PEOPLE.....on the road (stories 1-25)

People #25.....POLLYANNA: SEEING THE GLASS HALF FULL.....Pahrump, Nevada....12/10/04

    Hmmmmmm, I thought, the film "Pollyanna" is going to be on educational TV, and I've never seen it. I wondered if the term Pollyanna meant what I thought: a person who always sees the bright side of things. I decided to watch and find out. In the film, Pollyanna is a girl of around ten years whose parents die, and she is sent to live with a joyless aunt. Of course Pollyanna was sad because of her circumstances, but her indomitable spirit shone through. She met a number of difficult people. Besides her aunt, there was a bedridden woman and an elderly gentleman -- all extremely unpleasant. Pollyanna ignored their unpleasantness, always speaking kindly to them, performing thoughtful acts, bringing them presents, and finding other ways to brighten their day. She never gave up! It didn't happen all at once, but she perservered, and eventually all of them came around. They were happier and better people because of Pollyanna, who came to be loved by everyone because no matter what the situation, she made it better. Because of her sunny disposition, positive outlook, and kindly acts, the whole town benefitted from her presense and took her into their hearts.
    Something Pollyanna said stays with me weeks after watching the film. I remember her telling someone about her unpleasant aunt, saying something like: She's really kind and good on the inside; it's just her outside that's grumpy. Here's how that one statement made a difference in my life. I was playing cards one evening with a very testy woman. I stood up to her because I refuse to let someone get by with being unpleasant or unkind. (Silence implies consent.) Afterwards, I was still upset, and since I had organized the card game, I took the notice off the bulletin board and was determined not to play anymore. Even though I love cards, I just wasn't enjoying myself. As luck would have it, that's when the Pollyanna movie came on TV, and it made me look at things differently; I would even go so far as to say it changed my life. I thought of the woman I played cards with as Pollyanna's aunt and saw her through Pollyanna's eyes -- about her being kind and good on the INSIDE. I made a new sign, and from that day on had a wonderful time playing cards with the same woman. In fact, we became closer, and I can say I really like her now. I focus on her outstanding qualities.
    I try never to take unpleasant people personally. I guess I have enough self-esteem to know it's not me or something I've done that irritates them. I always think how unhappy they must be and what miserable lives they must lead to have them act the way they do. And herein lies a tale: When I got back to Tecopa from a weekend in Pahrump, my blue tarp had blown away. After I looked everywhere, a man approached me, saying he retrieved my tarp, and it was folded up on his picnic table. I thanked him, and we had a very pleasant conversation. A few days later, I saw him walking his dog, and yelled out "Good Morning." His reply was, "Yeah, what's good about it?" I thought he might be joking and replied, "Well, we're alive." He kept on walking. I went after him, asking, "What's wrong?" "Name three things" he said. "Wait just a minute," I said, "I have something good to tell you." I wanted to tell him about the wonderful fruit for sale at the community center that morning: packages of raisens for 25 cents a bag, huge bags of walnuts for $2, and five large, fresh persimmons for $1 -- all lovingly home-grown and prepared by elderly hands. But it was no use, he just kept on walking. My only thought was how sad this man must be and what an unhappy life he must lead. My heart went out to him, but I wasn't brave enough to pursue him further, although I really would have liked to try to lift his spirits. I learned later of other run-ins he'd had with other residents. Amazing that a person could run so hot and cold.
    I learned another lesson along these lines -- all occured during my month's stay at the hot springs. I met a fellow who was riding his bike from Canada. We got to chatting in the library, and later he stopped by my campsite. We talked for hours about things of mutual interest: healthy living, sprituality, exercise, eating right, philosophy, travel, etc. He told me that when he meets someone, he thinks of them as God. (As I've said before in my writing, I don't consider myself very religious, but I am very spiritual, seeking information from all religions to create my own.) But when he said he thinks of everyone as God, a light went on for me. I see people differently now than I have in the past. If you see someone as God, you think of them as precious from the get-go and treat them accordingly. It is easier for me to see the god within people than to think of them as God specifically, but no matter; it is a minor point. What matters is thinking that way has improved my life.
    And now, as I proofread this story for the last time, I think of something else that happened along these lines. In the mobile home that serves as the library in Tecopa, I came across the video of Shirley MacLaine's book Out on a Limb, which Nancy, the librarian, said was very good. I watched it one very cold night in the community center long after everyone else had gone to bed. There was a scene on the beach where Shirley talked to her spiritual guide David. She was searching for something in her life; she knew not what. He asked her to stand up, spread her arms out wide, and shout something like "I believe in the god within." But before she could do that, he said, "No, wait. Shout 'I am God'." She did -- timidly at first and then, at his urging, with more conviction over and over again. I think the reasoning behind all this is that if we can think of ourselves as God, we can move that way in the world -- another twist on loving ourselves first before we can love and give to others. I think Shirley's problem, like the rest of us, was in seeking something on the outside to complete us, while all the while what she was seeking was inside herself.
    Try this for yourself: Stand up, spread your arms wide, and say louder and louder "I believe in the god within." Now switch to "I am God," repeating it over and over, louder and louder. Which one makes you feel more powerful -- more able to do good in the world? Big difference, eh?
    I think about why this is true, and I've decided it's because if we love ourselves enough to work on ourselves, improve ourselves, and solve our problems, it frees us to then reach out to other people. As long as we are tied up with ourselves -- focussed on ourselves -- we can only partially do that. Better to focus on ourselves and be done with it; that will set us free and allow us to be open to other people and to the world. Anyway, that's my take on it today at 3:51 p.m. on December 9, 2004 in Pahrump, Nevada!

(Postscript: It never ceases to amaze me how I can start a story with one experience and end up including four, only realizing when I write that they are all linked together -- as all of life is linked together -- in some magical, mysterious way. One thing leading to another. Tecopa is a very spiritual place, and now that I have left the area and have written this, I know what the purpose of my visit was this year, and it makes my month there even more special.)

    So how do you view life? Is your glass half full or half empty?

People #24.....A VISIT WITH FARMER BIRD (Kelly Bird).....Moses Lake, Washington.....10/ /04 (Rev. 12/7/04)

    He isn't a farmer really -- more like an orchardist, but "Orchardist Bird" just didn't have the right ring to it. And to me, he's something entirely different. He's been my tax accountant for years, more than 20, we calculated yesterday when we met for the first time in about five years. I decided long ago that if I were ever in his area, I would stop by for a visit.
    When I wrote that I was heading his way, Kelly sent me directions to his home in Mattawa, Washington. It was a beautiful, early-morning drive from Ellensburg to Vantage and across the Columbia River, which never fails to take my breath away -- wide with high cliffs alongside -- sooooo spectacular! From the bridge, I followed the scenic road along the river for about 15 miles and after a series of turns on gravelly roads, saw "Bird" on the mailbox. The long drive led past row upon row of small apple trees heavy with mouth-watering, picture-perfect, red, rosy apples. Nothing says autumn like a tree full of ripe, red apples! (I noticed all the apples on the ground underneath the trees. What a waste, I thought, and hoped some pig farmer would take advantage of the windfall.) Nobody was home at Kelly's house except a mother cat and three solid black farm kittens who came running out to greet me; so I headed for the tall ladder I saw amongst the trees. I found Kelly there, driving around on a kind of miniature tractor. I managed to recognize him inspite of his bundled-up appearance in a hat and extra-thick coat to ward off the cold, gray morning. He was intent on his work; so I was able to watch for a few minutes before he saw me. (He looked as if he belonged here. I always love to see someone follow their passion and make their dreams come true.) Another minute or two passed to allow for recognition after five years.
    I emailed him I was on my way when I got to Ellensburg, close enough so I could get there the next morning. Even so, he was surprised to see me. Not much time to check the computer when the apple harvest is in full swing. The first thing I said to him was, "I see I've arrived at your busiest time." We just had time for a hug before his apple buyer arrived with the good news that his company would take Kelly's whole crop. I tagged along as the two men talked, about apples of course. We hopped in the pickup truck to view some trees further down the road. Every now and then Kelly would give me another apple to taste. My favorite was the Pink Lady -- not quite as tart as a Granny Smith.
    I learned a lot about apples that day. The huge bins go to the processing plant where the apples are put into a bath, washing away the sediment which gives apples that dull look; the not-so-perfect apples are separated out; the remaining apples are sorted automatically by weight, color, and size; waxed; and finally either shipped out or put into cold storage. I probably don't have it quite right, but you get the idea. The buyer said that Kelly is in a great location because he produces one of the earliest crops. He has planted apple varieties which mature at different times, and grows cherries in early summer. (I'll be sure to come back then.)
    I remember when Kelly first acquired the land to start his orchard from scratch. It was 11 years ago. His orchard is composed of dwarf trees (galas, pink ladies, and fujis I believe.) He planted all the starts, put up the posts and wires needed to train the trees, and installed the underground irrigation which helps during a freeze. (They don't use the smudge pots that I remember.) It seemed like a tremendous amount of work, and he says it's hard to get away. Kelly said all the land is planted now; so I'm hoping it will get easier for him. For years, he would commute from his home in Mattawa to Seattle during income-tax season, and I would meet with him in his office for about an hour to finalize my taxes. That meant Kelly had to be away from his family for days at a time and make the drive back and forth from Seattle across the Cascade Mountains to snowy eastern Washington. It was an ideal work combination because he could do taxes during his least busy orchard season. A couple of years ago, he wrote saying he would not be coming to Seattle during tax season, encouraging his clients to mail their information. Of course, since I was on the road, I was already doing that -- a combination of mail and phone calls until Kelly gave in to 20th century e-mail!
    Every now and then during our visit, Kelly would hop on his tractor and move boxes for the dozen pickers. Many worked for him year round: picking, pruning, thinning, and doing other apple chores. Suddenly all the pickers exited the orchard. Kelly had given them an early lunch so that we could drive to town to meet his wife Marlene. We drove through Mattawa in about two minutes; it's that small, but it seems to have all the necessities.
    Back at the farm, Kelly told me how he was going fishing more now, told me about the 26 (?) pound king salmon he caught in the Columbia River very close to his home, and sent me home with frozen salmon enough for three meals. As we said good-by, he told me to pick all the apples I wanted. (Now I can make good on my vow to eat an apple every day before dinner. Not only are apples good for you, but they cut your appetite so you don't eat so much.) I remembered what the buyer said about lower grade apples: blemishes, bird pecks, misshaped, small, and ones with yellow splotches caused by sunburn. Apparently people are quite fickle about apples; looks are EVERYTHING. Reminds me of a quote I read: "You cannot sell a blemished apple in the supermarket, but you can sell a tasteless one provided it is shiny, smooth, even, uniform and bright." -- Elspeth Huxley. Although Kelly didn't tell me to, I tried to pick those kind to take with me because they tasted just as good. I did, however, pick one round, red, perfect apple -- just one -- to eat first.
    During my short visit, Kelly and I were able to catch up on each other's lives. I finally got to meet his wife and hear about his three children. I was very touched that he spent so much time with me during his busiest season. I told him not to stop working though -- that I would just trail along after him. I also asked him how many of the apples trees I owned after being his client for so many years...
    After a good-by hug, I took a different route to Moses Lake through the little town of Mattawa. I stopped at the Tortillaria where I could see tortillas being automatically cooked over a gas flame and plopped into a pile below. The friendly proprietor said I must try one and gave me a paper to pick one up. It was so hot I could hardly hold it. Back in my camper, I spread it with butter and raspberry jam, rolled it up, and ate it, relishing every bite. When I went back into the store, I took the owner a freshly picked pink lady apple from Kelly's orchard. I enjoyed looking around the store at all the various Mexican baked goods, reminding me of the stores one sees in Florida. I also stopped in the small grocery store which brought back memories of the time I lived in Bridgeport, Washington when I was first married. There was only one store; so you basically took what you could get.
    All in all, it was a very satisfying morning, and my spirits (always a bit shaky when I start out "on the road" again after a long stay in one place) were soaring into the future.

(According to www.foodreference.com "There are more than 7,000 varieties of apples, but only about 100 are grown commercially in the U.S. Eight varieties account for 80% of total U.S. production. Red Delicious, Golden Delicious, Granny Smith, McIntosh, Rome Beauty, Jonathan, York and Stayman.)

People #23.....ABOUT AN INCH IN LOVE (Canyon Dave)...Quartzsite, AZ...2/13/11

    He was six foot two, a big bear of a man, and when he wrapped his arms around me to dance, I felt small, and I've NEVER felt small.
    We both knew it was impossible, a relationship, that is. He smoked and drank (more than a little), and that wasn't all we didn't have in common. My god! He ate Twinkies.
    I could see several red flags flapping wildly in the breeze. Nevertheless, he's read my poems, and I've read his. That's got to count for something. And I've finally broken my usual pattern of choosing men with no job, no money, and cars that don't run. He doesn't even own a car!
    And talk about sensitive; unlike most people, he's an open book. Every emotion he feels is right there on his face. And you know what else? We can actually carry on a conversation! REALLY! And he reads...books...and loves nature, especially the Grand Canyon where he worked as a guide. When he talks about it, his eyes light up. He speaks passionately about how he can make elderly and infirm people SEE the canyon through his eyes without even leaving the bus.
    And this man knows what women like: He requests his favorite song ("The Dance"), and always dances with me. AND during the break, when we're sitting at the table, his great big hands smother mine. AND when the band plays Alan Jackson's "Remember When," he asks me to dance because he says he knows it's my favorite song.
    Last year he gave me a wire-wrapped necklace he made himself. In other parts of the world, men give women jewels. In Quartzsite, they give rocks, but the sentiment is the same.
    And DANCING! He didn't much like dancing when we first met, but now he says he likes it, and I take partial credit for that. To an obsessive, never-sit-down, dance-every-dance woman like me, he's turned into a pretty damn good dancer....a prerequisite which we all know is much more important than integrity, dependability, and intelligence.
    And he says things like: "Jane, you're not for everyone, but you are for me." AND "On my death bed, I will hear this song and think of you." AND "Don't ever change." AND "I love you," after only three years of meeting at Silly Al's and dancing a dance or two before going home......separately.
    And I loved him. After thinking about it for a few days, one night during a slow dance, I stood on my tiptoes and whispered in his ear, "I'm going to tell you something that will scare you to death." "Scare me," he said with a big smile on his face which said, "Jane, darlin', you could never do or say anything that would scare me in the slightest." So I gathered up all my courage and said right out loud: "I'm just a little bit in love with you," holding up two fingers about an inch apart.
    Then I returned to my table. Thinking back, I don't even know what his reaction was, but when he quickly asked me to dance again, I thought maybe everything was OK.
    Before he left Quartzsite, I invited him to visit me to see my home, maybe walk in the desert out my front door, and have something to eat. For dessert, I brought out (what else?) two Twinkies on a plate. Dave's huge laugh was well worth the $1.59.

People #22.....MUSIC WITH AN ATTITUDE (Dawn and Skipper).....Key West, Florida.....4/8/04

    You can go dancing every night in Key West. When I discovered that, I gave up doing aerobics in the park to my rock 'n roll tape. Dancing to live music is a lot more fun (and a lot cheaper than a psychiatrist!). Many cities have dancing only on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. Some cities have no dancing at all; I'm not there long.
    I used to go to the Schooner Wharf every night. They have a lot of different groups: some locals on a regular basis and some imported for the long weekend. Their music is usually good, but one night it wasn't so hot; so I branched out. That night I discovered The Bull, Captain Tony's, and The Green Parrot -- all with excellent music. Now those are my regulars. One Saturday night at The Bull, I heard Fremont John. He was absolutely terrific, and I danced and danced. The next day at the Unitarian Congregation, I was amazed to see that he was the singer -- a little bit of synchronicity in my life. When I went to hear him at The Bull that evening, I asked him which woman was his wife and was surprised to hear that she was the speaker at the Unitarian service. She spoke on the spiritual significance and healing quality of labyrinths, a subject that fascinated me. She is spearheading a movement to have a labyrinth in Key West, hopefully on the hospital grounds -- a perfect location. I asked her to contact me when the project got off the ground; so I could contribute toward this very worthwhile endeavor.
    Before I move on to the reason for this story, I have to mention Miss Vicky. Miss Vicky is the skipping, dancing, high-energy, quick-as-lightning, butt-pinching (sometimes breast-bearing) waitress at The Bull, and she is PRICELESS. She didn't pinch my butt for the first few times I was there, but now I get my butt pinched regularly and for some strange reason it makes me feel like I belong. She has the most upbeat attitude I have ever seen in a waitress and obviously loves her work. Miss Vicky is one of the reasons that make The Bull great. She is by far the best waitress in Key West, and whatever she is paid, she deserves a raise. (Tell your boss Jane said so!)
    I discovered a REALLY great singer who sings songs I love and can dance to, at The Bull two nights ago. I went back last night, and I'm going back again tonight. (I usually arrive well after dark; so I can enjoy every single minute of the Florida sunshine and Key West's spectacular sunsets.) Dawn, the singer, sings alone on the stage. I've heard tell that her husband used to accompany her on the guitar. When they divorced, she was kind of left high and dry; so she bought one of those music machines that can be programmed to provide different accompaniments and learned how to use it. And how did I get the title for this story "Music with Attitude?" Well, Dawn has lived long enough to have learned some of life's lessons, and she often shares these with the audience. (I've never seen Dawn take a break, and when you sing for four hours straight, you have to include other stuff.) One time during spring break, I saw a young guy approach the stage, but he didn't stay long. Dawn said over the microphone so everybody could hear, "Don't come up here and tell me you're going to 'rock my world' and something about being an older woman. Many women in the audience applauded, shouted approval, and held a clenched fist high in the air. I can't remember all Dawn said, but one thing was, "I want someone who wants to learn."
    Now I've heard many talented singers in my life, and Dawn is one of them, but here's what I've never seen before: a singer with dog act. Dawn has a tip jar by the stage that says "Skipper's College Fund." Skipper is her tiny, white poodle -- reminds me of those cuddly stuffed animals or a wind-up toy. (Dawn says Skipper is the best thing she got out of her divorce.) Skipper sits patiently in the background until he sees a person approach the stage, money in hand. Then he scurries to the front, pokes his head between the wooden bars, takes the money in his mouth, and drops it at Dawn's feet. Each time he is rewarded with a doggy treat from Dawn -- a great incentive. From the number of treats he gets, I am surprised he is such a small dog. Dawn says Skipper prefers the taste of larger bills....smart dog (smarter owner).

People #21.....SHARMAJI: INDIA'S GIFT TO KEY WEST...Key West, Florida.....2/28/04

    Sharmaji is one of the main reasons I come to Key West and why I stay until, hair dripping wet and clothes clinging to my body, I think I will die of humidity.
    I went to hear Sharmaji last night, the second time during this Key West visit. Last week, I left before the meditation at the end, thinking I couldn't spare the time and that meditation was part of my daily practice anyway. Tonight when I went, I asked Mrdula (in whose home Sharmaji resides) how long the meditation was. When she replied "about 40 minutes," I said, "That's too long." (Another meditation at the Medicine Garden on Fridays is only 20 minutes.) Mrdula told me that the meditation was a very important part of the experience. Well, I had all sorts of reasons not to stay: too long, too uncomfortable to sit on the floor, I already meditated in my daily practice, etc. As I spewed out the excuses, I realized how meaningless they were. I was not proud of myself and chalked it up to ANOTHER lesson learned. Mrdula listened kindly and ended by saying that meditating with a group of people was very different from meditating alone. Of course, I knew that and had felt the increased power of group meditation many times -- but not lately.
    I like what Mrdula says about Sharmaji’s presence in her life; "I know this is my opportunity to catch something very precious for myself for all eternity." Sharmaji has open sessions on Monday and Wednesday evenings at 6:30 and Sunday mornings at 10:00. One never knows his topic beforehand. Like most great teachers, there is no charge. There is a sign by the front door that says, "Please leave your shoes here, along with your ego." Sharmaji has a delightful sense of humor!
    I listened to Sharmaji speak his wisdom for almost an hour last night. I hung on every word, never wanting him to stop. As I heard this wise man, I found my eyes filling with tears. This doesn't happen with many speakers, only the ones that touch me deeply.
    You probably won't be surprised to hear that I stayed for the meditation. "What do I have to do that's more important?" I thought. Afterwards I thanked Mrdula for her encouragement (and for not letting me get off so easy) and told her that the lesson tonight began with her. I told her that I decided I loved myself enough to stay 'til the very end.
    To Sharmaji I said, "There aren't many speakers who touch me so deeply that my eyes fill with tears; you are one of them." Then I thanked him for reminding me of what I already know. (He understood.) I knew as I left that I would be attending all three of his weekly sessions.

People #20.....THE LAST OF THE RED-HOT HIPPIES (Crazy John Coyote)....Alamosa, Colorado.....10/13/03

    I felt at home right away, the minute I walked in the door of Crazy John Coyote's bookstore in Alamosa, Colorado and saw the section labeled "Banned Books" in big letters. But let me start at the beginning; every story has one.
    The first title of this story was "One Never Knows," as in: I never know what will happen to me during the day, but I always expect the unexpected and try to keep my eyes open to any possibilities; I don't pass any open windows. One thing I know for sure: It's going to be a great adventure! This was one of those days...
    I had just come out of Milagros Coffee House and was walking toward my car. I really don't drink coffee anymore, but it was Labor Day, and all my old haunts were closed: the college, the library, and even the senior center. No computers for writing. What would I do with myself all day? (Heaven forbid I should have to start on my long list of chores.) I noticed Milagros the first day I was in town and wanted to go there, but what do you do in a coffee house if you don't drink coffee? So I drank some. It was very good, but I was happy to realize I could live without it. I spent a long time at the coffee house, visiting with the employees and the guy at the next table, part of the time searching my camper for my chai recipe and giving it to everyone. I like Milagros: its warm and friendly atmosphere and the fact that all profits go to the homeless shelter in town, La Puente.
    As I was walking toward my car, a very interesting-looking man appeared at the door of the nearby bookstore -- definitely a hippie type -- a throw back to the sixties: head scarf, hair in a pony tail, longggggg gray beard, overalls, no shoes, granny glasses, skinny. I was fascinated; normal has never appealed to me. I am always intrigued by someone who bucks the system and stays true to his/her self. After I had taken him all in, I asked my knee-jerk question: Do you buy books?
    I entered The Roost and Coyote's Den with two bags of books in hand. I checked out the surroundings while John (aka Crazy John Coyote), the owner, checked out my books. He took about half of them. It was the most organized bookstore I've ever seen, every section labeled and the books neatly on the shelves. John sez he bought "a music store that sells books," but he owns "a book store that sells music." If he doesn't have what you want, he'll order it for you. I was immediately fascinated by the new and used books, cassette tapes, CDs, videos, vinyl records, and posters, not to mention the bowl of free condoms in assorted flavors (chocolate, mint, banana, etc.) He said that mint was the best.....hmmmmmm.
    I passed right by the "invisible room." John says everybody does that. He has to invite customers to enter the room because they just don't see it: hence the name. That's where he keeps the videos and the clothing for sale. The cement floor is covered with customers' artwork. Anyone can choose a square and use the buckets of paint and brushes he provides to let their imaginations soar. One of the biggest attractions in the room is a computer with free access to the internet.
    There was a children's book section (next to the banned books) with a comfy, bean-bag chair. I delighted in seeing a child sprawled on the chair, fully engrossed in a book. (I did, after all, teach Children's Literature and am still turned on by it.) The walls were covered with posters of famous men and famous quotes: John F. Kennedy, Martin Luther King, and more contemporary ones like the infamous Eminem. There was art too, including one of my favorites: "The Kiss" by Gustav Klimt (1962-1918). ("The Kiss is a fascinating icon of the loss of self that lovers experience. Only the faces and hands of this couple are visible; all the rest is a great swirl of gold, studded with colored rectangles as if to express visually the emotional and physical explosion of erotic love".....Nicolas Pioch).
    Just inside the door was a table with at least 20 kinds of incense, claiming to have both mystical and spiritual values attached to them by holy men; empower your sexuality and creativity; focus your mental energy; enhance inspiration, relaxation, meditation, and whatever you do to make life more fulfilling; and provide relief in one form or another. Some are from "the foothills of the Himalayas," or are "found in remote areas." One is "a rare fragrance extracted from the rare Kewda flower." I read every name and smelled most of them (not recommended for sinus sufferers). The categories are: Fruits & Florals (jasmine, violets, rose); Mystical (om, worth); Spiritual (freedom, spiritual guide); Exotic (poem, my favourite); Enchanting (lyrics, fantasy); Celestial (which "unlock the power of your zodiac sign" and are "based upon centuries old recipes handed down through generations of wise men from India"); Therapeutic (frankincense which, of course, has been used since Biblical times.); and ones that were just fun to say like pachouli, ylang ylang, and pakeezah (which was sold out). There is another category called Hot n' Spicy with names I hesitate to mention here, but trust me; they WERE hot n' spicy. Needless to say, I feel a whole incense story coming on. (Need incense? www.incensemania.com, but please don't burn it around me!)
    The store owner introduced himself as Crazy John Coyote, but he is far from crazy -- maybe a little/a lot eccentric tho -- besides being friendly, gentle, literate, concerned, involved, and able to speak his truth. In a word: fascinating! He describes himself as a "barefooted ol' Hippy from the middle star of the belt of Orion," and said I was swept into his "vortex." I know that because three hours later, I was still there discussing books, philosophy of life, his vegan lifestyle, simple living, health, causes, the environment, and listening to Alabama on cassette tape. (I had collected three hugs before I left.) We have very similar beliefs and interests, and very similar lifestyles: cheap. John (his given name) can talk about anything, and as he said, "You get two Geminis together, and they never stop talking." Well, I'm not quite a Gemini, but close, on the cusp between Gemini and Cancer, and I have a lot of Gemini traits, like my best friend being someone I'll meet in the next ten minutes and being able to change jobs or place of residence overnight. Yeah...
    Crazy John Coyote has lived in Alamosa most of his life, and he is somewhat of a legendary folk figure. I describe myself as a screaming radical (well maybe just liberal). I don't know what "box" to put John in; he is really one-of-a-kind. Let's just say he is to the far, far, far left. When the war started in Iraq, John hung an upside-down American flag in his store window. That REALLY upset a lot of people, doncha know. A dead coyote was thrown at the door of his shop. John was interviewed, and there were letters to the editor and articles in a lot of local, as well as national, newspapers. Soon the police chief and two of his deputies came a knockin' on John's door. They told him to take down the upside-down flag. Noticing the holstered guns they carried, he did, but not without protest. Soon the ACLU was involved -- maybe a hint of a lawsuit. Seems there was a freedom-of-speech issue here. The police chief was quoting a law that was obsolete years ago. To make a long story short, John had a perfect right to display the flag upside-down, but he didn't put it back up. I don't know why. (Sometimes you just get weary of fighting battles for what you believe in; I know I do.) Now a very large peace symbol hangs in the window. I asked John whether he thought the flag issue hurt his business. Of course, there's no way of knowing, but he thought it might even have HELPED his business. There are a lot of alternative-culture people around here, as well as right-wing, coyote-throwing, rednecks.
    The day I met John, I was heading to the Great Sand Dunes National Monument for a few days of camping; so I said good-by to him, but not before we agreed to go roller skating in the park when I got back. (I bought roller blades for myself a few years ago as a birthday present. I thought it a fitting gift for someone my age -- kind of an I'll-show-you-how-young-I-am, in-your-face defiance of fast becoming a "senior." The skates are under the bed in my camper in a box I've never opened. I've been in Alamosa more than a month now, and the roller blades are still in the box, but there have been walks by the lovely wetlands along Rio Grande River at sunset, the Farmers' Market on Saturdays where the smell of fresh roasting chilis fills the air and organic produce abounds, to John's mom's for dinner and canasta (Mother's love me), the free film series (The Prisoner) at the college on Thursday evenings, shared vegan meals, and a trip to view the fall color in the beautiful Sangre de Cristo Mountains, just to mention a few.
    My original ending to this story said: "I don't know how to end this story; perhaps it has no ending, so I will just close with: to be continued." But it has ended, as I am leaving Alamosa on Saturday to pursue more adventures with one-of-a-kind, unique, and amazing people. (SIGH)

People #19.....A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE? (Linda Cotton, singer).....Santa Fe, New Mexico.....6/10/03 (rev. 8/11/03)

    I went to hear singer Linda Cotton at the Courtyard Marriott in Albuquerque, New Mexico. She was even better than I remembered from 15 years ago. She sang outside in the courtyard (5:30-8:30), the weather was great, and the experience magnificent. I was there every Friday as long as I was in Albuquerque.
    Without thinking too long about it, I would say that Linda Cotton is my favorite singer (unless I go into the big-time singers like Lyle Lovett, whom I adore). Not only do I love her singing style, but I love the songs she chooses -- mostly jazzy blues and old favorites to which she applies her own unique styling. She's always adding these little asides to the audience which make us smile, and Linda is smiling as well. When she does, her smile is so big, her eyes disappear. She and her band (not always the same members) have been playing together forever; so they anticipate every move and make it seem easy. If they do mess up, they're professional enough to just laugh it off. They don't have to be perfect, another quality which endears her to me. Linda has longish, curly hair, and I don't think she wears make-up -- a big plus with me. And she dresses the part of the entertainer: like say, a purple dress with purple shoes to match (she always wears high-heel shoes that are the same exact color of her dress), plus large bracelets and earrings. She is definitely one of a kind.
    I went up to her after the first performance and told her I remembered her from 15 years ago, and I was so delighted to find her again. I told her I had searched for her on the internet, but she wasn't there. Finally, I found a listing in the newspaper entertainment section. I asked her if she was busy enough to give up her "day" job, and she replied that she'd never had a "day" job -- that she'd been singing most of her life. After we talked that time, she always remembers me with a big smile and a wave. The last time I saw her and told her I was leaving, she gave me a big hug. Wow! I sure look forward to returning to Albuquerque in a couple of years. Linda is a big reason for me to be there, but there are lots of reasons.
    My friend Dale is a huge fan of Linda's. In fact, he's the one who first took me to see her 15 years ago. This year, he told me that Linda was singing at the Hillside Community Church Sunday at 9:00 a.m. That would still give me time to attend the Unitarian Fellowship at 11:00. Since I had just heard Linda sing Friday night, I asked Dale if the church service was worth attending. His answer was an emphatic YES. He said that the service renewed his soul. When someone talks about renewing his soul, I have to go.
    I parked my camper at the church at 7:30 a.m.; so I'd have time to watch CBS Sunday Morning (7:30-9:00) before the service. The sign outside the church said the service started at 9:00 a.m., but the church was completely empty when I arrived five minutes early. Linda wasn't even there, but Dale was. When I inquired, he said, "Yeah, they don't start too promptly." Linda's band was setting up, and they started to play. The woman co-minister arrived about 9:25. From the very beginning, I wasn't sure whether I was at a church service or a taping of Saturday Night Live, especially when the man co-minister began his sermon with about 10 minutes of jokes. Some were even funny. This man was like the Energizer Bunny. He never stopped moving, even when he was sitting down. It was like no church service I had ever seen -- surreal.
    As I'm writing this, I decided it would really be fun for the Unitarian Fellowship to attend the Hillside Church at 9:00 a.m. some Sunday and have a talk-back at their 11:00 o'clock service. They'd have to check with Dale to be sure Linda was singing that Sunday. She's the main reason to be there, but the rest of the show is pretty good too. When the service ended, I leaned over and whispered in Dale's ear, "There's a story here some place."

(NOTES FOR STORY)

Neutral Time, Problems, Wise Advice, How we met, moving help, biking to concerts, Hometown Heroes/community, talks a lot about spirit, born poor with not a lot of formal education.

    How can I explain my good friend, Charles? First, he is the wisest person I know. He is the first person I seek out when I need advice. But mainly, he "makes me feel good; he makes me feel good" (like the Lyle Lovett song says). Secondly, he is loved by everyone. I said to him once, "Charles, you make me feel like I'm the most important person in the whole world." He replied, without skipping a beat, "You are." That is his gift AND the gift he gives to others. Now I don't suffer from the delusion that I AM the most important person in the world -- even his world -- or that I'm the only one he says this to. I think he makes everyone feel this way, and that's OK. It's important to spread the love around...

    I met Charles at an Earthsave potluck supper meeting in Seattle. When I looked around the room for a place to sit, there he was with a great, big smile on his face. How could I resist that? I looked around to be sure he wasn't smiling at someone else. Yep, he was smiling at me. I went over, introduced myself, and sat down next to him. Even though my inner voice said, "Jane, sit at a different table each time, meet people, mingle," I sat at Charles' table every single time.

Originally, this story was going to be called "Charles and Joleen," but that was three years ago, and last time I saw Charles in Seattle, I learned that they had a falling out, and Joleen had moved on. I never met Joleen, but I felt like I knew her. I would always ask Charles about her, and he usually started his reply with, "Joleen, that little sweetheart." One day he said, "Joleen says to tell you hello." I was a little surprised until I realized he must talk about me to her as much as he talks about her to me. I like Joleen even though I don't know her -- just from what Charles tells me about her. For one thing, it was clear that Joleen was a very independent woman who thought for herself. One story I loved about her was that every time someone brought up the subject of marriage, Charles told me Joleen would say, "Don't use that M word around me." We bonded over that; I feel the same way and often use the phrase myself.

My friend Charles -- one of my great teachers

(STORY IN PROGRESS)

People #17.....THE BEST CHRISTMAS PRESENT.....San Luis Obispo, California.....12/21/02

    I'm never around children any more. Before I had my own business (Jane of All Trades), I was a teacher. I used to be around children a lot. At one time, I had my own preschool, although I called it a PLAYschool (The Little Red School House in Moses Lake, Washington), but that was many, many years ago -- another lifetime really. I also taught Children's Literature at the college there and was a substitute teacher (kindergarten through high school) after my two children were old enough to be in school. I always found a way to be around children, even after I stopped teaching. One of the many things I did as part of my business (I was the business) was being a Nanny for a few hours up to a few weeks. The part I liked best was being a live-in Nanny while parents went on trips anywhere from one to three weeks. The children and I had a great time: reading stories aloud (including Harry Potter), going on outings (hikes, picnics, parks, etc.), and cooking food that they enjoyed. It gave me great joy to be a "mother" again and to give parents peace of mind -- that their children were safe while they were away. I said in my Nanny information sheet: "You can be assured that I will treat your children as if they were my own."
    Ah, what I would give to have just one day back with my children when they were small, because once that time is gone, it is gone forever. Often my children would ask for my attention when there was a pile of dishes in the sink, washing to do, and errands to run. At that time, long ago, I'm so glad I said to myself: "Ten years from now, what will you be glad you did: the dishes or played with your children?" You know the answer.
    That's why this morning, just a few days before Christmas, I received an early Christmas present. Once again, I was in the restroom (like in the story "Daddy, the Lady Helped Me" below). I was a little taken back when I saw a very small face peek under the stall door to see if anyone was there. I was. Then I heard some very frustrated sounds. "Do you have a problem?" I asked. "Yes," came the reply, "I can't get the door open." "Just a minute," I said, "I'll help you," and flashes of the story I'd written in Key West, Florida came back to me.
    When I opened my door, I found a small, angelic-looking little girl with long, golden curls, about four-years old wearing a lovely, lavender pants and jacket made of very soft material. "Look what my Grandma gave me," she said, referring to her new clothes. She volunteered that she was here with her Grandpa and that she had spent the night with her grandparents last night. No doubt her parents were out doing the Santa-Claus thing, I thought.
    I tried the door handle of the next stall, and indeed it was very hard to open. I opened it then closed it again; so she could try. (I've never believed in doing something for children but rather teaching them how to do it.) With a little effort, she opened the door and went in. "The seat is all wet," she exclaimed. I thought how very observant she was and thought of all the times I've sat down on a wet seat because I hadn't noticed and cursed the inconsiderate people that went before me. "Well, let's use this other one," I said. "Do you know how to put the paper on the seat?" I asked, realizing it was hopeless because the container was much too high for her to reach. So I reached up, got one, showed her how to separate the middle from the outside, and placed it on the seat. "The thing is," I said, "you have to be careful not to knock it in the water while you're getting on." She did an expert job, backing up and placing both hands on the seat cover before getting on. The seat cover stayed firmly in place. I said, "Good! I'll lock the door for you," and I left.
    I finished washing up and thought I'd better wait to see that she washed her hands, but I didn't have to worry about that. As soon as she opened the door, she went right for the sink -- no soap though; it was too high. I took her hands and pulled on them a bit until she could reach the soap dispenser. Then, of course, she couldn't work those new-fangled water faucets, even if she could reach them. They were too high, and you had to push down very hard to get just a short squirt of water. Good for the environment but not too good for people less than three-feet tall.
    At that point, I heard someone say outside the door: "Are you all right?" I knew it was her Grandpa; so I replied, "Yes, I'm helping her." He was concerned because she was taking so long and rightfully so. She was a very chatty little thing, and we spent a lot of time talking back and forth while doing what we came to do. I looked for her in the restaurant as I was leaving because I wanted to meet her Grandpa and tell him what a darling grandchild he had. But I'm sure he knew that. I didn't think of it until just now: about how spending about ten minutes with this little girl was such a gift to me -- an early Christmas present.

P.S. That's why I always tell parents of small children (when the children are acting up and the parents wish they were any place but there): "Enjoy them while you can because once they leave home, you won't see them until they're 40."

People #16.....SAPPHIRE IN THE OCEAN.....San Francisco, California.....12/03/02 (revised 10/18/03)

    When I stayed in Port Angeles, Washington three months this past summer, I often went dancing at the casino in Sequim on the weekends. I would write at the library in Port Angeles on Friday until it closed at 5:00 p.m., take a nap in my camper in the library parking lot, and then drive to the casino in Sequim around 7:00 p.m., missing the rush-hour traffic.
    It was a good deal. I ate the casino dinner special for $4.95 as soon as I arrived, changed into my dancing duds, was on the dance floor by 9:00 p.m., and depending on the band, danced until the dancing ended at 1:00 a.m. or so. I spent the night in my camper in the very large casino parking lot, way back by the trees with a view of the countryside, away from the hustle and bustle, and close to nature. It was quiet there, and I always got a good night's sleep. As soon as I woke up on Saturday, I would drive to the marina (about 10 minutes away), meditate, do my stretches, and fix breakfast overlooking the beautiful Strait of Juan de Fuca -- a salt water beach in front of me and mountains still covered by cloud blankets in the distance. Just me and the seagulls. After a walk around the marina, I would head for the Sequim Farmers' Market which had mostly organic produce at cheap prices: a huge head of butter lettuce was $1.00. After the market, I would write at the library until lunch and nap time when I would head back to the marina for the quiet, beauty, and serenity it provided. I listened to Garrison Keillor's Prairie Home Companion, and when it got dark, I headed back to the casino for another night of dancing and another night in my camper. On Sunday morning, it was off to the marina again to watch CBS Sunday Morning on my small, five-inch, black and white TV which runs off solar energy in my camper (TV $19 at K-Mart). Later that morning I would either go to the Unitarian Church in Sequim or Port Townsend, depending on the program. I spent many, many weekends this way for a total cost of $4.95!
    The first night I was at the casino, I sat and listened to the music. I wasn't dancing, and it was pure torture to have to sit there with all that great music playing. I wasn't opposed to asking a man to dance, but what was the point? Chances of meeting a man I would have anything in common with at the casino, where every person was either smoking or drinking or both, were very slim. As a friend of mine said about Alaska, "The odds are good, but the men are odd." The same was true here.
    No one was dancing when a plump, 30ish woman walked on to the dance floor and started to dance -- by herself. "She's got guts," I thought and envied her nerve. I continued to sit there, tapping my feet, and moving to the music as much as I could in a seated position. Then as the dance floor filled up, and the band played one of my favorite tunes, I got up out of my chair and made my way through the dancers to the center of the dance floor, where I felt kind of hidden among the moving bodies. After that initial solo dancing experience, I never worried about having a partner again. If the dance floor was fairly crowded, I danced! One woman told me, "You have a lot of guts to get out there and dance by yourself!" I felt independent and proud that I didn't let what other people may think keep me from dancing. Besides, I silently congratulated other women who did that.
    That's why I am eternally grateful to the woman who got up and danced that first evening. I often thought of going up to her and thanking her for paving the way, for giving me the courage to follow her example and get up and dance by myself. But even though I saw her there many times that summer, I never spoke to her. Probably because she was a bit flamboyant in her dancing and made me slightly uncomfortable.
    I bet you're wondering by now where the title of this story comes in "Sapphire in the Ocean." It was almost dusk when I was driving along the ocean to the place I would stay that night. With no exercise that day, I decided a walk along the ocean would be nice. I parked randomly by one of the many paths to the beach that span at least five miles of highway. I loved the golden dunes and the succulents that grew in them, with their yellow and red-pink blossoms. As I came to the top of the dune and saw the ocean, the first thing I noticed was a fully-clothed woman in the water. She was caressing the waves, hands outstretched, hands overhead, turning in slow circles in the water. She was like a child at play, truly a free spirit, oblivious to the world around her. And then it struck me, "She reminds me of the woman who danced at the casino this summer. Impossible," I thought. I walked up the beach, glancing back occasionally at the woman n the waves. I continued watching her as I made my way back along the shore. Then, I stood watching her for a long, long time from a distance at first and then up closer. The similarity to the woman at the casino would not leave my mind. I thought about approaching her, but the idea that she might be the same woman was just too far fetched. I started to leave, walking toward the nearest dune to my car. Then I stopped. "I will always wonder if she is the woman," I thought. With that I turned around and walked up to where she was standing in the ocean.
    "Excuse me," I said, "but did you happen to be at the casino in Sequim, Washington this past summer?" Well, you know the answer -- else why would I be writing this story? She was, and her name was Sapphire (perfect for this red-hot mama on the dance floor and the one in the ocean that glowed with an inner light which shone through an angelic smile). Here we were hundreds of miles from the casino I was at in October, on a beach in San Francisco where I stopped, on a whim, for a walk as the finale to an amazing Thanksgiving Day. We were awestruck, speechless.
    This is what I mean when I say certain happenings are more than coincidence, more than sychronicity. To me they are magical, and they happen to me all the time. That is how life lets me know that I am doing exactly what is "right" for me to do.

Another characteristic of a Master: Whatever s/he does, s/he does with the enthusiasm of doing it for the first time. This is the source of their unlimited energy. Every lesson that s/he teachers (or learns) is a first lesson. Every dance that s/he dances, s/he dances for the first time. It is always new, personal, and alive.....Gary Zukav from his book The Dancing Wu Li Masters (with nonsexist s/he added by jane)

People #15.....P.D.Q. BACH.....Arcata, California.....11/11/02

    Okay, so I've got a new obsession.....ever since I attended my first (but not my last) P.D.Q. Bach concert performed by students at Humboldt State in Arcata, California. It started with attending the concert and escalated when I looked him up on the internet. Now I am sitting here writing a story about the P.D.Q. Bach concert and the man himself. IF YOU WANT TO LAUGH UNTIL TEARS COME TO YOUR EYES, go to the following website right now: (Just copy and paste it into the browser.)

    Arcata has a wonderful feel to it and lots of "culture." The P.D.Q. Bach concert last night was a kick in the pants. I had always wondered about his music -- Bach music with crazy lyrics. I knew I was in for a wonderful evening when the conducter walked on stage wearing a cowboy hat and over-size overcoat, carrying a bull whip, "For unruly tenors," he said. That set the tone for the evening. One of the three things on the program was a short "opera" called Oedipus TEX. "Hello, I'm Oedipus Tex -- you know my brother, Oedipus Rex." A western, doncha know. One of the lines I remember was: "Don't love your mother, don't show remorse, save it for your horse." And a song called T-R-A-D-E-G-Y, which they spelled, not said. I laughed and laughed. LOVED it! There's probably a video of it, and it would make a fun evening for friends, along with LOTS to drink.
    You can read about P.D.Q. Bach's life at the beginning of the website I mentioned, but the REALLY hysterically funny stuff is the TITLES of his work. Things like:

Art of the Ground Round, S. 1.19/lb. (3 Baritones & Discontinuo) ?10 min.
    3. Jane, My Jane (YES, there really is one with my name!)
Beethoven Symphony No. 5 Sportscast: "New Horizons in Music Appreciation"
Breakfast Antiphonies
    3. La Toilette
    5. Finale: Entrance into the Dining Room
Canine Cantata; "Wachet Arf!", S. K9. ("Sleeping Dogs Awake!") (Solo Dog; 0-0-0-2;2-2-0-0; T.; Str.)
Cantata Singalonga
Classical Rap, S. 96th St. (Rapper, 2 Tpt. in C, Str., Hpschd.) ?9 min.
Concerto for Bassoon vs. Orchestra
Concerto for Horn and Hardart, S. 27. (Hn.; Hardart; Fl., Ob., Bsn.; Strings)
A Consort of Choral Christmas Carols, S. 359 ?7.5 min.
    2. O Little Town of Hackensack ?3 min.
    3. Good King Kong Looked Out ?2 min.

    You get the idea, and that's only A-C in the alphabet! Go to the website for C-Z! And if you REALLY get into this, you can get recordings:

The Dreaded P.D.Q. Bach Collection, The Complete Vanguard Years, Vol. 1 Vanguard 159/62-2
The Short-Tempered Clavier And Other Dysfunctional Works For Keyboard, Telarc CD-80390
Two Pianos Are Better Than One, Telarc CD-80376
Music for an Awful Lot Of Winds And Percussion, Telarc CD-80307, CS-30307
WTWP: Classical Talkity-Talk Radio, Telarc CD 80295; CS 30295
Oedipus Tex & Other Choral Calamities, Telarc CD 80239; CS 30239
1712 Overture & Other Musical Assaults, Telarc CD 80210; CS 30210
P.D.Q. Bach: A Little Nightmare Music, Vanguard 79448 LP, CS, CD
P.D.Q. Bach: Black Forest Bluegrass, Vanguard 79427 LP, CS, CD
The Wurst of P.D.Q. Bach, Selections from the following albums: Vanguard 719/720 CD 72015
P.D.Q. Bach's Half-Act Opera, "The Stoned Guest" Vanguard 6536 LP, CS, CD

Audio books and videos are also listed on the website.

"The audience tittered, giggled, bell-laughed, guffawed, and downright had a good time, giving Schickele a standing ovation at evening's end." ?Indianapolis Star

"The concert was a knowing lampoon of baroque music." ?Time Magazine

"What sets P.D.Q. apart, which means below, most composers of classical ilk are his rampant plagiarism, technical ineptitude, ludicrous instrumental writing and unfathomable prescience. How this most eclectic of composers could incorporate jazz, blues and other 20th-century styles into his works is something only Schickele could tell." ?The Pittsburgh Press

"...the picture of the bearded professor stooped low over the microphone, hair and shirttail flopping, brow furrowed, flute in nose, is an experience not to be forgotten. (And we've tried)…his finest moments under the piano, literally milking every drop of emotion from the poor thing." ?The New York Times

"Did you know that a good belly laugh can give you the same benefits as an aerobic workout? Additionaly, laughter boosts the immune system and lessens pain. Laughing also reduces stress, lowers blood pressure, and has a beneficial effect on our overall well-being. Plus, it's free"......(Jane sez: And, YOU KNOW, how I love FREE!)

People #14.....THE RELUCTANT DANCER.....Bandon, Oregon.....11/4/02 (Rev. 12/3/02)

    I never knew his name -- the elderly man who sat so long on the bench and watched everybody else dance. After a while, as I danced near, I said, "You can dance with us if you'd like." "Oh no," he replied and waved us away. He continued to sit on the bench the whole evening -- never danced once. I always wonder why people come to dances if they don't dance.
    Finally, I went over to him and said, "Let's dance." He shrunk back while replying, "I don't know how." Even though he was inside, he had on a heavy knitted cap and sweater -- maybe handmade. "Take off your hat and sweater," I said as I pulled him to his feet, "It's easy." I took both his hands in mine. "Just move to the music." After a few minutes, I let go of his hands, "Just do anything you want," I said, "Feel the music." Then, "Move your hands and arms a bit more." He was doing surprisingly well, and it appeared that he wanted to do it. Next I hooked my elbow through his, and we did a do-si-do right, then left. He wasn't what I'd call a fantastic dancer, but he WAS dancing. To my surprise, when the music stopped, the whole room broke into applause. Apparently the guy comes every week but had never danced before. (I must admit I felt just little bit like a saint!)
    He thanked me, and we took our respective seats across the room from each other. We both sat out the next dance, and I had the feeling that he was going to sit out the dances for the rest of the evening. I couldn't let that happen. I went over to three women who were sitting and chatting on the sidelines -- good dancers. "Someone needs to ask him to dance," I said. They hesitated; I sat there. "He really needs to continue dancing," I added, "or all this will be lost." We all sat there for a few minutes. They probably knew I wasn't going to give up. Then one of the women got up, went over to him, and asked him to dance. She was very good with him -- kindly, gently leading him along. When I looked back later, they were still dancing. She spent a long time with him.
    One of the fellas I danced with told me a bit about the elderly gentleman. Apparently he was a widower, his wife having died about a year ago. It touched my heart to think how lonely he must be -- lonely enough to come to these dances by himself, trying anyway he could to escape the loneliness of life without his partner. How brave of him! To leave his home and venture out to a dance, even if he just watched. Loneliness can do that to you -- force you out of your shell no matter what. Even the unknown is better than the loneliness of an empty house with the four walls closing in. (I remember...)
    He didn't dance every dance, but I noticed different women dancing with him off and on during the evening. And you know what? He danced the last dance, and I noticed that he was doing pretty well!

People #13.....TWO EXCEPTIONAL YOUNG MEN (Jason and Ryan).....Lake Crescent Lodge near Port Angeles, Washington.....10/1/02 (Rev. 12/04/02)

    Yesterday I spent the whole day at Lake Crescent: breakfast, walking along the lake and through the woods, hiking up to Marymere Falls.....writing this story:

    I placed my order for breakfast and like any good waiter, he asked, "So what are your plans for today?" "No plans," I said. And that's all it took for an instant connection, like being plugged in to an electrical outlet. With a big grin on his face, he said, "That's the only way to travel." Immediately, our age difference disappeared.
    When he brought my breakfast, and I told him I've been traveling in my little camper for more than two years, he plunked himself down in the chair next to me and said, "I've got to hear about this." It was near the end of the season, and the restaurant wasn't busy that morning; so Jason and I talked for a long time about his plans, his education, our jobs, our travel, his dreams, and our philosophies of life. As my breakfast got cold and the conversation progressed, I knew we were on the same wave length; so I showed him the Peace Pilgrim booklet "Steps to Inner Peace." "Just open it anywhere," I said, "and read a paragraph out loud." He opened to page 18, nodded, and smiled in agreement as he read it out loud to me.
    Encouraged by his receptiveness, I gave him a flyer about the presentation I was giving at the YMCA the next night and invited him to come. At that point, he said, "There's a guy in the kitchen that would really be interested in this. Do you mind if I take this back to show him?" "Why don't you bring him out here," I said. I never pass up the opportunity to meet anyone interested in the life of the spirit. So he went to the kitchen and brought back Ryan. After talking awhile about spirituality, Ryan said he'd attend the session, and I asked him to bring a poem he wrote about spirituality to read for the group.
    If I had only known what these two young men know at their age....needless to say I gave each of them a copy of the Peace Pilgrim booklet "Steps to Inner Peace," and wrote, "It was wonderful meeting you today. Enjoy the journey."

People #12.....DO YOU BELIEVE IN MAGIC? (Bruce).....Port Angeles, Washington 8/2/02

    Some call it coincidence; some call it synchronicity, but I call it MAGIC!

    My good friend Bruce has a way with words. That man can string 'em together like nobody's business -- so that they go right from the page to the heart and maybe the soul. I keep telling him he's a writer, and he declares to be one "of sorts." When he writes something amazing, something that makes me want to SHOUT, something that causes my blood to course faster in my veins, I copy it and send it right back to him, telling him for the thousandth time that he IS a WRITER.
    I wrote a story called "I Chose Silence," and when I told him about it, he wrote me this letter:

"I am somewhat acquainted with silence. I'll share an old favorite haiku:

In the silence
Before the arrival of guests,
The peonies

    I forget which of the old Japanese poets is responsible for that one. Not Basho - Perhaps Issa or Buson. A friend did a lovely caligraphy version of it years ago that still hangs on my wall. In my yard are peonies planted by my grandmother about 50 years ago. They have just recently pushed up again out of the spring earth and are slowly unfolding their ruddy twisted leaves. I'll miss their blossoming this year - though I am sure that there will be other blooms to tickle my eyes as I meander north with the waning spring.
    I think there is probably a dichotomy in my life - in fact there is a dichotomy in all life. On one hand, it is constantly seen and experienced as ephemeral, transitory and tragically brief. And yet, with a little grace, and a little luck we sometimes are blessed with just a little glimpse into the eternal coursing right along with the rest of it."

    That gives you some idea of his exquisite writing. Days later, I was, once again, writing Bruce, encouraging him to write his stories. I listed several writing examples from his letters and ended with, "And, I will NEVER forget your grandmother's peonies." About an hour later, when I stopped to pick up my mail, there was a large envelope from Bruce, and in it, a photograph he had taken of his grandmother's peonies!
    But the story doesn't end there. Later that day, I found (not bought) a greeting card. The card said "Happiness comes when your work and words are of benefit to yourself and others." The card had special meaning since Bruce is on the Board of the Friends of Peace Pilgrim and was visiting there at the time. It was the perfect card on which to relate the magic of my peony experience that day.

Here is what I wrote to Bruce on the card I found:

    "Dear Bruce, All this goes way past synchronicity. What would that be? Somewhere in the realm of miracles, I think.
    Didn't I just write you yesterday about your writing -- the things that touched me -- ending with "I will NEVER forget the peonies." And that very same day, I go to my mail service and find you've sent me a photograph you took of your grandmother's peonies in your garden?
    And it doesn't end there. Just a bit later, I find this card. Yes FIND (not buy). The message on the front couldn't be more appropriate, especially now, when you're at the Peace Pilgrim Center. And, also inside, the message is perfect. Even now, a day later, I am sitting here awed by the wonder of it all.
    If you touch all lives the way you have touched mine, you have surely earned your place in heaven. I'll see you there".....jane

    A few days later, before leaving for one of my frequent trips to Seattle, I stopped by my mail service. It was 6:15 p.m., and I had to be some place at 6:30; so I knew I was pushing it. There was a card from Bruce which I opened in the car. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the picture on the card. I was awed, stunned, amazed.....because right beside me on the seat was a small book I had checked out at the library called A Guide to a Happy Life. The photograph on the card was the same as the photograph in the book. For once in my life, I was speechless with the wonder of it all.

Here is an excerpt from the letter I wrote Bruce:

    "Dear Bruce, I should probably wait to write until I come down off the ceiling. I've been flying around up there ever since I picked up my mail. While parked there, I opened your letters in the car. Remember the card I sent you at the Peace Pilgrim Center? Well, this may be even better. When I opened the card you enclosed with the photographs, I simply could not believe my eyes. Even now as I write this, I am overcome with the magic of it ALL. I can hardly breathe! There was a book by my side in the front seat that I had checked out at the library. The title of the book is A Short Guide to a Happy Life, a small book, but powerful, that can be read in an hour or less. Now for the bestest part!!! On page 48 and 49 of that book is the picture on the card you sent!".....jane

    These kinds of things happen to me quite often, though maybe not to this extent. I WOULD call most of them coincidences or synchronistic. When this kind of magic appears in my life, there's one thing I know for sure: I am living the life that is exactly right for me. They are affirmations from the universe.

People #11.....THE LIBERAL REPUBLICAN (Kent).....Port Angeles, Washington.....8/8/02

    I was out in the garden on this beautiful, sunny day, pruning Myra's roses. I had on my new sun hat which had roses on it as well. I noticed that it was almost 11:00 a.m., time to look for Garrison Keillor on the radio. I had parked my car close by so that I could run my radio off the cigarette lighter in the dashboard. I was searching the dial for "A Prairie Home Companion" but couldn't find it. I looked around for another person to ask and coming down the street was a young guy walking at a brisk pace.
    "Excuse me," I said, "Do you happen to know when Garrison Keillor comes on the radio on Sunday?" "No," he replied in a friendly manner. Then I started in about how wonderful the program is and how I never miss it wherever I travel. Well, that led to my telling him that I'd been traveling for more than two years, and he asked where, and pretty soon we were actively involved in conversation. I never did find the program.
    He surprised me with, "May I buy you a cup of coffee?" I only hesitated a few seconds, thinking about the pruning job, and the big pile of cuttings on the ground, along with the garden tools all over the place. "Sure," I said. I am making a conscious effort to be more flexible in my life -- more spontaneous. It's hard when you're a "good" girl and feel you need to do what you need to do before you play. But, hey! This guy was young, good-looking, fit, and interesting. The roses can wait.
    "Is the coffee place within walking distance?" I asked. He assured me that it was, and we started out along the "scenic" route. It was a lovely day and a lovely walk overlooking the harbor a lot of the way. I didn't know it was all the way downtown, much further than I expected, but I just chalked it up to my exercise for the day.
    We talked nonstop along the way, both discovering we were writers and lovers of literature, especially poetry. As we passed the harbor, I told him I had just written a poem called "The Harbor" on my website -- how yesterday it had simply disappeared -- in the fog. Later I e-mailed it to him.
    Kent turned out to be quite a dichotomy. He told me he was a Republican, but that didn't really fit because he had many, what I would call, liberal views. And I should know; I'm a flaming liberal myself! First of all, he told me that his friend just cut his hair which was down to his waist. Now what Republican do you know that has waist-long hair (and I think it might have been bleached, at that). And during our discussion, I found many things that didn't sound Republican to me. I was so impressed by Kent as a Republican (a "Libertarian Repulican") that I asked if he had plans to run for office. If Republicans are going to be in office, I would like Kent to be one of them. I also learned that he is an avid mountain climber and traveler, with plans to visit Mexico and to teach in China. In fact both Kent and Sarah have definite plans to go to Guilin in China -- you know the city where many hills come right out of the water -- my number one place to visit in China. Is life sending me there, along with these two people? Maybe...
    At the coffee shop, he introduced me to his friend Sarah, who made us great coffee drinks. "I'll have what you're having," I told Kent. We drank our coffee drinks, all the while reciting our favorite poems and reading from a fabulous book Kent had in his pack. The book contained the poems of six poets; four of them my favorites: Langston Hughes, Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, and maybe Carl Sandburg. I remember Kent was especially fond of Emily Dickinson. There was no competition about who would recite or read, sharing equally the joy.
    One thing I noticed about Kent, once I got past having coffee with a Republican, was his kindness. He was always ready to help out with everyone he met. And kindness is big with me -- probably the most important quality I look for in another person. Thoughtful, considerate, caring, and kind: Kent was all of those things. AND, he was a VERY interesting person with lots of colorful surfaces to his personality. I told him I figured we could talk for about two weeks straight without stopping.
    As I got ready to leave, Kent offered to walk me back home, but I knew he wanted to drink more coffee, read, and visit with Sarah a bit longer. So, as I left, I said, "Let's see what kind of a hugger you are." He was good, but not the "Mother of all huggers" like I am. Sarah was listening and said, "I know how to hug," so we did. Sarah had visited with us at our table when things were slow; so it wasn't as though I was hugging a complete stranger. In fact, she had just moved into her new apartment last night and after talking for a while said she would like both of us to come to dinner at her house as soon as she was settled. Now that made me feel good -- being invited to dinner by someone I just met.
    So, Sarah and I wrapped our arms around each other and gave each other one of those wonderful full-body hugs that last and last and last. NOT one of those instant hugs (like instant mashed potatoes - ugh) that last only two seconds. And NOT one of those hugs where only your upper body touches and there's room for a small tent between your body and your feet. Those two are my pet-peeve hugs. When they happen, I say, "Hey, wait a minute. Let me show you how to give a REAL hug." You see, I was taught by a great teacher. After our three-way hugging session, we noticed that everyone had left the sidewalk cafe. Kent figured all our hugging (with different partners) did it and said, "Well, we certainly know how to clear a place out; don't we?"
As I started the long walk back home to finish pruning the roses, I thought it was turning out to be quite a "Jane" kind of day -- promising in every way.

People #10.....STOOD UP AT THE LAUNDROMAT (David).....Port Angeles, Washington.....7/31/02

    I met David at the library where we both are frequent visitors. You get to know the people at the next computer after a while. One day I gave him my card -- my new non-business card (because I don't have to charge for anything I do now). It says: "Jane Finley, writer, artist, teacher (meditation, relaxation, stretching)" and lists my e-mail and my website addresses.
    Then one evening, I saw David at a restaurant and nodded "hello" but didn't approach as he was with another person. I heard him say, "Just a minute, I want to talk to that woman." So, I walked over to his table. "If you have a minute," he said, "I'd like to talk to you about meditation." I told him that I couldn't right now but that I was doing my laundry at the laundromat about 9:15 p.m. If he wanted to meet me there, we could talk during the wash cycle. He said, "Okay, I'll bring the soap." I learned later that he had also brought his laundry.
    When I got to the laundromat and didn't see him, I looked inside and walked around the outside of the building. Hmmmmm, "Stood Up At the Laundromat." I know a good title when I see one! I thought, "Well, if I've been stood up, at least I'm getting a story out of it" and smiled. I really liked that humorous title, and the energy was there to write the story. But, as life would have it, the story didn't end there because life continued the story for me as David drove up.
    Now David is a BIG man, and he has a big truck. A BIG, noisy truck, but David is not a noisy man. He's a photographer and an excellent one...sensitive with an eye for a good picture. (It's spooky how much he looks like Clyde Butcher, the outstanding, black and white, nature photographer I met at his studio in the Big Cypress Preserve in Florida, and, of course, they have the photography in common. I was at the studio so often I became friends with Clyde and his wife Niki -- wonderful people!) Everything about David is BIG. He has a BIG, long, bushy beard, but not much hair on top. He covers it nicely though with a dynamite hat that's very becoming. (And I'll take a bald guy any day over someone who either wears a hairpiece, which you can always tell, or combs his hair across his bald head from one ear to the other. Natural is best!) And, most of all, David has a BIG talent: nature photography. He spends a lot of time roaming the mountains, valleys, and steams of the Olympic Peninsula and captures them in his lovely photographs. He obviously loves this area, and it shows in his photographs.
    Like most interesting people, David is a dichotomy. Or maybe he's just eccentric (like me). (When I had my own business, I used to tell my clients that I charged for the work I did, but the eccentricity was free.) I was intrigued by the two bumper stickers on David's truck, and I knew there was a story here. The first said "The brainwashed never wonder," which I LOVED, and it certainly caused me to wonder. (I have often thought that my website could be called "Wonderings" instead of "Wanderings." It's a little -- a lot! -- of both.) The second bumper sticker was "Real men love Jesus." I didn't pursue that one, having learned early on to avoid the topics of sex, politics, and religion when I first meet people....and maybe always! He DID mention during the evening that he put that bumper sticker on, as I remember, so he wouldn't get "beat up by rednecks."
    I had decided earlier, after walking through the laundromat, that was definitely not the place to talk about meditation. So when David drove up, I said, "You know, we can do better than this," thinking I would hop in his truck, and we would go some place outside since it was still light. (Love those long summer days....) There was a slight obstacle, however. David's front seat and floor were covered with all sorts of things, about a foot deep. "I'll follow you," I said, when he suggested we go out to the spit. I'd never been there and always welcome a new experience.
    When I followed David in my camper right into a beautiful sunset, I knew the evening would be special, and it was. We drove a long way out on the narrow spit. It was almost dark now, cold and windy. The sunset was almost gone, and we watched it go. Then when I turned around, I saw the beautiful lights of Port Angeles in the distance. It was spectacular! A further confirmation that I might settle here eventually. I said, "You know, David, I don't think I can talk about meditation tonight. I'm just too filled with the awe of this place." And I was. I don't know about you, Dear Reader, but sometimes life is just so wonderful that it fills me with wonder from my toes right up to my neck. Then I know that it's enough....that I can't possibly take in any more. It's hard to express the feeling; so I hope you've experienced it and know what I'm talking about. I got the very same feeling when I first visited Everglades National Park in Florida for the first time or sitting watching the sunset at Tecopa Hot Springs in California. The Everglades was beyond my wildest dreams, and after only an hour, I had to leave. I just couldn't absorb one bit more of the wonder of that place; I was that full. "And," I thought, "I can come back tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow".....rationing out the joy."
    I had on long pants, a warm jacket, and a scarf, but David had on shorts and a short-sleeve shirt. I lent him a windbreaker; so we could climb over the huge rocks and sit looking out over the Straits of Juan de Fuca. The sunset was gone now, but the serenity and beauty of the place remained, to be first viewed and then internalized in my heart and soul. No words necessary. How could words add anything to this idyllic scene? Words would only be an intrusion on perfection. Besides, I could not speak. How can I describe this feeling I get sometimes -- the only times words fail me. The feeling that can't be described in words. You only know how I feel by my silence and the tears of joy, wonder, amazement, and gratefulness that fill my eyes and sometimes overflow down my cheeks. Yes, there is a word for it! I just thought of it, and there seems to me so much of it in my life lately. That word is BLISS.
    After our walk, I noticed that David had cleared off the window seat of his truck and piled it all in the middle of the front seat. He said, "I want to show you something," and motioned me to get in. "Is it safe?" I asked, with a big smile on my face. "Oh, yeah," he replied, "'cause all this stuff is between us." We spent the next hour looking at his lovely photographs on his laptop computer while facing the harbor and the twinkling lights of the town. The next day, he had brought me a copy of my favorite photograph, which turned out to be the same one he used on his business card.
    By this time is was quite late. "Do you drink coffee," he said. "No," but I'll go with you while you have some," I said. So we went to the all-night Safeway. David got two cookies, and offered me one, but I refused; sometimes I have amazing will power. "Where's your coffee?" I asked. "Too expensive," he replied. So, while he paid for the cookies, I surprised him with coffee, and he seemed touched by the gesture. I figured that was the least I could do in return for such a lovely evening. I've always been a cheap date...

P.S. I went to the library right after finishing this story to see if David was there. I was very excited to have him read it. He wasn't there, but within ten minutes he walked in!

People #9.....MYRA, MY GUARDIAN ANGEL.....Port Angeles, Washington.....7/6/02

    Of course, I didn't know she was my guardian angel when the woman with the snow white hair and sensible walking shoes sat down behind me on the bench at Waterfront Park. I noticed she had a brown paper sack in her hand; so I said, "I hope that isn't one of those huge, delicious-looking cookies from the Farmers' Market" (which I had somehow been able to resist, probably because they were $1.25, and I simply refuse to pay more than $1 for a cookie). "No," she replied, "It's my dinner." She pulled out a healthy-looking sandwich with mouth-watering sprouts sprouting from between the bread. A few minutes later, she said, "I have a banana. Would you like half?" I thanked her and told her that my camper was nearby, and as soon as the band took a break, I would make my dinner and bring it back, which I did. "You eat healthy," she said. "Oh, yes," I replied, "I'm into health."

    During the concert, I found out a lot about Myra. She proudly announced that she was 77 years old. (She meant to say "75 years young!") We are both at the YMCA every day. She does the AOA (Active Older Adult) class three times a week and the weight machines the other two days. I do the same, except I do the aerobic classes instead of the AOA. She also belongs to a hiking group called "Over the Hill" that hikes every Friday at 9:00 a.m. I asked her if I could go on Friday, and she gave me all the details. Then I said, "Let's dance," and we did -- with just a moment's hesitation on Myra's part -- pretty amazing since most of the dancers were couples. It was getting cold, and Myra left before the music ended, but not before telling me that if I ever wanted to take the ferry to Victoria, I could park my car at her house -- walking distance from the YMCA. (Later I found out that she paints watercolors, and so do I!)

    I drove to Sequim (15 miles away) on Friday and greeted Myra when she arrived. I caught a ride to the trailhead, and we proceeded along gravel roads for about an hour, climbing higher and higher into the Olympic Mountains. At the beginning of the trail, I saw them: thousands of wild pink rhododendron blossoms, bejeweled with raindrops from the night before (like raindrops on roses -- when they're at their prettiest). The path was in good shape, with only a gradual ascent, crossing small streams and following a larger stream part of the way. We were already high in the mountains, but as we hiked farther, jagged snow-covered peaks appeared in the distance. More Northwest! Mountains, streams, wild pink rhododendrons, and forest as far as the eye can see.

    I hiked for about an hour, made sure my heart rate was up, and decided to turn back, as I wanted to be back in Port Angeles by 1:30. As I was going down the trail, I ran into Myra coming up. "I've done the entire seven miles," I said, "and now I'm going back." The woman with Myra actually believed me, but Myra looked skeptical as she reached in her fanny pack and pulled out a granola bar to give me to eat on the way back. I was grateful since I wouldn't be getting lunch until I got back to Port Angeles, at least another hour away.

    We started hiking in opposite directions when Myra called back, "Oh, I wanted to tell you that I have a bathroom off my garage, which you're welcome to use any time." I said I'd wanted to ask her if she knew anyone who might have a place for me to park my camper, maybe until October or November. "I'm never there," I said, "just to sleep, usually after 10:00 p.m. and before 8:00 a.m. The rest of the time I'm at the YMCA, the college, the library, or the senior center." (The Senior Center I've learned costs $10 a year to join and has a computer lab!) She said I could park in her driveway. "I can pay you," I said, but she shook her head "no." I told her I'd stop by.

P.S. I've known for a long time that I don't really choose cities; cities choose me.

People #8.....THE LAVENDER SUIT (Leonard)(A Story in Three Parts).....Rock Springs, Colorado.....5/29/02 (revised 6/1/02)

    Before coming to the library (to write this story that I didn't even know was going to be a story), I saw the animal, a cute, small creature running rapidly across the next parking lot. Always curious about animals, especially those I can't identify, I stopped the car and watched it. It had stopped running now, but it was too far away to get a good look. All I could tell was, it was quite small and a kind of light brownish color. I hoped it wasn't a rat. It kind of looked like a rat and was the size and color of a rat, but I couldn't quite make out its tail, which would tell me for sure. It kind of looked like a guinea pig, too, but I'd never seen a guinea pig in the "wild" of civilization. I made a U-turn into the next lot, but just as I drove in, it scampered under a parked car. I was able to see its tail, though, before it disappeared and under the floor boards of the saloon -- probably for a snack and quick beer with his buddies. It's tail was more flat and stubby than long and narrow; so I knew it was not a rat. (Small pause here while I consult with the two librarians about what that darling little animal could be. As I described it to them, "About the size and color of a rat, but with a wider tail," they agreed: "Gopher!" Then we had to tell gopher stories for a while before I returned to my computer. Even though I didn't ask, they told me where I could find many gophers in town.)

    I don't exactly look forward to doing the laundry. I am always so pleased with myself when its over with: spotted, sorted, washed, dried, folded, and put away. I have a real sense of accomplishment; so much so that's usually all the work I tell myself I have to do that day. I used to feel this way back "home" too, but not nearly to this extent. Here it's a drive to the laundromat; back home it was carrying stuff up and down to my fourth-floor, co-op apartment.
    But laundry "on the road" is SO much more than doing laundry at home. After the laundry is sorted into the washers (one light, one dark) and the appropriate soap added for each, I do a multitude of tasks which may include filling my water jugs with tap water for doing dishes, hooking up my water filter and filling my other water jugs with water for drinking, cleaning/organizing my camper, and the most involved: taking a P.T.A. bath. I always smile as I use that term and wonder if someone asks if I will have the nerve to explain it to them.

    I first heard about the P.T.A. bath many years ago from one of my clients, Leonard. We were bartering services. I would work on business promotion for him. He, in turn, would let me attend his lectures/workshops free of charge, and he would do his psychologist thing with me in one-on-one sessions -- just some unfinished business in my life that I wanted to take care of. So important that now I don't even remember what it was!
    It occurs to me that I could write a whole story about Leonard -- such a unique and talented person. I adored him! Besides his wisdom, what I remember most about Leonard was his lavender suit. During every workshop I attended, he always wore that lavender suit: lavender pants, lavender suit coat, lavender tie, and lavender vest topped off with (or should I say bottomed off with )lavender socks. I vaguely remember a pink shirt and white shoes. He was quite a sight to behold as he stood in front of us, telling us the story of how he came to buy the lavender outfit in the first place. We hung on his every word -- then, and throughout the workshop. Years later I was pleased, honored, and surprised to see Leonard and his wife attending my sessions on "How to Meditate." I introduced him as one of my great teachers.
    Well, it is from Leonard that I learned about the P.T.A. bath. I said to him one day, "What are you going to do after we finish here?" He said, "I'm going to go home and take a quick P.T.A. bath before meeting a friend." "Oh," I said, "What's a P.T.A. bath?" thinking it might have something to do with the P.T.A. group at a school (you know, the Parent Teacher Association). He said, "Pussy, tits, and ass." As I sat stunned, in an unprofessional silence, Leonard explained that he got the idea from his mother. (I can't even begin to imagine Leonard's mother!) Apparently she took P.T.A. baths quite often and passed the practice on to her son.....who, of course, only needed to make minor adjustments.

People #7.....DADDY, THE LADY HELPED ME!.....Homestead, Florida.....5/28/02

      As I walked up the ramp to the women's restroom at the beach, a very small voice ugently called out from inside, "Daddy, help me!" Now I knew that the man waiting so patiently on the sidewalk outside was "Daddy." At the entrance, I saw the little girl and glanced back at her Daddy, who said with a grin at me, "I can't help you now, Baby." I smiled back, "I'll help her," I said.
      She was a small little thing, with golden curls, looking pretty forlorn in a restroom with so many doors in different places -- not in a row like most restrooms in restaurants or movie theaters. "Choose any one," I said as we walked over to the nearest door. The toilet was huge compared to her. I said, "Do you know about putting toilet paper on the seat?" She said, "Yes"......and waited for me to do it for her. Then she couldn't get up on the seat without knocking the toilet paper off; so I lifted her up. As I turned to go, "I can't reach the toilet paper," she said. I took some off and handed it to her. Of course, I couldn't slide the latch from the outside; so I said, "I'll wait right here until you're finished." Without missing a beat, she responded," So nobody can come in." Lots of worldliness in that small package.
      I thought I was through when I realized she needed to wash her hands. She didn't know how to work the soap dispenser; so we practiced, and after several attempts, she finally got it right, "One hand," I said, "pull back, and the soap will fall right into your hand." I did it once, and then she did it successfully, looking at her palm to be sure the glob of soap was there, and feeling very pleased with herself. She could just reach the water faucet, but it was the kind where you had to push down. She tried -- HARD, but she just didn't have the strength she needed. I held it for her. If she stood on her tip toes, she could grab about one inch of the paper towel which, of course, broke off because her hands were wet. We did everything we needed to do and were finished at last. Made me realize how such a simple act I've been doing automatically for years can be pretty overwhelming if you're four years old. We said our good-byes from smiling faces. And I heard her exclaim as she bounced down the ramp, "Daddy, that lady helped me!"

P.S. I couldn't help but think of my own little girl (who always wanted curly hair). How she was all grown up now and far away. How much I missed her and wished we could be together more often -- that we could be closer. As I walked along the beach to my camper, feeling a bit melancholy, I brightened when I realized that even though my own daughter was no longer a little girl, I would always be a mother, and there would always be little girls who would need my help.

People #6.....THE CHICKEN LADY'S HUSBAND (Roy).....Key West, Florida.....4/30/02 (Revised 6/20/02)

This is the fourth of four chicken-related stories I've written since I've been in Key West. (See "Stories" link: Stories #6, 8, 9 and "People" link #6)

      After my third chicken story, I turned my attention to Roy, The Chicken Lady's Husband, a kind of odd "bird" himself but in a nice way. Roy is the kind of person that just makes you smile when you see him, and I don't quite know why. Maybe it's HIS ready smile, added to that oh-so-charmin' Virginia accent. I met Roy at the first Unitarian Church service I attended in Key West. I noticed him when he got up during the "joys and sorrows" section of the service. He said something like, "I got a traffic ticket, and I went to traffic court to try to get out of it. Most people in traffic court got up and gave the Judge every excuse in the book for doing what they did. In response, the Judge pounded his gavel and directed them to pay the fine. I also noticed that the people who got up and said, 'Judge, I'd like you to dismiss this ticket, got their ticket dismissed. [Note: When I ran this story by Roy later, he said, "You had to say 'Judge, PLEASE dismiss this ticket. The Judge said, 'You have to say PLEASE.'"] Roy continued, "This happened time after time. So when it was my time to face the Judge, I said, 'Judge, PLEASE dismiss this ticket,' and the Judge said, 'Ticket dismissed.' So, I just thought I'd pass this information on to you." I loved that story.
      I ran into Roy again at the Seekers meeting at the Unitarian Church the next night. That was the one where we discussed what is real. Afterwards I went up to him and told him that he had a great smile and southern accent. We got to talking, and the conversation got around to whether I'd been to The Chicken Store or not. "The Chicken Store?" I asked. "Yes," he said, "You should go there. My wife owns it." I was surprised to learn that Roy didn't have much to do with The Chicken Store -- apparently because of some chicken experience when he was a kid. But, he did create the license plate that says "Choose Freedom" and a picture of a chicken high-tailing it outta here -- the one I'd buy if it were a bumper sticker, even though I don't do bumper stickers. So, I was intrigued about The Chicken Store and put it on my things-to-do list. Well to make a long story short, I went to The Chicken Store not once but several times, and with this story, I have written four chicken-related stories while in Key West. Obviously, I have acquired a love and appreciation of chickens.
      The third time I saw Roy, was when he led the Seekers group on the topic of connected-ness or being connected. His opening sentence was, "I've thought a lot about this topic this week, and decided I'VE NEVER FELT CONNECTED -- TO ANYTHING." Everyone smiled if they didn't laugh right out loud. I could feel a story coming on. Roy was Unique with a capital "U" -- in a nice way -- a way that made me smile. You can't NOT like Roy. After writing the third chicken story, the next Sunday at the Unitarian Church, I told Roy I was thinking about writing a story about him and asked him if we could meet some time. He said, "How about going to lunch today with me and The Chicken Lady?" I was pleased to be invited, but from past experience I know that one-on-one interviews are best. People tend to censor their thoughts when others are present. So he said, "What about right after church then?" Agreed.
      We met after church to go for a walk and talk. Roy suggested the cemetary. He said, "It's pretty quiet there." Well, I couldn't argue with that. We wound around the cemetary looking for a favorite mahogany tree of Roy's where we could sit in the shade. We settled, however, for seats on a large, marble tomb -- our feet dangling from the edge. Before getting up on the tomb seat, I saw a shiny, copper penny lying on the ground and then another. I guess the saying "You can't take it with you" is true. Roy said, "Is it heads? Don't pick it up if it's not heads." They were both heads, and he said that was very good. You know, I never did find out why I shouldn't pick up the "tails." I'll have to remember to ask him.
      It didn't take much prodding to have Roy tell me about his life. He appeared to thoroughly enjoy the telling. He said that he was always a problem kid, mainly because he wouldn't keep his clothes on. Apparently it continued into adulthood because he says that one of the happiest times in his life was when he went to Hippy Hollow near Austin, Texas right after he graduated from college. The story goes that he asked directions to Hippy Hollow, a place where clothes were optional. When he got to the designated location, he immediately took off all his clothes and climbed to a cave on the cliff overlooking the water. He never felt so free! Just as he was thinking he'd reached nirvana, a bull horn from a boat broke the silence, "Put yo' clothes on; you can't go nekkid here!" Roy was so surprised that he fell into the water and started swimming -- away from the boat. As it turns out, that was not the Hippy Hollow of his dreams. That Hippy Hollow was a few miles down the road, and once he found it, he spent many happy days among like-minded, clothes optional people.
      Roy and Katha went together quite a while before they were married. Roy said Katha had only two requirements for the relationship. First, he had to read "Atlas Shrugged" by Ayn Rand, her favorite book. (One of mine too.) And, secondly, he had to feed "The Chicken Lady." Roy says that in high school, Katha got an "F" in lunch. Why? Because she wouldn't eat. Roy explained that Katha tends to forget about eating even now; so he has to make sure she does. (Katha is very thin.) With taking care of all those chickens plus running The Chicken Store, I can see how she could forget to eat. Roy agreed to those two requirements.
      Roy and Katha, The Chicken Lady, have an interesting marriage. First of all, Roy says, "It was a kind of shotgun wedding." One morning while visiting his parents, his Dad knocked on the door of their bedroom and said, "Get up. You have an appointment at the church to get married at 9:00 o'clock. Everything's all set." Well, Katha and Roy got up, got dressed, went to the appointment, and by 9:30 a.m. were married. I asked Roy if they did anything special after. He said, "No, we were still just stunned."
      He says their marriage wasn't easy at first. He packed and left now and then. He said he left so often that he got really good at packing and leaving; he had his bag ready and could be outta there in less than 15 minutes. He's pretty proud of that.
      Roy and Katha are still "together" after almost 20 years of marriage; things are calmer now.....mainly because they live in separate houses right next door to each other. Roy says HIS yard is beautiful, but his house is messy. He adds that Katha's yard is messy, but HER house is neat inside. Works for them. Personally, I think living in separate houses is a great idea. I had to get my two cents in by telling Roy that in my last relationship, which lasted nine years, we never lived together. "He was my escape," I said, "and if we lived together, he'd be part of the problem!" He said I'd convinced him that couples could have a committed relationship and not live together. But this is Roy's story...
      I guess you can tell there was a whole lot of smiling and laughing going on during my "interview"...on both our parts.

P.S. About the pennies, according to Roy, you don't pick up tails because that means you're beggin' for adventure; I guess that explains all this travel!

People #5.....EVERYONE HAS A STORY (Bob at the Beach).....Key West, Florida.....4/15/02 (Rev. 5/30/02)

      Bob is ALWAYS at the beach, dressed only in swim trunks; he is VERY tan. Whether I come at 6:00 a.m. or 10:00 p.m., I see his van backed up to the picnic table. Usually there's at least one person sitting at "his" table; often there are five or more. It's kind of THE gathering place on the beach.
      I noticed Bob the first day I parked at Higgs Beach in Key West, Florida. From a distance, I could see he was busily doing something at his picnic table. As I approached his van, I saw paintings perched on the hood, standing up against his van, and hanging from the sides and back. Only one painting had a price ($30); Bob said he forgot to remove that one. He says his paintings sell for up to $150. I got the feeling he does it for love, and the money is OK too. His picnic table held other paintings of all sizes, and Bob was engrossed in painting the next one -- with his fingers! Once in a while he used a palette knife or sticks which protruded from the top of every tube. The paintings were all about Key West, mostly the houses here, in the brightest colors -- happy paintings. Bob is such a fixture at the beach that the local bicycle tour includes him on its route -- a little local color.
      I talked to Bob as he put oil paint on his fingers and dabbed it around on the painting. He created colorful trees, making flower blossoms with the sticks he pulled from the tubes. He's a "snow bird," living in Key West during the six winter months and New Brunswick in the summer. Always interested in a place to park at night, I asked him where he parked when the beaches closed at 11:00 p.m. He said he often stayed with his girlfriend. I said, "Isn't that hard being gone from her six months of the year?" "Oh," he said, "I've got another one up north." I see...
      Bob's been married. I said, "I made that mistake once." He said, "It was a good marriage." But later he told me he and his ex-wife weren't on speaking terms.
      I can't quite figure Bob out. He's an interesting person, easy to talk to on any subject. He says he doesn't read much; yet he quotes great minds and has a sense of the laws of the universe. We agreed on most everything. Once Bob told me he thought smoking was just plain stupid. To which I added, "Yeah, It stinks, it's expensive, and it can kill you." "Why would anyone smoke? I guess they just get started, get addicted, and can't quit."
      Bob came up to me this morning just as I was writing the last two words of his story. I read it to him, and he didn't change a thing. His comment was, "Everyone has a story."

      I'll talk more with Bob and be "write" back...

P.S. It made my day when Bob told me I "fit right in at Key West." Thinking maybe it was because of my ecentricity, I asked him why. He said, "Because you say what you think." Well, he sure got that right...

As we were biking a few days later, he said that I was "enlightened." I wasn't sure I heard correctly; he was several yards ahead of me. I said, "What?" I thought he said "enlightened," but I wanted to be sure. Overwhelmed, I told him I was working toward that, and secretly smiled inside -- for that is the greatest compliment anyone can give me.

People #4.....HE'S MY KIND OF GUY (Jay).....Homestead, Florida.....4/01/02

      I knew I liked him within the first few minutes of meeting him. And it wasn't ONLY because he was tall AND good looking AND fit AND "in the ballpark" so to speak (which translates to "around my age").
     I had just come out of the library in Everglades City, Florida where I just e-mailed all my friends about my starting to write. So, I was already on a serious HIGH. (I prefer that word to what I KNOW is my manic state!)
      I had just walked up to my truck when a van pulled up beside me. From his open car window, he said, "This is the second time I've seen your camper. Where did I see you? I just decided to pull up and ask." We discussed that for a while, never coming up with the answer.
      When the conversation paused, I said, "Happy Valentine's Day." To which he replied, without skipping a beat, "Will you be my Valentine?" That did it for me; I knew I had to get to know this man better. I loved his friendliness, his spontaneity, and his ability to reach out to a stranger -- especially ME!
      I told him I was at the library doing e-mail. He said he needed to do e-mail, that he would have lunch at the all-you-can-eat buffet, and be back. (Later he told me he had eaten more than 100 shrimp, and you guessed it, was "miserably full.)" He asked where I was staying (or I asked him), and I told him I was staying at Midway, a free campground in the Big Cypress Preserve. He told me that he had passed there, but it was full. "I can get you in," I said.
      I DID get him into the campground; he parked in my spot, offering to pay half when he found out it was a free campground. He asked if he could fix me dinner as a thank you. Well, I think I'm pretty good at giving, but I have NO TROUBLE at all with receiving; so, of course, I said yes and was delighted by his offer. We set up our lawn chairs in our campsite looking out on the small, jewel of a lake, enjoying the dusk-to-dark approach of evening and the dinner Jay prepared. I learned something from Jay that has stayed with me: He washes his dishes right after every meal; so now I'm doing that too. There's not much room in my small camper to keep moving dirty dishes from place to place.
      When we saw the campfire, we carried our chairs to the other side of the lake where the ranger spoke of panthers (only 20-70 left in Big Cypress, but increasing), alligators (prolific), and Big Cypress National Park. While at the campfire, the cloudy sky cleared up to reveal the universe with its millions of stars. Back at the campsite, underneath the stars, Jay popped popcorn, and we ate it with nutritional yeast, not butter. It was suprisingly good -- a perfect way to end a perfect day!
      The next morning as we walked around the lake, we discussed the concerns each of us had. Mine: leaving this idyllic spot but needing to be in Homestead, Florida to pick up my mail TODAY (2/15/02) which was already long overdue. The post office will only hold general delivery mail for one month; then it's returned to sender. His: a more serious choice of continuing to travel vs. responsibilities at home in Buffalo. I could tell the responsibilities of home were intruding more and more on his ability to enjoy his trip.
      The choice was resolved for me when the ranger said my ten days of camping were up, period! So we decided to bike the 15-mile Shark Valley loop in reverse (since I had already done it twice before on my own) -- before going our separate ways: he to the north; me to the south. He had just completed the trip I was planning to do.
      Highlights of our bike ride were a lovely, large, white swamp lily and a rare magnolia blossom -- both of which we zoomed past and had to back track to see. And, of course, climbing to the top of the tower (halfway through the loop) with its 360 degree view of the landscape as far as the eye can see is always magnificent. (Not a McDonald's in sight or anything else for that matter -- just blue sky, open space, fresh air, and wildlife!) Six alligators routinely guard the entrance to the path; I walked gingerly around them, keeping a wide berth on the narrow trail.) It was a beautiful day and a splendid ride. Another perfect ending?
      But I'm not through with Jay yet! Before closing, I must add the below-the-skin qualities that make him such a special person. As we rode along on our bikes in that breath-taking, awesome environment called Shark Valley, I realized that Jay was more than an environmentalist, he was an activist (as I have been all my life. He was actively involved in making the world a better place (saving the world?); part of the pull back home in Buffalo, NY , was his involvement in water quality hearings which were to begin in April. Early on our ride, his love of nature became obvious as he frequently called out the names of birds along the way, from memory and obviously years of being in nature and bird watching. We both brought binoculars and stopped often to view something of interest. And, I could tell he was really enjoying being out in nature. Often we had the path to ourselves for long stretches.
      I liked his fastidious nature; he had the ability to just do what needed to be done -- right now. (It always amazes me to see how people procrastinate, using up valuable time, when they'll have to do it eventually anyway. I say do it, and get on with it!) I liked his active lifestyle: walking, biking, canoeing, hiking, back packing, and his love of travel. I liked his frugalness (although I have him beat in that department) and his simple life style. But most of all, and this is a real BIGGY, I liked his caring and concern for his 86-year-old mother back in Buffalo where they have side-by-side condos. I found myself wishing he would call to check on her before our bike ride; so he could enjoy it 100% and not have his mind elsewhere. And you know what? He had called her before the ride, without my even suggesting it. Amazing! Outstanding! And, again, PERFECT!
      Long ago, I heard someone say, "If you want to know what kind of husband a man will be, look at how he treats his mother!" So, listen up, all you single women out there who are still considering what I call the "M" word: MARRIAGE. (Watch for my story under the people link "Please Don't Use the 'M Word' Around Me!)
      Thank you, Jay, for a few perfect moments in an imperfect world!

P.S. I wrote my first story "Long Lost Friends and Purple Toe Nails" the morning of our bike ride, in bed before emerging from my camper. You can imagine how excited I was. My first story! And it was so easy! It was as if it just flowed through me; I just couldn't write fast enough. The minute I heard Jay stir next door, I asked if he would do me the favor of reading it. I think, in the end, that will be the reason I remember him. The first person to read your first story is kind of like your first love; isn't it?

People #3.....I'M GIVING MY MAKE-UP AWAY (Suzanne).....Homestead, Florida.....3/25/02

      I met Suzanne in the YMCA parking lot in Homestead, Florida. It was 6:30 in the morning. I was just arriving; she was just leaving. "You're almost as good as I am," I shouted across the cars. I had seen her every morning on the cardio machines. When she responded, I walked over to her car. "I'm here every day," I said. "I'm an addict!" We talked for a few minutes about why we're both at the Y every morning and how important exercise is. She learned that a lot younger than I did. I'd always been a walker, but it wasn't until I was over 40 that I got serious about exercise, and I was over 50 when I got serious about health -- when mortality kicked in...
      Suzanne and I chatted for a while by her car; obviously we were on the same wave length. I noticed that she wasn't wearing make-up, and her face had a healthy glow. She had lovely, long, strawberry-blond hair with tendrils that curled down the back of her neck. She was a natural beauty, kind of in the Reubens tradition. I said, "You don't wear makeup; do you?" She said, "No, I like to be real." REAL! When I hear someone say that word, I'm hooked.
      I told her that one way I amuse myself if I HAVE to go to a meeting is by looking at the hair of the women around me. Have you noticed that the majority of women have either bleached or colored hair? (It amazes me that women spend their hard-earned money that way: make-up, hair, and nails. I see young girls, who make minimum wage, with fancy DOOs, lots of make-up, and those glue-on nails with all the intricate designs. FASCINATING! I wonder how many, many hours they have to work to buy all that stuff.) Do you know what it COSTS to have your hair cut, much less colored? A LOT. It makes me wonder if these women have enough to do in their lives. I wonder what their lives are like. Are they bored? Do they have money to burn? Do they feel that spending their hard-earned money and time on external things will make their lives happier? And, how long does this quick fix last before they have to find some other external thing? Is what you SEE more important than what you GET? Are women like pictures to hang on walls? Or ornaments to show off? Or trophies to be won and displayed? Or do men want something more, like an equal who can carry on a good conversation. I like to think that internal beauty counts. I know it's the most important thing to me. When it gets right down to it, I feel that natural is best. It's kind of like, "You can't improve on Mother Nature." But then, Oscar Wilde says something like: "Never be so shallow as to NOT take into account a person's appearance." C'est la vie...
Another thing, MEN don't wear make-up, and they're doing just fine. Look at Tom Cruise; he's gorgeous without it! What unwritten law says that women have to wear make-up and men don't?
      When I STARTED traveling, I STOPPED wearing make-up, although I had it with me in my camper. At first, I didn't like how I looked without it, but when one is traveling in a small camper without running water, it just seemed like too much effort. Then I got used to how I looked and began to like it. I thought I looked amazingly good...for my age, and people always guessed that I was 20 years younger than I really am. But, we digress; age and being young at heart is a whole other topic.
      I've worn make-up only once since I started traveling. It was kind of an experiment. I was in Quartzsite, Arizona (the swap meet capital of the world). One can dance every night there! And dance, I did. I jokingly refer to myself during that period as "The Queen of the Trailer Courts" because I had more dates in one week than I had in a year in Seattle. But as a friend told me, "The odds are good, BUT the men are odd!" Anyway, there was one dance I went to every Wednesday night. It cost $2 to get in, and there was a great kind of old-time, rock-and-roll, country band. I was going back and forth about the "make-up thang" in my mind. One night I thought I'd just see if it made a difference. I put on my make-up the best I could: liquid foundation, white concealer under my eyes, powder, blush, eye liner, sparkly eye shadow, lipstick, and mascara. WHEW! Makes me tired just to think of it. When I danced with my regular partners, I asked them if they noticed anything different about me. They would look me over from head to toe, and you know what? To my amazement, everyone of them said, "No." I thought, "If they don't notice it, why go to all that trouble?" My make-up was placed near the bottom of my miscellaneous box in my camper.
      I remember my last relationship -- Peter. We went together nine years, but we never lived together. I always explained, "He is my escape, and if we lived together, he'd be part of the problem!" People laughed, I laughed, and I think Peter laughed. Peter was definitely "au naturel," you know the type: computer programmer, Yale grad, biked everywhere, environmentalist, back packer, bushy beard, didn't care a thing about clothes, and never thought of owning a full-length mirror, etc. (Unfortunately for both of us, I was his full-length mirror!) One time when I was debating with myself whether to wear make-up or not, he said to me, "I'd prefer you didn't wear make-up." Now, years later, I really appreciate him for that. Peter is just about as far away from the Playboy Bunny as a man can get!
      So, I'm just about at the point now where I can give away my make-up. I've got a box to put it in, and all I have to do is dig way down in my miscellaneous box to find it. I could give it to my daughter, but she's in Portland, and I'm in Florida right now. I really don't want to hold onto it that long. Or, I could give it to the young girls that work at the YMCA. I know I'm dragging my feet over this. I really don't think I'll ever use make-up again; so why am I hesitating? Maybe it's because I remember how much all that stuff cost that makes it hard to part with. But when one is traveling, it's best to get down to the bare essentials and get rid of stuff you don't use that just takes up space.
      Lately I've been thinking about the Peace Pilgrim and make-up. (The Peace Pilgrim is kind of an American Mother Teresa.) I can't help but laugh when I picture this wonderful woman, wand in hand, putting mascara on her eyelashes. So the ultimate question for me is: Would the Peace Pilgrim wear make-up?" I think I have my answer...
P.S. I don't shave my legs either!

People #2.....VERNON CAN READ!(Vernon Jordan).....Homestead, Florida.....3/21/02

      I drove to Miami last night to hear Vernon Jordan speak at a book fair at a university downtown. YIKES! The friend I was following took the Florida Turnpike, a racetrack that passes for a freeway. The lecture was at 6:00 p.m., and we couldn't leave Homestead until 4:00 p.m. You know what that means: very fast, bumper-to-bumper, rush-hour traffic increasing in speed and volume the closer we got to Miami. It didn't help my peace of mind to recall more than one multi-car accident on the news. Now I know why I avoid big cities. (I haven't recovered from driving through Boston yet!)
      You'll probably remember the speaker, Vernon Jordan, as Bill Clinton's friend who testified on his behalf during a much publicized trial. Last night I learned that he was so much more. His degree was in law, but he has been an activist for the rights of Black Americans (he prefers that term to African Americans) most of his life.
      Vernon Jordan told us about his new book Vernon Can Read!, a mundane title according to his family. He delights in telling us that they think the title may be okay now that the book is on the best seller list in many cities. Vernon Jordan is a terrific speaker! We were mesmerized for more than an hour; there was not a sound in the audience of maybe 200 people. I won't retell the many stories he told about growing up black in the south; you can read the book for that, and I highly recommend it. (His story stops long before the Clinton era.) But, I think it's important to tell you WHY he wrote the book: so his 11-year-old daughter will have some idea of what life was like when he was growing up in the south. Children today don't know about that -- an important part of black history.

      Vernon Jordan and I are exactly the same age. And you know what? I was also born in the south (Memphis, Tennessee) and experienced some of what Vernon Jordan talks about, except for one major difference: I was born white. I experienced the separate drinking fountains, restrooms, and segregated schools. I heard a story once about how some black children switched the signs on the drinking fountains because they wanted to see what "white" water tasted like. Then they stayed around to watch as the white folks drank from the "black" fountain which now said "whites only."
      Even as young as ten, I sensed the injustice of it all. My father was co-owner of a cotton business right on the Mississippi River. I went to a private school (Lausanne), and we always had "negra" or "colored" help. (Vernon Jordan says, "We've progressed from nigger to negra to colored to black.")
      I loved our black nanny/cook/housekeeper "Sara the Cook" (because my Mother's name was also Sara). I saw her when I went back to Memphis for a visit after high school graduation. I went on the bus by myself, quite a brave undertaking as I look back. I had a list of friends of the family and relatives I wanted to see; "Sara the Cook" was high on my list. Well, Sara had changed in those 13 or so years. She was unrecognizable to me, as I'm sure I was to her. When the door opened, this bear of a woman met me with a big smile on her face and open arms. I don't really remember her home too well. As I recall, it was in a very poor part of town, and I remember being a little afraid when my relatives dropped me off. The outside was unpainted; the inside had bare wood floors and was sparsely furnished. "I've baked a chess pie just for you," she said. (For "Sara the Cook's" chess pie recipe click on the "food" link on my home page.) What I DO remember is how genuinely glad Sara was to see me and how thrilled she was that I would take the time to find her after all those years. Tears come to my eyes as I remember...
      My father died when I was seven. My mother never worked; married southern ladies didn't work out of the home (or in the home for that matter!) back then. So, we sold our home and could no longer afford full-time help. We moved to an apartment, and Mother hired young "colored" girls to help out. These girls became not only my companions but my best friends. One incident from that period stands out in my mind, and I am very proud of myself. One day R.C. (like Royal Crown soda, remember that?) and I took the bus downtown for the first time. It never occurred to me that we couldn't sit together. As soon as I paid my fare, I realized that the front of the bus was reserved for whites; blacks sat in the back of the bus. I hesitated for only a moment. I followed my friend to the back of the bus, and we sat together. I remember the feeling that swelled inside of me that day. It was the first of many I've felt when standing up to injustice over the years.
      Now I've opened a Pandora's box of memories from my early years in the south... We often visited friends of my Mother's in Como, Mississippi, a very small town. I loved going there and escaping the big city. The house was like a southern mansion on a great expanse of land with pecan trees on the big expanse of lawn. (We always came home with lots of pecans which I sold door-to-door by the DOZEN!) Then there was the food: foamy pitchers of milk (minutes from the cow which my mother would never let me drink because it had not been pasturized), home-made biscuits, corn on the cob, mashed potatoes, yams, green beans, peas, carrots, beets -- at least a dozen just-picked vegetables from their garden. I was in heaven! And huge bedrooms upstairs with large, fluffy beds!
      There were cotton fields surrounding the home. Perhaps that was the connection with my father's cotton business. There were no children in the home, but I soon found children my age in the wooden shack a ways out back from the "main" house. A "colored" family lived there. Brace yourself! The father was called "Big Coon" (really!), and his son was called "Little Coon." I thought nothing of those names at the time, but now, as I write this, tears come to my eyes. I am outraged by these racist names! Long story, short: Whenever my Mother couldn't find me, she knew where to look, for I spent most of my time near the shack in the back, playing with my friend.

P.S. After hearing Vernon Jordan speak, I added the NAACP to the list of beneficiaries in my Will -- and also the ACLU!

People #1.....I LIKE "YES" PEOPLE (Sande, Hazel & Aida).....Homestead, Florida.....3/13/02 (Rev. 7/8/05)

      I like "YES" people. You know, the kind of person that does everything possible to give you what you want; the kind of person who doesn't make you feel unreasonable; the kind of person who really ENJOYS helping. (A person like Sande at the YMCA in Homestead, Florida.)
      As opposed to "NO" people, who seem to have a one-word vocabulary, and that one word is "NO." Of course, there are a wide range of "YES" people AND a wide range of "NO" people. It's all a matter of degree.
      There is one particular "NO" person who comes to mind. When I think of her, this is what I remember: "no, No, nO, NO, and noooooo!" When you meet this kind of person, the NOs are often followed by: that's not possible, I'm just doing my job, we've always done it this way, that's our policy, I don't know (without any effort to find someone who does), and on and on ad nauseum. You know that kind of person; the kind that makes your question/request seem either stupid or unreasonable or BOTH!
      Now, I'll be the first to admit that I ask A LOT of questions and make A LOT of requests while I'm on the road -- NONE OF THEM UNREASONABLE (in my opinion). If they were unreasonable, I wouldn't ask them. Oh, and one other thing: I prefer that things be FREE! (Eventually these will be on the "Travel Tips" link on my home page.) Here they are in no particular order....
1. place to park my camper
2. telephone: I don't own a phone. (With the internet, who needs it? I'll probably never have a phone again.) Far be it from me to pay the exhorbitant price of a pay phone (35 cents).
3. shower
4. water: I need a place to hook up my terrific Multi-Pure water filter (which I sell by the way).
5. a place that's open late where I can write and read; so I don't have to spend the evening confined to my very small camper
6. a place to meditate, stretch, exercise, and walk DAILY (my top priorities!)
7. internet access
8. bathroom: last, but probably the MOST important!
    I realize this doesn't even touch on: clean air, open space, water (e.g., lakes, rivers, oceans), and no traffic congestion PLUS a YMCA, Unitarian Church, library, organic grocery, and TV/radio reception. All that will come later. Let's just say that I never stay in a place long that doesn't have the first eight things listed above. Please notice that none of the things I mentioned are "material" things -- things that I own, BUT that's a whole other story.
    So when people say "NO" to me, I, being of a certain age, ask "WHY?" I ask that right BEFORE I ask to see the Manager, the top guy, the Big Kahuna. IMPORTANT: Asking for the Manager always works. Most of the time the employee just caves in for three reasons: They don't want to get the Manager involved (because it would mean they couldn't handle it themselves), they don't want to spend any more time on this, and/or they realize I'm in for "the long haul."
    But, 99% of the time, people DO say "YES," and that gives me a little rest before I have to deal with the next "NO" person. Some "YES" people are EXPERTS; I call them "rare jewels." They make me feel like I'm the most important person in the whole world. These rare jewels do everything in their power to accommodate you in every way, and do it WILLINGLY with a smile and sometimes even a hug. They're people who know that their main job is to be there to help. It's called "customer service," and it is the most important thing in a successful business because it results in satisfied customers who spread the word. (Just find Aida, the Manager, at the Burger King on U.S. 1 in Homestead, Florida.)
    Now, not only am I "lucky" to find those kind of "YES" people, but they are lucky to find me: I thank them profusely, I tell them how great they are, I find their supervisors and tell them what a great employee they have, I find the customer-comment forms and write glowing evaluations, and when I tell the employee about it, they sometimes give me a hug. And once you find a hugger, that source is unending. (Just find Hazel at the entrance of the Wal-Mart store in Florida City, Florida.)
   Well, as I said, I like "YES" people. When I call a friend to ask if s/he wants to do something, I want them to say "YES" quickly with enthusiasm and without hesitation. If there is a pause or if I sense they might say "NO," I say, "Well, why don't you think it over and get back to me, BUT only if the answer is "YES."
    ARE YOU A "YES" PERSON?