Nickel and Dime

"Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. Indeed, it is the only thing that ever has.”

Margaret Mead

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Dear Alex,

In this aging night, I am too weary to write about any changes of the day past. The hours are vanishing along with my memories. Still I cannot resist wondering about the wisdom of Margaret Mead so I shall sneak into silent space my plain thoughts here.

Words can change mind to motion. And often, the simpler the words, the bigger the change - a shift from our centripetal force in subdued and enigmatic forward rumblings, perceptions enlarging in seismic retrospect, a thundercloud of explosive joy, your brooding fairy dispelling the price of ignorance.

Tonight after 2.5 hours of cooking to prepare for a few meals in advance, I dreaded the final task sprawling on my desk: my daughter’s application form for camp leadership training. I simply had to transfer her handwritten responses to the camp website and submit them electronically, knowing that spots might have been occupied and our joint efforts could amount to smoke. Even if she were accepted into the program, I could not be certain whether she would emerge as an enlightened creature to envision changes within her personal zone designated as 4 feet in diameter according to experts.

Earlier today she solemnly warned me: “Do not read my answers on the form. I do not want you to proofread.”

Between paper and screen, her penciled words in self reflection inevitably permeated through our shared space while I copied them on my laptop. Every flick and flair of her partially cursive alphabets and punctuations became animated as theatre before me. Her tone was conversational, authentically intimate and deceitfully discernible.

She is seeking for change. I am changed in turn from her seeking.

Tonight I am convinced that I do not know her. Within her core sphere of influencers, I have insisted my role, prevailing to transform her world. In truth she is my driver for change, rupturing my embryonic bubble to engage me deeper in a world more petrifying and euphoric than I have dared to imagine without her. Change comes from one for one.

Yours, Kate

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Dear Kate,

"Something's happening here.  What it is ain't exactly clear..."  The first lines from one of my favorite songs.

So something's on my way when I was walking to work in my Kangol bucket hat with a wavy brim and a pattern so outrageous that it doesn't go with anything but serves the good purpose for drivers to pay attention to my headful of silliness and not run me over.

OK, back to the "something."

Look at the picture I posted above.  What do you think it is?

I think it is a time travel machine, just exactly what I wanted.

Needed.

You see, I have this demonic ability to do or say the stupidest thing to undo much of the good work God has done in my life and not infrequently the kind of good work done through my very own hands over many years and prayers.

Such as this past Saturday how I said something meaningful and useful but within the context very scornful to my son and right away I just wished to jump into a time machine and go back only a minute to undo my undoing.  I've made a comment about an experience we had had this past Christmas which was really quite special and tender and for that very fragile and made a mockery of the sacred moment.

It took me about an hour to gather the courage to text him and apologize.  I was very specific about the desecration I committed.  I don't think he was shocked by my language because I often talked like there's a piece of thundercloud over my head but usually rumbling for others.

So you can call that my time machine, a text to apologize, not to really undo but to do something about my previous undoing.  To tell you this is not to celebrate a quick win, an easy fix, but to speak about my chronic condition that takes more than an occasional strange something on the road to redress.

I am glad to have you as a friend on this path of thoughtful commitment.

Yours, Alex