The day had been long. Work. Haircut. Doctor’s appointment. Late dinner with friends. I had met them at a restaurant I had not been to before and had difficulty finding a parking place downtown. When I returned to my car I found a ticket on the windshield: The spot was in a residential permit area. Sigh. I’m not used to thinking about residential permit areas. Mom’s words came to me: “In a year you’ll never know where that money went. Don’t worry.” Thanks, mom. Worrier extraorinaire over some things, she was right about this one.
I had had a wonderful evening, been treated to a marvelous dinner. So, why obsess about a small parking ticket? So, I didn’t. On the drive home, instead of worrying about $40, I recalled parts of the conversations. One of the dinner party, Vicki, is a rabbi, and she shared the story of finding the torah for her new congregation ten years ago. An amazing story of a Polish rabbi in the 1940’s giving the torah to a Catholic friend to keep until the deported Jews would return. Of course, they never did. The torah came to the US and using the internet, Vicki found a few members of that Polish congregation who had come to live in Brooklyn, not far from her congregation. This story goes on.
Another story: Among the nine of us sitting around the table, two had recently learned of the transsexuality of either a relative or friend. With my daughter, that made three. We shared stories. I promised to let them know when my book on the topic is published, and I wondered how many others in the restaurant that night might have similar stories. Harold had a good way of expressing the need we all have: To become more “wide minded.” Indeed.
By the time I arrived home, I was thankful for the richness and fun of the evening. Then I opened the door. Another blessing! Someone, who would likely not want to be identified for her good deed, had come into my house while I was gone and cleaned it! No dishes cluttered the kitchen counters and sink. Actually, the counters were clear and clean and lovely. I looked through the kitchen and saw the couch. Throw neatly folded and draped over the back. Pillows on either side. Chairs in place. Shoes in the bedroom closet where they belong. Then I noticed the floors. Swept. I almost cried.
These next two days will be packed, and I go out of town on Saturday. I couldn’t imagine accomplishing everything I need to do before leaving. Getting out from under the house cleaning had seemed impossible. I had had a colonoscopy the day before, and those of you who have had that test know you don’t get much done the day of or the day of preparation! I had managed some writing, but house cleaning? No. It is almost always the lowest priority in my schedule.
But here was a gift, pure and simple. Someone noticed. Someone took the time to help, unasked. Someone has my deepest gratitude. I am running in as many directions as a crazed cat, and someone had taken the time to clean up the “center.” She and God are exceedingly good.
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