagine how frustrated DuBois was and how freedom ultimately required both men’s vision and work.

It turns out the title was an after thought so I was dreaming up my own interpretation and meanings for this amazing piece art.

I stared up at Mr. Puryear’s ladder, not wanting to leave the spot. It was so fucking inspiring. (sorry mom, but there are no other words to describe it)

It took every thing in me to not try to climb it myself. It felt hopeful, like if you wanted to reach the clouds or sky it was only up to your arms and legs to get you there. It was so tall and crooked, as if he understood my own path to becoming the me I want to be.

I am occasionally tortured by the how the ladder is curved and that the rails get smaller. My soul still doubts I can reach whatever is at the top, if there is a top or if that is even the point in the first place. Yet I still am working with what is right in front of me, slowly changing each day, inching towards something higher and greater, even if it is only a new view.*

So I imagine where is the ladder taking me today? in 2008? And what bucket is lying right around me?

Feel free to imagine the heights and destinations of your ladder in the comments.

Today for me my friends, it’s Juno. Yes, a movie. No big philosophical answer. Just this mother/friend/kindness worker sitting in the dark eating rasinets. Maybe there will be bigger ideas and enlightened answers tomorrow…

p.s. Clay– I thought about you and Mary at MoMA so much- I could just see the babies in sculpture on the 3rd floor.

Happy New Year to all!

peace,

j & p

*While I’m sure this might not be the interpretation the artist intended, I am grateful for Mr. Puryear’s gift of art today.

Getting out of a funk sometimes requires the kindness of both one who knows your heart and one who will only hold it for a brief moment in a grocery store aisle.

My dad called late last night but I didn’t see the call. His voicemail was the perfect message- initial chit-chat about the weather, then empathy, closing with encouraging words. I needed his particular brand of kindness, a pure and true heart. It’s the kind you wish you could you could keep in your pocket and play every other day to remind you how goodness can heal your soul.

I wandered the grocery aisles after his call searching for comfort food. A very old black woman (she looked in her late 80’s) with a long dress, black coat and teal hat was chatting with strangers in the pasta aisle.

“I just love people, I like the white people. It’s because of Jesus I’m so happy. I mean that’s why he died on the cross isn’t it?” she said.

I nodded and smiled.

“How are you honey?” she says.

“I’m okay, I’ve been better I guess.” I say.

“Are you sick?” she says with a wrinkled brow.

“No, just a little sad.” I say. I have no idea why these words are coming out of my mouth. Maybe I could not lie to her old mother eyes.

“Oh, you look tired. You are young and strong, but you need to rest. You should rest. You work hard don’t you?”

“I do, I think you are right, I do need to rest.” I nod. “When you get home would you say a little prayer for me?” It felt shocking and completely comfortable at the same time.

“Oh yes I will. I knows how to pray honey, I knows how to pray. And one more thing, your hair is beautiful. I always tell the white girls- never cut that pretty hair.” Practical advice infused with the divine.

“I won’t. Thank you. Have a happy new year!” I say as I start to walk away.

“Thank you honey. You too.”

How can you not feel better after an encounter with a random old wise woman who is probably going senile? and a dad that for all the mistakes he ever made in his life will leave a legacy of a deep love…and a good message.

Have you ever had a Christmas that was just complicated and hard? I come from a family of amazing, dynamic people. Most people have only one of these types per family, we have several. When any one of my 3 sisters enters a room she owns it immediately, it has been this way as long as I can remember.

And the sibling love, it’s the I’ll-scratch-your-eyes-out if you ever hurt her sort of ferocious kind. It’s a ball of strong personalities, independence, creativity and a little madness all rolled into one. All of this energy makes my family special and exhausting at the same time, holidays seem to heighten each person’s dysfunctional role. (mine included)

I found myself saddened this year, wishing some things were different, wishing I were different…I’m forever trying to sort it out in my head. So for all that are feeling torn and a little bit relieved that tomorrow is not Christmas, I am eating chocolate in your honor tonight.

I hope your Christmas was simple and full of peace…

kindness girl

The last day or two have been very blue around our house. My attempts to rest while I’m on my vacation from the store haven’t exactly worked out. It seemed other things crept in, some good, some draining.

It was one of those days where Lucy tantrumed ALL day long. Our weather proof jackets were slippery so every flailing, throw-back-of-the-head ended up with me holding her by one arm while she slid down my body. Lovely, I know. The boys fought through the afternoon and then I ended the night at a meeting where I huddled in a back room trying to get my kids to cooperate.

Grouchy, abhorrent children aside, a dark cloud rolled in to hang over our house. This dark cloud of course being money, actually the lack of…. budgets, our little house going up for sale in the dead of winter, property taxes, insurance payments…you get the idea. Recycle Christmas was great, representing 70% of our gifts but somehow the joy of giving the other 30% got derailed and headed straight for Christmas disaster. This left everyone feeling low.

In the middle of the Christmas crisis, I got a kindness call which is a weird rescue of sorts. It always puts whatever troubles I have into perspective. On my way to the call, I stopped to pick something up and saw a nail place close by. I decided if I couldn’t afford hair highlights this Christmas, I certainly could afford a quick eyebrow wax. I walked in and a lovely Asian women asked me to sit down.

Me: How are you today?

Woman: Oh just terrible!

Me: Oh dear, I’m so sorry! What is wrong?

Woman: It’s been a terrible year.

Me: Do you think it can get better?

With that she rips the first strip and then the second, then she hands me the mirror.

I try not to gasp.

Woman: No, I don’t think so.

I try to listen sympathetically while I look at what is left of my eyebrow- oh my God, I look like a cancer patient!

Me: Well, this is not good. (her life, not the eyebrow.)

Woman: You like? (while she holds up the mirror)

Me: Yes, thank you. (I lie, what good is it now? and besides, she looks troubled)

Me: Well, please tell me your name, I will light a candle for you when I get home. I’m so sorry things are not good, but I am going to hold onto hope for you that maybe it can get better okay?

Woman: Yes, thank you ma’aam. Thank you miss….

So if you come across a woman with 5″ roots showing and pencil thin eyebrows looking a little blue, it’s probably me. The good news is that hair and eye brows grow, candles hold prayers, there are good girlfriends who listen to tearful phone calls about my vanity, kindness reigns and money is just money, it can’t hold you at night.

p.s. check this guy out- i love this post and call to action!

Josiah: Jackie-boy, do you know in old cartoons they NEVER hit girls and stuff? Do you know why?  it’s because they are classy.

Jack: Oh…

Josiah: And in cartoons, everything is more fun. You would really love being in a cartoon.

Oh my lord, my life is a cartoon. I knew that one episode of Tom and Jerry was a mistake….

1. The post office almost seemed like Cheers today. Sam, the postal worker, was chatting with various regulars. He told me how to package differently to save a few dollars and graciously waited while I repacked an entire box.

Older gentlemen and grandmothers smiled at babies in car seats while harried mothers put packages together during the long wait in the line. Lucy sang Jingle Bells at the top of her lungs while I promised Jack this would be the last trip for a long time. This small hope got him through.

I just like the feel of cardboard packages and envelopes in my hand. Someone dear will get to open a tiny treasure soon. The surprise kind are the best.

2. Gracie the dog came to spend a few nights with us while her family is away. She wants to cuddle like a cat, all 95lbs. of her but she’s gentle like a dear old girl. She could possibly be the nicest dog I have EVER met in my ENTIRE life. The kids are beside themselves- all the kids, in the whole neighborhood. It was the best Christmas treat.

3. There has been a fire in my fireplace almost every other night. You might remember from this how long I have been waiting for the fire miracle.

4. The Christmas altar is a little bare or maybe just simple this year. Jack came to me one day and held up a lego creation he had made.

“Mom, do you know why I made this Lego?”

“No buddy, why?”

“Because I want Chlistmas (christmas) to be special, you can put this on our altar if you want.”

I went out later and came home to about 8 more tiny creations on the mantle. Candles and legos, maybe that’s all you need.

5. A Julie Andrews Christmas- I’ve been torturing my family by making them listen to various artist’s versions of Christmas music ALL the time. Yesterday it was Julie Andrews…We needed the grandeur only Julie can bring while spinning on the top of some mountain in Austria. During my best falcetto impersonation of Ms. Andrews on the way to school Josiah said,

J:” Mom, do you know what you should do?”

Me:”What?”

J:”You should join a singing contest mom!”

Jack: ” You really should mom, I think you could win!”

Me and Julie, here we come American Idol…

6. Fairy Godmothers have been visiting me with gifts of fruit on the steps at my back door, neighbors who offer to babysit at the last moment before crisis, massages and friendships forged by tears over breakfast.

It’s Christmas Kindness…

7. Kindness work- the kindness calls have been coming in pretty regularly lately. So many stories, lots of hope floating around even in the darkest moments. Peace on earth, goodwill to men…

Christmas is hard, I hope tiny miracles cross your path this season…feel free to share any in the comments.

Mr. Magorium’s Wonder Emporium

If ever a movie has undone me, it was this one. Maybe it is the particular stage of development I am in or the state of my soul, but I needed this movie. It all seems to be attached to becoming kindness girl. It was almost too much to even write about so I’ll leave you to decide for yourself.

What I know is this-Kindness work is growing and spreading, I see everyone around me practicing their own brand and way. It is magic…..and maybe even a revolution.

This week has found me dressed in crisp white shirts and tailored black pants. My dear friend Windsor got me a job working as a caterer’s assistant by night, it’s one of my many jobs right now to get us through this crazy time. I’m also delighted by the fact that I’ll be old someday telling stories of the 1,000 different jobs I experienced. It’s like the old man at parties that tells about how he traveled with the circus as a young man or something. Not that catering is at all like being a trapeze artist (well, it can get a little loopy) but I hope I get to try a a bit of everything in my time.

It often feels like an honor to be at someone’s special event, like serving the cake that is the sweetest end to the day you promised to be with your beloved forever or listening to speeches from the top of the stairs in celebration of the birth of your wife so many years ago. ….and then there are days when it’s simply about pure decadence and wealth. Yesterday was my funniest experience with such a crowd. We were catering for high tea to 200 women from the local women’s club. These were probably the wealthiest women in my city all gathered together in one place. I have never seen so many big hairdo’s, fur stolls, and brightly colored suits in my life.

I passed the yummiest hor dourves and nodded my head graciously as the women accepted or rejected my offer. The oldest ladies in the room were painfully polite while the older women occasionally (actually) turned up their noses. I found myself completely taking in this crowd like I was observing some rare bird in the wild. I then realized I had been spontaneously giving curtsies to the last five women I’d encountered.

I ran back to the kitchen where Rose was washing dishes. Rose is a lovely african american women who was dressed in a maid’s uniform and has served these women for many years. She laughed as I told her my story of my subconscious response to perceived royalty while we scraped dishes together. “Look at this….”, she said. We chuckled at the brightest red lipstick print on the china tea cup you have ever seen. I imagine Rose has many more stories and I wished I could have stayed by her side for a little while longer. I realized I’ve always preferred the company of the kitchen.