One of the conveniences of living alone is that it doesn't matter what you wear -- or don't wear -- in the house. Why in the world should I go to all the effort of going upstairs, undressing, putting on yoga pants and some shirt that won't fall down over my head when I'm doing downward-facing dog!? Instead, let's just strip down to our underwear, shall we? That works! My girl dog doesn't care! The curtains are drawn and there's really no chance that anyone will come to my window (that hasn't happened since two neighbors banged on our window nine years ago during a blizzard to go midnight sledding!) Remember, I'm not a girl who welcomes suffering -- or inconvenience, as it turns out.
So what do you do when the doorbell rings ... No kidding. I'm two-thirds of the way through my 20 minute work-out when the doorbell rings. It is 10:30 pm. The dog freaks. And so do I! I'm looking at the curtains -- trying to ascertain if it would have been possible for someone walking up my driveway to have gotten a peak through a slice of window where the curtains weren't quite meeting. Half-naked yogi-wanna-be in the headlights -- literally!
I gathered myself (remember, a little tipsy, so not too frantically) and quickly put my clothes back on (thank goodness they were right there! or I really would have been trapped.) I decided to be brave. I composed myself. I turned on the porchlight and opened the door. Two of my son's friends -- both girls -- were standing on my porch, on a homemade cookie delivery. (If you're reading this, I hope you're amused.) They had come bearing a gift of truly delectable shortbread -- the real thing. So, though initially I had been slightly annoyed that anyone would dare interrupt my nearly-naked yoga (I'm going to continue to emphasize that it was NEARLY naked), my heart immediately softened from the random act of kindness standing on my porch -- in the form of two lovely freshman college student girlies.
These girls had delivered cookies at night before -- they're industrious little bakers -- but when the boy was here and I always figured he was the "draw," but now I'm not so sure. Truly, to what do I owe such a thoughtful gesture? It's not a stroll across the street -- they had to drive here. They have gads of friends! Why me?
If you have never been the subject of a random act of kindness, I'm very sorry. I have been on the receiving end of kindness so many times in the last few years, I can't count. I think I wrote over 100 thank you notes during David's Hospice stay and during the months following his death. SO MANY people were kind, thoughtful, generous, loving. Some people simply sent cards (and this is beautiful -- the word "simply" is not meant to minimize their kindness). Others wrote long letters, sharing their own experiences in empathy or writing about a way David had blessed them -- or simply sharing hope and love. Others sent gifts -- meals, flowers, coffee! cookies, money. Still others shared the gift of their time -- their presence. Many travelled from hundreds of miles away to come to be with us -- yes, to be with David one last time, but also to support me -- to sit with me -- to relieve me -- just to gift me with their spirit. Many of these people I had never met before. Still others visited regularly -- to sit quietly with David so that he would not be alone when I couldn't be there or to sit with both of us to lighten my heart for a half an hour.
Since then, I still sometimes come home to a surprise -- a special delivery of food on my porch bench from a loving neighbor or pots of mums in full bloom brightening my porch steps. Most recently, on what would have been our 25th wedding anniversary, a dozen perfect pink roses from a dear friend.
I remember receiving a card out of the blue one day many years ago -- just encouraging me somehow. I never forgot how that made me feel and after that, card-writing became a spiritual discipline for me. I sent countless cards and was blessed so greatly in doing so; but, once again, I had become the recipient. It really is very powerful. If anything I wrote in any of those many thank you notes even remotely expressed my gratitude and made someone else's heart swell a little, then it was worth every hour spent.
And now, as I feel stronger (I really hate the generic-ness of that word, but it means something here) and more able to give than to receive again, I am enjoying being the doer of little random acts of kindness. Right now, they are still little. I don't have the financial means to do much bigger stuff, but that's not often necessary. I'm taking baby steps -- still not as accomplished at this as I wish to be -- but "exercising" and trying to improve, because it's really important to me -- to be the bearer of random acts of kindness. It easily blesses ME as much as it may bless the object of my attention. That's sort of selfish, isn't it! I still have a long way to go.
As to the yoga ... Yes, I did pick up where I had left off -- returned to my state of partial dress and finished my yoga session. And it truly is easier to do that thing where your legs are all tangled up like a poorly-fashioned pretzel and you're twisting all the way around, gazing over your shoulder with "soft eyes," after a glass or two of wine.
Oh, my dearest Leslie. I've just discovered your blog. I started at the beginning- the first one - because that makes sense...for me! But I had to jump to this post when I saw it. Thank you.
ReplyDelete...for putting words to so many of my own feelings - particularly the part about coming out of a fog. I did move on, literally, after Jet died when I moved to Colorado. Moved on relationally (is that a real word? LOL) when I tried to recreate the life I'd known when I married again...only to discover that it was more like going through the motions which doesn't make, as it turns out, a solid way to form a new married life (though there were other reasons for the end of that marriage). I am back 'home' again after 8 years and finding comfort in putting back all the photos of my life as Jet's wife. Is that a healthy response? Don't really care. My fog still, after almost 12 years, has not completely lifted. So, it feels right for me. Anyway - just want to ask you to keep writing! And, again, thank you.