Love On A Two Way Street

I went to Trader Joe's after work the other evening to pick up some up their fabulous pita chips and instead gained some insight into a different part of life in DC: being a homeless vendor.

 

Near the entrance of the store stood a man, who introduced himself to me as David.  He was selling newspapers called Street Sense which I have previously written about.   This vendor was middle-aged and friendly but not in an aggressive way.  He was just talking to people and smiling, letting them know that his newspaper was for sale and that he was a writer.

 

As I grabbed a cart for shopping, I started chatting with him about his writing.  I don't usually talk for very long to people I don't know, but there was something engaging about him.  No one knows for sure why another person is at a particular place in life so I thought I would listen a bit to his story.

He told me that his name was David Denny and that he had written a poem that was published in the issue of Street Sense that I just bought.  As I opened the paper to find it, he began to recite it to me as though I was the only person on the block.  I know this sounds weird but it wasn't.  Trust me.  I read the poem and listened to him as he called up all of the quiet emotion that went into the writing of his precious poem called "Love."

 

 

 

 

Until David started working for the newspaper, Street Sense, he had been caught up in the cycle of being homeless and taking drugs for about 10 years.  Getting a job at Street Sense helped him get clean and he has been drug free for a number of years.  Street Sense is published twice a month, David said, and his job with the paper saved his life, giving him a purpose and making him feel as though he belongs to something much bigger than himself.  He said he loved selling newspapers on the street and talking to people about everything from football to politics.

Life is a two way street full of opportunities to give and to take.  Instead of just walking by and going about my business, I stopped and reached out to another person trying to make it in this world just like me.  My conversation with David took about 10 minutes but for me it was 10 minutes of briefly stopping my usual routine, getting out of myself and wondering what I would do with my life if I lost my job or I was addicted to drugs or I had to live on the street.  David showed me another side of resilience.

Right now people are feeling frazzled in DC as the government goes into its 15th day of being shutdown.  Taking some time to show another person some respect or even some compassion is why we are here.  Here is David's beautiful poem:

 

Love

By David Denny, Vendor

 

It dwarfs all of the galaxies

Shines brighter than stars above

Its breadth surpasses the oceans and rivals the flight of the dove

It's the answer to all of my questions

The song angels sing

It's the mission of every cherub

And the wafting grace of each wing

It's a mixture of bliss and happiness

Added with joy from above

Stirred in with truth and affection

That makes up this  thing called love.

 

College Rejections Are Not The End Of The World

It's that time of year.

 

You know.  College admissions and rejections.

 

You are either laughing with joy from the news of your acceptance or crying because you got rejected.

 

If you didn't get into the college you wanted, it feels as if it's the end of the world, doesn't it?  But guess what?

 

It's not.

 

You don't know where life is going to take you; who you're going to meet and where you're going to go.  Life is full of the unexpected and the unplanned.

 

I am in a place I never thought I would be but it's still good!  I think I could ask my friends the same questions about college, careers and life and they would agree that life does not always unfold the way we think it will but it ends up working out.

 

In one of my former lives many, many years ago, I was a reporter in Washington, DC who wrote for The Boston Globe.  I covered the Massachusetts delegation on Capitol Hill.  I worked very hard, learned a lot about how things really work and also had a ton of fun.

 

Part of that fun was getting to know a group of stellar reporters and writers who were considered to be in a category all by themselves.  Their work was untouchable.  They were not only great reporters and writers but they were great people outside of work.  David Nyhan was one of those guys.

Below is a classic story that Nyhan wrote in 1987 about keeping life and the whole college admissions thing in perspective.  And The Boston Globe continues to reprint it all the time because no one can say it any better.

Please read it and you will discover the special way that Nyhan had with words and more importantly, that his words still ring true today.

David Nyhan

Did You Get A College Rejection Letter?  Here's Some Sage Advice?

By David Nyhan, Globe Staff

Former Globe columnist the late David Nyhan wrote the following column in 1987. Since then, it has been reprinted in the newspaper and online many times around this time of year. Nyhan died in January 2005.

THE REJECTIONS arrive this time of year in thin, cheap envelopes, some with a crummy window for name and address, as if it were a bill, and none with the thick packet you'd hoped for.

''Dear So-and-so:

''The admissions committee gave full consideration . . . but I regret to inform you we will be unable to offer you a place in the Class of 2012." Lots of applicants, limited number of spaces, blah blah blah, good luck with your undergraduate career. Very truly yours, Assistant Dean Blowhard, rejection writer, Old Overshoe U.

This is the season of college acceptance letters. So it's also the time of rejection. You're in or you're out. Today is the day you learn how life is not like high school. To the Ins, who got where they wanted to go: Congrats, great, good luck, have a nice life, see you later. The rest of this is for the Outs.

You sort of felt it was coming. Your SAT scores weren't the greatest. Your transcript had some holes in it. You wondered what your teachers' recommendations would really say, or imply. And you can't help thinking about that essay you finished at 2 o'clock in the morning of the day you absolutely had to mail in your application, that essay which was, well, a little weird.

Maybe you could have pulled that C in sociology up to a B-minus. Maybe you shouldn't have quit soccer to get a job to pay for your gas. Maybe it was that down period during sophomore year when you had mono and didn't talk to your teachers for three months while you vegged out. What difference does it make what it was? It still hurts.

It hurts where you feel pain most: inside. It's not like the usual heartache that kids have, the kind other people can't see. An alcoholic parent, a secret shame, a gaping wound in the family fabric, these are things one can carry to school and mask with a grin, a wisecrack, a scowl, a just-don't-mess-with-me-today attitude.

But everybody knows where you got in and where you didn't. Sure, the letter comes to the house. But eventually you've still got to face your friends. ''Any mail for me?" is like asking for a knuckle sandwich. Thanks a lot for the kick in the teeth. What a bummer.

How do you tell kids at school? That's the hard part. The squeals in the corridor from the kids who got in someplace desirable. The supercilious puss on the ones who got early acceptance or the girl whose old man has an in at Old Ivy.

There's the class doofus who suddenly becomes the first nerd accepted at Princeton, the 125-pound wrestling jock who, surprise, surprise, got into MIT. But what about you?

You've heard about special treatment for this category or that category, alumni kids on a legacy ticket or affirmative action luckouts or rebounders or oboe players. Maybe they were trying to fill certain slots. But you're not a slot. You're you. They can look at your grades and weigh your scores and see how many years you were in French Club. But they can't look into your head, or into your heart. They can't check out the guts department.

This is the important thing: They didn't reject you. They rejected your resume. They gave some other kid the benefit of the doubt. Maybe that kid deserved a break. Don't you deserve a break? Sure. You'll get one. Maybe this is the reality check you needed. Maybe the school that does take you will be good. Maybe this is the day you start to grow up.

Look at some people who've accomplished a lot and see where they started. Ronald Reagan? Eureka College. Jesse Jackson? They wouldn't let him play quarterback in the Big Ten, so he quit Illinois for North Carolina A & T. Do you know that the recently retired chairmen and CEOs of both General Motors and General Electric graduated from UMass? Bob Dole? He went to Washburn Municipal University.

The former minority leader of the United States Senate, Tom Daschle, went to South Dakota State. The former speaker of the US House of Representatives, J. Dennis Hastert, went to Northern Illinois University. Dick Armey, the former House majority leader, took a bachelor's degree from Jamestown College. Winston Churchill? He was so slow a learner that they used to write to his mother to come take this boy off our hands.

I know what you think: Spare me the sympathy. It still hurts. But let's keep this in perspective. What did Magic Johnson say to the little boy who also tested HIV positive? ''You've got to have a positive attitude." What happens when you don't keep a positive attitude? Don't ask.

This college thing? What happened is that you rubbed up against the reality of big-time, maybe big-name, institutions. Some they pick, some they don't. You lost. It'll happen again, but let's hope it won't have the awful kick. You'll get tossed by a girlfriend or boyfriend. You won't get the job or the promotion you think you deserve. Some disease may pluck you from life's fast lane and pin you to a bed, a wheelchair, a coffin. That happens.

Bad habits you can change; bad luck is nothing you can do anything about.

Does it mean you're not a good person? People like you, if not your resume. There's no one else that can be you. Plenty of people think you're special now, or will think that, once they get to know you. Because you are.

And the admissions department that said no? Screw them. You've got a life to lead.

Mental Relaxation

 

 Planes, trains, cars and boats are not always at the ready to take us to dreamy destinations.

 

Work, finances and other life responsibilities sometimes get in the way of traveling even though everyone needs take occasional breaks from their surroundings, especially if life is particularly stressful or painful. 

 

You can't always take a vacation even if you really need or want one.

 

But you can read a book.

 

I saw this wonderful saying from Dr. Suess (posted above) on one of my favorite websites, The Silver Pen (www.thesilverpen.com) and was reminded of the magical healing power of reading and books.

 

I know this may sound simplistic but books can be short-term solutions to an ongoing need to give your brain something else to think about.  After I experienced the loss of my husband, I couldn't concentrate when I tried to read the newspaper.  Every morning I would go out and get the newspaper from the sidewalk and try to read it and couldn't get past a sentence or two.  It was frustrating and I would end up tossing the newspaper.  This went on for months. 

 

Then I discovered reading poetry.  Slowly, I would let my eyes go over the words and try to absorb them.  Sometimes I discovered that I had been momentarily transported in my thoughts and sometimes not.  Eventually my ability to focus returned but I learned it's a process that you can't hurry along.  Healing happens at its own pace.

 

Reading is truly a gift.  Movies can give you a similiar mental break but I always think our imaginations are better than anything a movie will show us.

 

Fiction, non-fiction, biographies, poetry, it's all good.  To loose yourself in a book is so relaxing.  Ever since I learned to read as a child, I have loved books and sometimes hold on to a book that I've already read just so I can go back and read various parts of it again.

 

There are some books that grab you right away and totally bring you into the story to the point that you feel as if you know the characters and you don't want the story to end.  I have read books where this has happened and as I am nearing the end of the book I purposely slow down my reading because I know it's going to end and I really want to enjoy each and every last word the author has written.

I hope you have found books that mentally allow you to fly away and go places you never imagined.

Sweet reading to you!

 

 

 

 

Read All About It

A friend called me the other evening to talk about the obituary of a mutual friend that was recently published in a national newspaper.  He said he and others were beside themselves because the obituary didn't capture what the guy was really about.  To him, it seemed rather flat and cold and the very thought of it made him do a slow burn.

I've been there and I know what he is talking about because I have had my own issues with the obituaries in this newspaper.  Maybe this annoyance at the lack of important details in obituaries is another example of the internet's effect on newspapers or maybe it's a generational difference.  I'm not sure; maybe it's a little of both.  Or maybe it's just a matter of expecting too much.  It reminded me of what Irish author Brendan Behan once said: there is no such thing as bad publicity except for your own obituary.

I do know there was a time when newspapers took a lot of pride in the way their obituaries were written and presented and lots of newspapers recognized that circulation could be affected by how that section of the paper was handled.  But newspapers are now struggling to survive and even the word circulation seems old-fashioned.  I know it's called progress but I still like to have a newspaper delivered to my house and even though I watch the morning and nightly news on television, I always read at least one newspaper every day.

Today it's all about how many hits you get, or how many impressions you get or how many followers you have on Twitter or Facebook.  The obituaries, or the Irish sports page as some joke, were once considered the meat and potatoes of newspaper coverage.  It was a paper's unspoken connection to the community it covered. 

My friend and I discussed how decades ago, The Boston Globe used to actually print anybody's obituary on the front page.  That's what helped the Globe gain readers and become popular.  But that was then.  I know it's hard to imagine that happening today because only celebrities, Presidents, world leaders or someone despised by the masses would rate an obituary on the front page of any newspaper.

A good obituary is similiar to a good speech:  it's not too long, it informs, it explains and sometimes it makes you smile.  It tells you how old this person was when they died, the causes of their death and how their life influenced their community or the world at large.  It more than a resume; it's supposed to tell you what this person did with their life, good or bad.  I don't read the obituaries every day although I know lots of people who do.

I have been known to read the obituary of someone I don't know at all because of something in the headline that drew my interest.  When that happens, I always come away with a feeling of  "Wow! What an interesting person and look at the twists and turns of their life."

These days, I'm not sure how many people even read a newspaper.  Lots of people depend on Yahoo! or other online news services to find out what's happening in the world.  I told my friend that since he and others are dissatisfied about the state of this person's official obituary then they should write their own obituary, and with the family's permission, pass it out at the memorial service that his wife is going to have a few months from now.  This is their opportunity to really go on and on about the guy and let people know what the newspaper didn't include.

After all, that's what friends are for...right? 

More Humor Therapy

Grief is a journey that sets its own schedule.  Some cry, some talk, some paint and some even throw plates or other breakables to get rid of their anger. 

 

 Unfortunately, there is no set time for healing.

 

It is always difficult to adjust to life changing circumstances and face the outside world on your own.  But since we are all in this together, it is essential to reach out and extend a helping hand and let others know they are not alone in their journey.

 

 

 

 

I found the following story by Ken Garfield of Knight Ridder Newspapers and am sharing it with you in the hopes that it will help you smile:

Don't Let Death Have The Last Laugh

By Ken Garfield

Knight Ridder Newspapers

     We were on the way to her husband's funeral when my sister turned to me in the limosine and said, "I wonder if I should have worn a black veil."

 

     For just a second, I was taken aback.  How could she make a joke at a time like this?  Then it hit me.  How could she not make a joke at a time like this?

 

     When I realized what a brave and important thing my sister had done, I knew what to say.  "We still have time to run into Hecht's and buy one," I joked as the limosine drove on to the chapel.

     I never knew how sacred humor could be until tragedy struck our family.

 

     While my 51-year-old sister, Carol, was away on a weekend with cousins, her 56-year-old husband died of an apparent heart attack at their home in Boca Raton, Florida.  Eddie was a sweet and generous man who adored my sister.  In the last six months of his life, he finally landed a job he loved.  When they found my brother-in-law's body in bed, they also found in the kitchen the lunch he had made for work the next day.

 

     The memorial chapel was filled with elderly folks from the condominium complex where he worked and did good deeds for his friends, the tenants.  Grief darkened our days, of course.  My sister and her husbad, who had chosen not to have children, traveled through life together as soul mates.  For one to suddenly lose the other after 26 years broke our hearts.

 

     But just when it seemed as if the darkness was about to overcome us, the light returned in the form of a funny memory or whimsical story.

 

     In his eulogy, my father recalled how Eddie had told Carol that he didn't know where she was going on their next vacation -- but he was going to spend it at home with his beloved ballgames and TV remote control.  Carol recalled that the only thing Eddie feared more than a shirt ant tie was a social event to dress up for, and she noted that her home was filled with well-wishers after the funeral.

 

     "Eddie would have hated it," she joked.

 

     People who live with death know that humor helps mourners endure the pain.  Brandon Cook, of Hankins & Whittington Funeral Service in Charlotte, NC, said a funny story reminds the bereaved that life is a mixture of emotions.

 

     One story making the round tells of the daughter who had her mother's coffin wheeled into the service after everyone was seated.  Mother was late for everything else, the daughter told the mourners, so why shouldn't she be late for this?

 

     If you need encouragement to have a healthy laugh, Cook said, look to Proverbs 17:22: "A cheerful heart is a good medicine."

 

     A hospice chaplain told me that humor becomes truly sacred when it helps you understand that grief doesn't have to have the last word.

 

     I start welling up thinking about my sister facing life alone.  Then I'll laugh at a funny story, and the tears subside.