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Notes
Pete and I were invited to an impromptu
porch gathering at my friend Janet's
house.
"A pre-solstice get together," she invited us in the
afternoon. "Kurt will get out his telescope and we'll
gaze at the stars." Janet, her husband Kurt, and
their two daughters live in a beautiful, 19th century,
red Queen Anne Victorian house perched a block
from the Atlantic Ocean.
This was before the most recent heat wave. It was
a clear, warm day. Picture perfect, right? On the
way, Pete and I stopped at a liquor store to buy a
bottle of wine.
"What kind should we bring?" he asked.
"It'd be great if we could find a bottle appropriate
to the evening!" I said. Then I looked down, and
there was a bottle called, "Starry, Starry Night."
"You really do get what you ask for!" I laughed.
I looked at the price tag--$20. A little pricey. I
always like wine bargains! "I guess I should've
asked for an appropriate label--and a more
reasonable price!" I told Pete.
But they're such dear friends, I thought, and always
so generous to us. "I'm buying it," I said. I walked
over to the register, and handed the bottle to the
cashier. She rang it up.
"That will be $14," she said. A surprise sale!
"It really IS an abundant universe!" I told Pete.
And it was a very good bottle of wine--a red
Zinfandel if such things matter to you. But the best
part was relaxing with friends, swapping stories, and
taking turns gazing at the stars and the moon--and
the ever expanding, beneficent universe.
Taryn Phillips-Quinn
New Jersey
I was pregnant with our son, we lived
in a tiny two-bedroom condominium.
There were three humans and three cats
sharing the space. I wanted a house. I needed a
house. I deserved a house.
Our little condo was in a nice neighborhood, and
within walking distance of the BART train that
took my husband to work each day. But there
was only one bathroom. The kitchen was too
small for more than one person at a time, and
the dining area not nearly large enough to host
our family for holidays and birthdays. And
storage space, well, let’s just say we used the
trunk of the car for things most people would put
in a utility closet.
In the San Francisco Bay Area where we live,
home prices are astronomical. Our little
condominium was worth more than two hundred
thousand dollars. We needed more than twice
that to buy even a modest older home, and we
just couldn’t afford the mortgage.
My parents lived close by and sometimes, I’d
drive through my old neighborhood, and see new
families in the now-pricey houses that used to be
occupied by my friends.
“How can these young families afford to live in a
nice established neighborhood like this?” I’d
agonize.
Back in our own cramped quarters, we had a
routine, my little girl and I. After bath time, I’d
snuggle up with her in her tiny toddler bed, and
we’d say our prayers.
“God Bless Mommy and Daddy, Papa and
Grandma, Gammy, Niki, Lisa, Papa and
Grandma Carolina, Cindi, Danny, and Emily,”
we'd pray. Then I;d ask Julia what she'd like to
thank God for today.
Julia loved this part. She’d look around her
room, and pick a stuffed animal, her shoes,
whatever seemed special at the moment.
Sometimes, she’d put her little arms around me
and say, “Thank you for my Mommy and Daddy!”
But on one particular evening, nothing
seemed to be special enough. I made some
suggestions, but she shook her head.
“No, not that." She looked around her cluttered
room, and then, inspiration struck her.
Beaming, she put her dimpled hand on the wall
beside her bed, and said proudly, “Thank you for
my wall!” Then, she patted the wall soundly,
saying, “Amen!”
“Amen,” I repeated.
Snuggling close, I curled my legs up, and held
my child as she drifted off to sleep.
Leave it to a child, I thought, to put everything
back into perspective. The wall separated her
warm cozy bed from the dark night. It kept
strangers out, and those she loved in.
Everything she loved, everything she needed,
was on her side of the wall. Nothing else
mattered. Why hadn’t I seen that before?
Forgive me, Lord, I thought. And thank you for
my wall.
Marilyn Kea,
Walnut Creek, CA
I was pushing my cart into the express
line and a lady was pushing her cart in
the opposite direction. I slowed down to
allow her to be next in line.
“You could have gotten here first”, she said.
“I know,” I said, “but life’s too short for that.”
She smiled at me kindly.
A few minutes later, as I was pushing my
buggy into the lot, a car drove by and waved
really big to me. I realized it was the lady I’d
allowed to get in front of me. I smiled and
waved.
I may never know her but that tiny bit of
kindness, touched her life today and her
thank you touched mine.
Joyce Craig
Jackson, Tennessee