Safe-House? Stay Home.

Ok. I’ll admit it.  I surrendered to the hype.   I don’t like to think I follow the crowd, but the propaganda publicity finally got to me. 

I couldn’t watch late night, or daytime (in-between the PBS station that captivates my grandchildren) television in the past few weeks without seeing the handsome Denzel Washington on set plugging his latest new movie.  And that other guy….Ryan Reynolds, too.   Both actors star in a CIA conspiracy-thriller billed as one of the greatest action-packed suspense movies of its time. 

So… on opening day I ran to my nearest theater to catch the matinee I saw Jay Leno dub as an “edge-of-your-seat” action spy story, Safe House.

Despite my affinity for Jay Leno, “Don’t believe everything you hear,” is what I have to say.  Don’t get me wrong.  I L-O-V-E action flicks.  Suspense.  Political-thrillers.   Even some “necessary” violence.  But this picture?  If you MUST see it, I’d say, “save it for DVD…or Blue Ray,” or whatever it’s called now.

The HUGE body count is just too many to be believable.  And you don't have too long to wait before another shoot-out, car chase, stabbing, explosion, bludgeoning or face-kick comes along.  And, of course, the stars only end up with a minor scratch or two on their cute little mugs.  But they do leave behind a trail of dead bodies, cars wrecked beyond recognition, with CIA and FBI big-wigs and local law enforcement scratching their heads in disbelief.  Duh.

Denzel (yes, we’re now on a first-name basis), as usual, plays his cool self and does it well.  However, Reynolds?  He seems so unaffected and barely changes his facial expressions.

And another thing.   I know the picture screens are getting clearer and sharper, but I wish someone would tell Ryan Reynolds to wax his nose.  No. I don’t mean his nose-hairs, but the hairs ON his nose.  I couldn’t help but notice the peach-fuzz on his face shining in all those close-ups.  Am I being too “picky” (no pun intended)?

Shop ‘Till You Drop

Purchasing Christmas and birthday gifts hasn’t always been easy or fun for me.  Even when invited to showers and weddings where gift ideas demands are spelled out for you on the registry, I still seek out the nearest sales person to help me out. 

Now if it’s a gift FOR me…FROM me?   I prefer to do my personal shopping alone.  I don’t want some 20-something, 90-pound sales clerk barging in the dressing room door telling me I look fab amazing in an outfit that is clearly not me.   I prefer my privacy when trying on clothes.

I used to drag my former husband and he’d sit while I tried on endless ensembles.  He too, thought they all looked great, but I soon discovered that if I wanted a real, sometimes-disappointing-but-true opinion, I would ask my daughter.

I try to get the right gifts, and I always include the gift-receipt with the present just in case the gift doesn’t fit or it’s not to their liking.

“Just give ‘em money,” is what I usually hear from the people around me.  But that’s no fun!  Unless it’s from a wealthy stranger with money to spare and no strings attached, I’d much rather receive a small personal gift that took at least a “little” thought.

It’s now one month after Christmas and I am so pleased (without sales help) with a gift I purchased on-line for a couple of my oldest grandchildren.  They are just barely 6 and I am amazed at what the right gift can inspire!  What they are learning is amazing!

A couple of week ago I received a phone call from my kindergarten grandson.  The conversation went like this:

           Grandson:  Hellooooo, grannnnndma?
           Me:    Hi, Drewey!  What are you doing?
           Grandson:  (sounding worried) Grannndma?  Why did Harry S.
                                Truman drop the bomb?
           Me:  ahhhh…well…ahhh… war is a terrible thing, and
                     dropping the bomb helped end the war.
           Grandson:  Do you think that Harry S. Truman made the
                                correct choice to drop the bomb?
            Me:  ahhh...well.  Lot's of people were hurt and two cities
                     were completely ruined which is a very bad thing, but it
                     DID put an end to the war.
          

The President's Game from Lillian Vernon on line.

I was stunned by this kindergartener’s insight.  Not only is he learning by memorizing the past 45 Presidents (is it 45?  I’ll have to ask him), but he UNDERSTANDS so much about them, their wives, their Vice Presidents, and interesting facts that I am learning right along with him.    

He even understands the time-line for the past 200 years and relates the years to, for instance, me and the man who was president when I was born (Harry S. Truman).  I thought it was Eisenhower…but what do I know!

Even when he doesn’t have his “ Presidents’ game” with him (which is rare) and he’s busy playing “normal” 6-year-old-boy things (sports, tackling his brother), every couple hours or so he’s asking questions about the presidents……or trying to trick me……which isn’t too difficult. 

So now we play a quasi-Jeopardy where HE’s Alex Trebek and I am the contestant.   He just loves to give me that BEEEEEEEEEEEP sound for the wrong answer.

Next time you purchase a gift, give it a little thought.  You could change someone’s life!   BEEEEEP!

My Dad - 1911 - 2011

My dad passed away the other night.  He was 100 and 1/2 years old.  He witnessed changes during his lifetime that were most unbelievable.  He plowed fields with a hand-plow and horse.  The family had a cow!  Yet in 2010, he joined Facebook and his favorite new word was "Google."  I think he just liked saying it.  He came a long way, baby.  With this being said, below is the eulogy written and spoken at his funeral by my sister Jane Pitrone Rossi.  Thanks, Jane.  It was a wonderful tribute.  You caught his essence in every way....Joyce

Anthony Pitrone was born in 1911, the same year as Ronald Reagan. Other than both men having a full head of hair, their lives bore little resemblance. What Dad DID share in common with President Reagan was the world he was born into and the changes he witnessed.

Anthony Pitrone 1911 - 2011

For example, in 1911, the Titanic had not yet sailed on its doomed maiden voyage. Life expectancy for men born in 1911 was 50 years. . . Dad doubled that! Women could not vote. World War One would not even end until Anthony was age 7.

Dad recently recounted the story of himself and his brother, Dominic, walking on their way to claim the new family cow, Aramalinda, when church bells rang out and all the mines began blowing their whistles—signifying the end of WW 1.

Two World Wars, the Great Depression, the Korean and Vietnam Wars, the latter to which his namesake and my brother, Tony, would be sent in 1967, a sexual revolution and 9/11—all left an indelible impression on dad. Great technological feats eclipsing the horse & buggy—electric vehicles, digital radios and flat screen TV’s, mainframe computers and laptops; push button phones and wireless cells—Dad witnessed it all. In fact, in 2010, (at the age of 99) Anthony Pitrone became a member of facebook, and many of you here are his facebook friends.

Although Dad was an eye-witness to major historical events and technological feats, there were many things that my father did not do in HIS century of life. He never flew in an airplane, he never went to bars (or as he called “biergartens”); he didn’t golf; he didn’t gamble or play cards; he rarely swore, except when referring to a horse’s backside; and he never bowled (although he often joked about his once-a-week Bowling Night).

Although Anthony DID NOT do many things fathers often do, my father’s life serves as an enduring legacy to his 9 children, 17 grandchildren and 21 great grandchildren. In many respects and especially to his 9 children, my father’s passing is the end of an unprecedented era as a member of what Tom Brokaw called America’s “Greatest Generation.”

To borrow a phrase from another President from the Greatest Generation, when I think of Dad’s life, I think of “a kinder, gentler” time. Dad and the way he lived his life epitomized this kinder, gentler era.

My father’s passing represents a great loss to us, a fondness for a different era, when time seemed slower, less complicated.

In today’s society of financial irresponsibility, lewd behavior and vulgar language, fatherless households, cheating spouses, corrupt politicians and self-consumed youth, where nearly everyone craves his/her 15 minutes of fame, Dad provided us endless teachable moments.

More than a campaign slogan, Dad embraced family values: strong faith, self-sacrifice, anti-materialism, honesty, hard work, thriftiness and, above all, dedication to family.



Here's dad on his 99th B-Day with a visit from "Faux Flo"

Growing up in our family home in Dearborn Heights, we were blessed to have a childhood filled with friends, fun and lots of summer picnics where Dad often Bar-B-Q’d on the charcoal grill, and we all ate together at the over-sized picnic table lovingly handmade by Dad in our expansive backyard.

Dad and son John in the backyard

Not only did our yard have room for a complete baseball team (which we were), but it was filled with fruit trees—apple, pear, plum and a cherry tree as well as lovely grape vines. This yard also included a large garden with tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, lettuce, corn and even a large raspberry patch.

Of course as kids, we weren’t exactly enamored with the chores. Imagine holding a basket with one hand, and holding our noses with the other, arms outstretched as far as we could, we’d have to collect the rotten fruit that had fallen.

I also have vivid memories of five of us kids at a time out in the raspberry patch, no, not a patch—it was more like a field to the Pitrone kids who had to pick those raspberries. And Dad would direct us: “Get DOWN AND UNDER where the ripest berries are hiding.”

Didn't know dad was a backyard dog groomer..he tried!

Summer days found the Pitrone kids, basket in hand, moving slovenly, trying to fill the baskets while our friends waited to play on the other side of the fence. We would negotiate, combining our baskets to fill them faster so we could be free. The only times we showed real enthusiasm was when 4 or 5 of us simultaneously ran wildly in different directions after some unlucky Pitrone kid let out a blood-curdling scream when the bees found the kid before the kid could find the berries.

Dad’s knack for saving money and conserving resources was legendary. Our version of air-conditioning was shutting shades, and keeping lights turned off, while maneuvering fans spaced strategically throughout the house. Dad elevated squeezing that extra drop of ketchup or dab of toothpaste to an art form. Dad had “gone green” decades before it became a corporate buzzword.

Oftentimes, Dad did the grocery shopping as Mom might be busy with, well. . . other things. Dad was more than willing to take four or five kids at a time to the daily trip to the A&P for groceries. I have vivid memories of Dad whirling the basket through the aisles while baby Cheryl sat in the seat, and Janet, Julie and I perched on the foot bars around the basket keeping an eye out for the “Sucker Man” in the white coat. We thought the “Candyman” always wore a white coat. Little did we know he was the local pharmacist!

Though Dad was sometimes known not to buy the “favorite” cookies, as they were consumed in hours or even minutes, he would instead buy a mediocre cookie brand because it seemed to last longer in the Pitrone household.

But Dad DID practice what he preached as he had more than a willing palate when it came to finishing the last of the left-overs or the over-ripe bananas left on the kitchen counter two days too long for the rest of us.

Dad with his 6 daughters and 3 sons - Summer of 2011 at his 100th

Dad was also our private chauffeur, tirelessly shuttling us along multiple stops to: sporting events, school parties, sledding, ice-skating, field trips, bowling, movies and EVEN those dreaded estrogen-filled Pitrone household shopping sprees. And when Dad wasn’t chauffeuring us, he had a favorite question the moment we walked in the door: “Did you get to the aisles of beauty?” (Dad’s code for Hudson’s make-up counter and a humorous reminder of more important values than material ones.)

Upon spotting the bulging shoe box bags, Dad would race to the closet and with an armful of neglected shoes, look us in the eye and ask: “Why can’t you wear these…nothin’ wrong with THESE shoes?” Our disdainful comeback was well-rehearsed, complete with rolling eyes: “Tsk. Oh, Dad!”

As Child Number 8, aka “Miss Hand-Me-Down,” there were advantages to having big feet. I would squeeze my foot in one of Janet’s or Julie’s shoes, and indignantly display in exaggerated O.J. Simpson form, how pinched and contorted my overflowing foot looked in the dainty rejected shoes…”DAD, THEY DON’T FIT!” Cinderella I was not!

In a family of 11, thrift was a necessity. But Dad’s early adulthood in Depression-era Michigan, and his disappointment in Americans who wasted their money contributed to his frugal mindset. Yet this mindset never dissuaded my parents’ generosity to their church and countless charities.

I also have cherished memories of four little girls dressing up in my sister Janet’s discarded dance costumes every Saturday evening and performing for our most attentive and eager audience of Dad and Mom to the best of Lawrence Welk’s music.   Our cue to perform — a one-a, and a two-a, and a tree-a.

Other memories include sitting on the front porch on Dad’s lap on quiet summer nights with him always humming a tune or singing “A Pretty Girl Is Like a Melody…”;

Dad always finding the time for our evening ritual of playing catch, as I was the avid baseball fan and player in my youth; the weekly drives back to school as a freshman in college, where Dad wouldn’t say a lot, but always slipped me a couple of $20 dollar bills, with a “don’t tell anybody”; and, of course, thinking I was his favorite daughter. It wasn’t until I was in my 30’s, however, that I learned my sisters also had the same vivid memory of themselves and Dad, singing the same song, on the same front porch. (Dad, where did you find the time?)

Anthony and Jean married 67 years

My father’s devotion to his children, moreover, was no less than his devotion to his wife, our Mom. My mother’s suffering from the debilitating effects of rheumatoid arthritis began in 1980 and lasted until her death in 2008.

In those 28 years, Dad assumed many household duties besides the daily grocery shopping. He supported Mom in her intellectual pursuits AND physical limitations. In fact, in Mom’s later years, she had no better nurse than Dad, as he tended to her every need, oftentimes dressing her when she could not dress herself, and near the end of her life, doing every daily chore so she could remain in her home. Dad WAS THE ULTIMATE ROLE MODEL TO HIS CHILDREN IN HIS DEDICATION AND LOVE FOR HIS WIFE.

After Mom’s passing, Dad was fortunate to have his family within reach. Children, in-laws, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. All enjoyed their own unique relationship with Dad. And while Dad knew and was grateful that we were always here for him, one man deserves special recognition—Jon Williamson.

Dad and son-in-law Jon

More than a devoted son-in-law, Jon willingly played multiple roles for Dad: driver, maintenance man and tour guide. Barber, buddy and best friend. Their bond was beautiful. Thank you, Jon, for being there for Dad, and reciprocating his friendship.

Finally, many people might think of Dad as “old-fashioned.” But Dad’s life and the way he chose to live it represent a kinder, gentler time. A simpler time. A bygone time.

And so I think of Dad as kind of a modern man. A man who, through example, taught us basic lessons of life in a not-so-kind and not-so-gentle world. A man who taught us the value of money and the preciousness of resources. A man who always had a kind word for everyone. A man who worked hard and sacrificed all his life, a man who never wanted the spotlight on himself, a man who stayed behind the scenes, who chose not to golf, not to bowl, not to fly in airplanes, not to gamble or play cards. There were many things Dad did NOT do so that WE could.

And so the adjectives “dedicated and devoted” before husband and father have never been more appropriate. To paraphrase Ralph Waldo Emerson, “To appreciate beauty, to find the best in others, to leave the world a bit better, to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived. THIS is to have succeeded!” Dad, you not only succeeded, but you surpassed in every way.

They don’t erect statues for men like Anthony Pitrone, but in our hearts and minds, Dad, you stand tall.

I’d like to close with a poem by the influential leader of Chicano poets, Luis Omar Salinas, entitled:

“My Father Is a Simple Man”

I walk to town with my father to buy a newspaper.
He walks slower than I do so I must slow up.

The street is filled with children.
We argue about the price of pomegranates,
I convince him it is the fruit of scholars.

He has taken me on this journey and it’s been lifelong.
He’s sure I’ll be healthy so long as I eat more oranges,
And tells me the orange has seeds and so is perpetual;
And we too will come back like the orange trees.
I ask him what he thinks about death and he says
he will gladly face it when it comes but won’t jump
out in front of a car.

I’d gladly give my life for this man with a sixth grade education,
whose kindness and patience are true . . .
The truth of it is, he’s the scholar,
and when the bitter-hard reality
comes at me like a punishing evil stranger,
I can always remember that here was a man
who was a worker and provider,
who learned the simple facts
in life and lived by them . . .
who held no pretense.

And when he leaves without
benefit of fanfare or applause
I shall have learned what little
there is about greatness.

Birthdays Go On, Whether We’re Here or Not

Today would have been my mother’s 91^st birthday.   I can hear her now in her unwavering tone… “shhhh…don’t tell anyone my age!”  Ever since her age lumped her into the official “senior” category at age 65 she was entitled to the perks of being a senior.  But take those perks?  Not on your life. 

Regardless of the discount offered, not in a million years would she have pulled out her driver’s license to prove she was a senior…no way.  One day I reminded her that she qualified for the discount at the little restaurant where we were dining.  She gave me “the look” and firmly pronounced, “I’ll pay the full price.”

My mother left a lasting legacy through her family and her work.  It was less than 4 years ago I wrote and read the following eulogy at her funeral:

“Our death is not an end if we can live on in our children and the younger generation. For they are us, our bodies are only wilted leaves on the tree of life.”

Surely this quote by Albert Einstein can be aptly applied to my mother, Jean.  She WILL live on through her 9 children, her 17 grandchildren, and her 17 18 19 20 21 great grandchildren (and in the many more greats still to come). 

You know, my mother not only had her 9 children, 17 grandchildren, and 21 great grandchildren, she had some other “children”, too…she gave life to a dozen books.  An accomplished author, I am so proud to say that her work will live on forever. 

But in a small way, I feel I kept her from writing maybe another dozen more!  When my children, Lori and Michael, were preschool age, rarely a day would pass without me packing up the kids and heading to grandma’s and grandpa’s.

Dad was retired, but worked about 6 hours a day at his eldest son’s business.  The time he was away was mom’s quiet time at home when she would be lost in deep-thought, writing.  But it was at that time, I would come knocking at the door with my two little ones in tow. 

Mom never seemed to mind the intrusion, spending time, sometime hours, talking with me and the kids and always having the time to read them a story.

Always a mother, always a grandmother, and always the business woman.  From the early scratch paper and pencil, to the old manual typewriter, to the electric typewriter and, finally to her proficient use of the computer (which, at first, took some prodding to get her to use), my mom could ALWAYS be found either sitting with pencil in hand, at the keyboard, reading the newspapers from cover to cover, watching every news show on television, or taking a daily time-out watching her favorite TV show…Jeopardy.

Mom was born on December 20^th, 1920 (a year I am sure she would normally NOT want me to broadcast) to her parents William Courtney and Gladys Beer Maddern, in the small upper-peninsula mining town of Ishpeming.  Although times were hard, my mom always spoke fondly of her childhood. 

She talked about the good times she had with her 3 best friends…the swimming in the lake, ice skating during the long harsh northern Michigan winters, even playing with dolls until she was 16…..and always spoke so proudly of her alma mater, Ishpeming High School…no other school could compare…not then, not now, not never!!! 

It was there that mom developed an early love of music and writing. After marrying dad in 1940 and moving to the lower-peninsula, mom delved into history and research, writing countless short-stories and articles for numerous publications, and always working on her books.

She was an editorial associate for Writer’s Digest School, director of music at St. Alfred’s Church in Taylor, and an organist for 20 years at Our Lady of Grace Parish in Dearborn Heights where she and dad raised us.

A past president of Detroit Women Writers, mom frequently spoke at writer’s conferences, and, with one of her biographies, Tangled Web: Legacy of the Auto Pioneer John F. Dodge, appeared on Kelly & Company, Unsolved Mysteries, and the Phil Donahue Show.  And I can’t forget to mention the countless music students she taught piano to. 

For years she visited the homes of students to give them their ½ hour music lesson….not to mention her own children’s lessons and, later, her grandchildren’s lessons.  I guess one of the great things about that is even today, many of her grandchildren have pianos in their own homes……such a testament to how her talents and guidance filtered down to other generations…..THAT is what will keep mom alive.

My mom was so very proud of her English heritage, too.  She felt a special closeness to England, so much so, that in 1964 she ventured off, alone, to what she thought of as “her country”.  She felt this closeness through countless stories told to her from her father.  Quite a journey for a mother of 9, (boarding the Queen Mary and the Queen Elizabeth) but it was something she just had to do.

A life not without hardships, I remember when in 1966 my brother, Tony, was sent to Vietnam.  For that year he was gone, I recall my mother pulling up the footstool right in front of the TV and watching every clip that was shot of that awful war, and there was lots of film shot back then that was broadcast daily. 

During that year, I remember that if she was watching the television news, the other kids quickly learned not to interrupt…it was hard on her watching that conflict come alive on TV, knowing that her son was in the middle of it.  When I look back now, I can’t imagine how she did it.

9 children!  Can you envision that?  And she and dad instilled pride in every one of us, and turned us into the hard workers we have become.  Mom ALWAYS had dinner ready…and I mean a big dinner with all the fixings…every day.  Had to be home at 5…no matter what.  Had to be in bed by 11…no matter what.  House rules.

Mom had a long life, but in the past years, experienced terrible pain, but she was never a complainer.   As long as she could read and write, she was content.  Two days ago, mom gave up her fight.  She is at peace now.  The Lord called her home, and one day, we will all be reunited. 

Love you mom. 

Changed People, Change People

Today it’s officially been 4 years since my divorce was finalized.

I’ve read where it takes about 1 year to heal for every 5 years married.   So, statistically speaking, after my 36 year marriage, before I jump into another committed relationship, I should wait about 7 ½ years. That means I have another 3 ½ years to go.  It’s what the “experts” say anyway, although everyone is different.

But no need to worry.  I am not even remotely looking to jump into any relationship, let alone a committed one.  I relish my alone time way too much.

During my first divorced year, I turned to internet dating sites.  Perhaps it was just for some “validation” I thought I may have needed.  People at any age need to feel wanted or desired. 

I met many people for first “coffee” dates, but only chose to meet a few for a couple dates each.  That was about it.  I think the dating sites helped me feel excited again at a time when it seemed all enjoyment was lost…but that type of excitement was short-lived.

These days, I am happy working at my part-time home-based job, and delighted that I can watch my 5 grandchildren while their parents can work without worry.  Nothing is more important to me than family.

In the 4 years post-divorce, I haven’t been anywhere on vacation or done anything spectacular, but I think it may be time to bust out of my cocoon.  I’ve learned a lot about life, men, marriage, dating, and most of all ME!

Whether change comes through forgiveness or discovery, I like to remind myself that “Changed People, Change People.”

Slow Down...You're Movin' Too Fast!

I received a phone call the other day.  It went something like this:

Caller:  Hi, lmclinfromunsteranwantoknowifyoudliketomakeanappointmntforyerairbaforethehaldays.

Me:  You’re calling from where?

Caller:  Calling from unsterandwantoknowifyoudliketomakeanappointmntforyerairbaforethehaldays.

Me:  I am sorry. I cannot understand a single word you are saying.  You’re calling from On-Star? (my General Motors navigational system?)

Caller:  Yes.

Me: (Wondering what On-Star would want).  What can I help you with?

Caller: I just wantoknowifyoudliketomakeanappointmntforyerairbaforethehaldays.

By now, I was ALMOST at the point that I thought MAYBE it was me and I was having a stroke or something and couldn’t understand what was happening.

Me:   You’re going to have to slow down and speak more clearly.  I can’t understand anything you’re saying.

Her:     I'm-calling-from-All-Star.  I-wanted-to-know-if-you-want-to-make-an-appointment-for-your-hair- before-the-holidays.

All-Star?  Hair?    Then it hit me.  One day I walked into the new “Ulta” store in the neighborhood.  The store had just opened and I was curious as to what it had to offer.  When I walked in, I noticed that in the back of the store, they were cutting hair. 

I am a spur-of-the-moment kinda gal when it comes to my hair.  Although I do almost all the cut and coloring myself, on this particular day I decided to get a trim from the young girl waiting for her next victim client.  Why not, I thought, and plunked down in the chair.

If you had asked me the name of the salon inside the store, I wouldn’t have been able to tell you.  I thought, perhaps, it was just called Ulta…like the store.

Anyway…now…a couple months later, I received the dreaded sales call.

What is happening to the English language and our young people?  I am horrified!  SLOW DOWN!  Annunciate your words, PLEASE!  I know MOST abbreviate in text messages, but must you speak in abbreviations, too?

This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.

Then today, when I picked up my local paper, a Mr. Frank Beaumont, hit the nail on the head, when he wrote: 

Some can actually understand this overheard conversation:

              “Jeat?”

              “Nodehew?”
              “No, Twirlytweet”

Most of us would scratch our heads and wonder what was said.  

Translation?

             "Did you eat?"

            "No…did you?"
             "No, It’s too early to eat."

I wonder if the English teachers (or ANY teacher) ever tell their students the importance of clearly annunciating their words.  I’ve seen some local access cable shows and by what I see on the “news” channels from our local high schools…….I highly doubt it.

Pay It Forward

It’s strange how things happen.  Many times we don’t realize the forces and influences at work behind the scenes in our lives.  One such force happened recently to a friend of mine.

As she traced back the sequence of events, it’s easy to believe that there’s some sort of master plan for all of us.  Call it fate, call it destiny, or call it God’s work.

My friend, I’ll call her Sharon (because that’s her name), works in marketing at a suburban Costco.  She’s pleasant,  can talk endlessly, and tells a heck-of-a-good story.  She’s the childhood friend I mentioned in my previous post.  The one I reconnected with after a 47 year absence while we both were busy raising our families and living our lives.

Sharon held a variety of positions.  She married and had her two children a bit later in life.  It was after her marriage that she began to live a privileged life…for a while.  While her two sons were still quite young, though, Sharon’s husband deserted them and Sharon ended up raising her sons as a single mother. 

Sharon pulled herself up, got a job, an apartment for herself and her two sons, and, eventually, sent both sons to college.  All the while, scrimping and saving (along with a student loan) so the oldest could attend school.  He has his degree now.   Job opportunities took him out of state and he is on his own now.  One down, one to go.

Son number two is also attending college.  As with many college boys, Son 2 tired of the college dorms after his Freshman year and opted to stay in a house on campus for this, his second year.  Big plans and lots of hyped-up talk between him and his friends had been taking shape for months and months.  Out of the dorm and into their own house.  As time went on and Freshman year came to a close, promises of living arrangements for Son 2 and the guys were forged…or so they thought.

Summer came and there was still excited talk of moving to a house on campus with friends.  But, boys will be boys.  It’s now the end of August and Sharon is beginning to get more than a little uneasy because final, concrete plans for her son’s living arrangements haven’t come to fruition yet.  Of course, Son 2 says not to worry and goes about HIS life without a care.

Finally, two days before the semester is about to begin, panic sets in (for Sharon)……no house or apartment to be found.  So now, mom sets into motion HER plan.  STAY IN THE DORM.  Of course Son 2 doesn’t want to hear of it and says he’ll just crash at a friend’s place.  Well……that ain’t gonna fly with Sharon.

Frantic phone calls to get a last minute dorm.  Nothing.  More phone calls.  Up the chain of command.  Nothing.  Sharon begs for a closet, even.  Nothing.  Countdown…One day ‘til school.

Meanwhile, back at Costco. A woman enters the store and proceeds to the Return counter.  The woman is obviously upset.  She has a telephone to return, minus the box, that she had purchased a couple weeks prior at another Costco location.  The phone, she explains to a young girl at the return desk, obviously is used as it has messages on the built-in answering machine.      

The young girl at the counter, trying to help, is beginning to get flustered herself.  She stops Sharon, who “just happens?” to be walking by, and asks her if, perhaps, SHE could take care of this woman’s predicament.

The worried woman returning the phone proceeds to tell Sharon her problems.  The woman told Sharon that she is the caretaker for an elderly man and had purchased this phone for him.  After the woman figured out the new phone was, indeed, used, she is now returning the phone to the store. 

While traveling the roads to her local Costco, there “just happened?” to be a terrible accident just ahead of her.  The roads were blocked from traveling any further, and traffic was backed-up for miles.  She explained to Sharon that she had ALMOST turned around to go home, but “just happened?” to detour around.  She had wrongly entered the freeway and didn’t really know which way she was travelling or exactly where she was going.  Twenty-Six MILES later, far out her way, she “just happened?” upon THIS Costco.

At an attempt to lighten the lady’s troubled state at being out of her familiar territory, Sharon “just happens?” to relay a “You-think-YOU’VE-got-troubles?…Listen-to-THIS” story.  Sharon began telling her the problem with Son 2 and his lack of living arrangements with school starting TOMORROW!  Sharon explained the endless calls she had made to the college to no avail and there were Absolutely.  No. Vacant.  Rooms.  Son 2 HAD to have a place to stay or his student loan would be withdrawn.  The hours were counting down.

Both women eventually found laughter though their shared tears while Sharon wrote up the return item and refunded the woman’s money.  The woman excused herself momentarily to place a phone call on her cell.  Minutes later she again stepped up to the Return line and, as a “thank-you,” slipped Sharon a piece of paper with a scribbled phone number on it.  The women asked Sharon to call that number saying it was the number of the elderly man she was caring for and it “just happens?” that, possibly, he could help with her son’s predicament.

The next morning, with Zero Hour approaching, Sharon was desperate.  It was the day before school was to start.  Sharon picked up the phone and obediently dialed the number that was scrawled on the crumpled paper.

An elderly gentleman finally answered after several rings.  Not knowing who this man was, friendly, great-story-telling- Sharon proceeded to share her dilemma with him.  The two began talking as if they were old friends.  The man finally asked for her number and said he would return her call within a couple of hours.

The minutes ticked away.   Finally.  It was the man again.  He told Sharon to jot down an address.  The address turned out to be a dorm room on the campus Son 2 was attending.

Just like that.  A room appeared.

One day later, Sharon “just happened?” to receive another call.  This call was from an elderly woman.  She wanted to thank Sharon! 

“Thank ME,” Sharon wondered?

The elderly woman explained that she was the wife of the elderly man.  She went on to relate a story about how, ever since he had been ill, her husband had been quiet and somewhat withdrawn sitting in his home-library for hours on end.  “But today,” she beamed, “he’s been bouncing around here like a new man!”  The wife went on to say that just the fact that he could do a favor for someone who needed his service made him feel alive again.  So she thanked Sharon again.

Is it fate?  ls it destiny?  Is it God’s work?  Next time YOU meet a stranger, pay YOUR good fortune forward.  It could “just happened?” that YOU may be helping someone… or… it could “just happen?” that THEY may be helping YOU.   

We’re all connected in one way or another…..whether we realize it or not.