52 words for snow

some people say that eskimoes have 52 different words for snow. it's a matter of opinion, debate, and legend but i like the idea of it.

i like the idea that i can express one feeling with more words than one, depending on the circumstance, the recipient, my mood. how perfectly freeing it is to choose just the right combination of letters coming together to help me say what i need to say.

there was a homeless man on the parkway today. he was sitting on his backpack in the snow, and his hands were shaking as they gripped a sloppy piece of cardboard that said "hungry homeless vet please help". we pulled around the corner and i rolled my window down to call him over but he was weak and feeble and had trouble getting up, so i jumped out of the car and handed him two dollars. i always give them what i can and didn't use to believe it helped much, but an article in last week's citypages turned me upside down on that one. every penny counts.

his face quivered and his glasses got a little foggy and with a toothless expression he looked me right in the eye and with all his heart said

thank you, thank you so much, god bless you.

and i said god bless you, too.

the right words to say,

though i was sad to hear and say them.

as we pulled away we saw in the rearview mirror that someone else had stopped also, and maybe he got another dollar.

i could hear him say the same thing

thank you and god bless you

and i knew that 4 dollars might last him a week if all goes well.

4 dollars can last a week,

words last forever.

peace.

sometimes you have to get out and push

there was a blizzard in january of 1981 that shut down the u of m for the first time in 20 years. the snow was 2 feet deep and i was 16 blocks from home. every step was a high step, no sidewalks were shoveled and no streets plowed. i sweated into my scalp and the scarf around my neck and froze my nose and toes at the same time.

when i finally got home i found out i needed to trudge back up to dinkytown to pick up a prescription at grey's drugstore. i turned around and waded 16 blocks back and then 16 blocks forward and finally i was home.

it was a third floor apartment in an old brownstone with a gorgeous view of the world, and it was especially perfect on a night like this - snow swirling around streetlights, cars tiptoeing down southeast 4th street.

best of all it had a great big claw foot tub and i loved that tub. that night i filled it full and hot. i had plenty of bubbles and a cold martini,and a black and white tv featuring a great espisode of m*a*s*h. i sunk into that tub glad the trudging was over, munching on a gin soaked olive and feeling grateful for rest and soothing gentle bathtub waves.

twenty seven years later it is thanksgiving eve and the pies are done. so is the cranberry sauce and

all is well.

we've been trudging for a long time. illness and death, broken hearts, nursing homes and broken bones, so many funerals, too many good byes. surgery all around, sign up now. keep going, just keep going.

mike's dad, who grew up in deep snow used to tell us

"kids, sometimes you just have to get out and push."

we've been pushing. pushing hard and worrying just because there was nothing else productive to do.

the pushing and pulling and breaking is done for now, and we are so grateful as we sit here sniffing those pies.

storms pass and snow melts and cars start.

ya gotta believe, right?

happy thanksgiving

a piano in the woods

last weekend a woman was taking a long walk in the woods near cape cod when she came across a piano. in perfect condition and tune, the piano sat in a clearing near a footbridge, a matching bench placed carefully next to it as if someone had just played it, or was about to.

the mysterious placement of this piano has confounded police -- they can't figure out how it got there, and the fact that it took 6 strong men and a truck to remove it adds to the mystery. no footprints, no tire tracks, no broken keys or smudged wood. but there it sat. waiting to be discovered,

or not.

when was the last time a pleasant and unexpected surprise appeared in your path? walking towards nothing you find something. something that doesn't fit with where you are or what you are thinking about, but there it is, waiting for you just the same.

and when you find it you take a deep breath, smile and wonder...

when a piano sits alone in the woods, does it make a sound?

when a wish sits alone in the deepest part of your heart,

will you hear it

when it plays?

and who will play it?

you. after all, it was yours to find.

don't walk away.

you've got mail. but not all of it

not that i am obsessed with mail carriers, but a delightful story caught my eye this morning about a mailman who refused to deliver junk mail for the past 7 years. it was excessive and heavy, and he had diabetes and a heart condition. so he lightened his load and protected the nice folks on his route from circulars advertising oil changes, chinese food, pizza, and neighborhood grocers. he stacked it all in his garage and on occasion buried his stash in his backyard.

a federal offense. lucy ricardo noted the same thing this morning when nosy ethel read the ricardo's mail. that's just wrong! until a letter from the war department came addressed to ricky and lucy just had to read it but that is another story entirely.

when mr. mailman got busted, not one customer complained. in fact, they cheered. they wrote glowing letters on his behalf, offered to pay fines, celebrated his decision not to deliver stuff they would throw away anyway. they said he should get a medal, not a jail sentence. he could have gotten 5 years in jail and a $250,000.00 fine, but the judge gave him probation and a much smaller fine and off he went.

the law is a funny thing. it is meant to protect our rights and ensure justice, but sometimes it has a narrow mind of it's own that angers me in its inflexibility and stubbornness. a mailman does something that is illegal but appreicated none-the-less. the woman who has been stealing stuff from my neighbors was released on a technicality. and most offensive of all -- two people of the same gender who love each other with all the desperation and joy of heterosexual love can't get married because, well,

it is against the law.

how stupid is that. americans glue themselves to the television to see which inarticulate bachelorette will be given a rose, but true love in some cases is not to be recognized with the same rights and benefits of contestants on a reality show.

anyway, good for you mr. mailman.

sorry the neighborhood grocer is mad at you.

taking the fall

i had a conversation today with 30 extraordinary people who have been identified as high potential leaders in state government. every month i spend two days with them, and continue to be amazed and inspired by their commitment to make a difference in the lives of all minnesotans.

one of their homework assignments each month is to interview a respected leader and to report back on what they learned.

one person interviewed her rabbi, and what struck her most about this fascinating woman was her theory on the importance of taking a fall, even when it isn't yours to take. rabbi pointed out that when things go wrong, we as humans are quick to assign blame so as to get on with things.

but sometimes our intent is darker than that.

sometimes we toss blame and point fingers to safeguard our own sense of self and to avoid sleepless nights and potential danger.

it wasn't me, it was he, it was she. what a shame that someone else screwed up. really surprising.

that is wrong, rabbi said.

the right thing to do is step up, own it whether it is yours or not, and leave people to get on with their work. most people can't seem to get on with things if they can't point to the source of the mistake or conflict. thus, we swirl around in circles of anger and paranoia and get stuck in the muddy trenches of deceipt, invisible bloody knives pounded squarely into the backs of our colleagues and former friends.

leadership is about doing the right thing. it is about having such a deep faith in the mission that you are willing to fall on a sword that was thrown by someone else, call it your own, and allow people to get on with things.

my fault, my bad. ok?

now let's get back to work.

bad day monday

i've been up since 3 this morning tossing and turning with a malady i won't name. i prodded into work looking like hell and found my keycard to enter the building wasn't working, and i should have taken that as a sign.

things went downhill from there. i lost things and stumbled, ruined everything i touched, was told i looked awful and worst of all my cute new red wallet broke.

they say this too shall pass and i know it will. tomorrow will be better but in the meantime...

recovering from a bad day is like cleaning up after a storm. it is wearisome. the skies are quiet again but you can see the damage that was done, and you feel devastated by the work in front of you. it tires you just to approach it. but you dig in and sometimes neighbors help and at some point you recognize not that which was normal, because it never will be the same again, but you face and recognize the new normal and try to get some sleep.

maybe it wasn't that bad, my monday, compared to others who have challenges a million times sadder than an expired key card.

but today is today for a few more hours, and it is all mine to consider and decide how to feel about it.

in any case

i guess i am just glad to have another go at it

tomorrow.

the tears don't stop

sometime next spring i am planning a pilgrimage to my hometown. barrington, rhode island is where we landed in 1962, after my dad retired from the navy and mom was ready to take center stage again.

mom was a star at barrington college, and dad was the retired navy man who came in as superintendent of buildings and grounds but after a few years was the campus security manager. i saw him go off to work in green janitor clothes when i was 3, but when i was 14 he was wearing suits and ties when he dropped me off at school each morning.

in the early 70's dad was forced out, but he perservered and got a job as the executive director of the warren housing authority. he built an apartment complex for seniors, and was affectionately known as "the commander". he worked with the architechts, designers and craftsmen, reviewed applications for residence, changed lightbulbs and planted bushes himself. everyone loved the commander.

he had a beautiful secretary named ann and she looked like sophia loren and audrey hepburn and they loved each other in the lovely way that workplace partners do. respect and awe, the freedom to give opinions, an offer of a hot cup of coffee, a solid "good morning" and "good night" every day for so many years.

so i am planning this trip and i googled "kickemuit village", the place that dad built, and who's name should appear as current executive director

after more than 30 years

ann.

then i thought about dad, my precious dad, and how much after all these years i miss him. i still cry but not in the desperate way i used to. now the tears just come when i think about his blue shining eyes and funny laugh, and the tears just come and come.

they don't ever stop, those tears, they are just different.

but bless her -- ann is still there, steering that ship after 30 years.

when i visit in april,

i think i'll look her up.

miss you, dad.