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Tag Archives: kindness

Mondays With Muddy

19 Monday Dec 2016

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Here is the next installment of Landscape With Figures, the unpublished manuscript of my grandmother, Beatrice Allen Page:

“Came upon a woman sitting on a camp stool by the side of the road, easel set up in front of her, painting the harbor, which was bright blue today and tufted with little white sales. The picture was almost finished and it was clearly the work of a novice although the woman must have been in her sixties.

She had heard my approaching footsteps and as I was about to pass her, she looked up with a disarming smile and said, ‘It’s pretty awful, isn’t it? I’ve only been painting for about six months.’ And then she went right on to save me the embarrassment of an answer: ‘But I just love it. I see so much that I never saw before.’

Her enjoyment and friendliness were catching and we chatted for several minutes before I went on and left her to finish her picture.

I suppose I’ve always been a little scornful of the amateur artist who plays with his or her talent when he’s or she’s in the mood (I wish there were a pronounce that applied to both sexes) and knows nothing of the self-discipline, the hard work, the ‘agony and the ecstasy’ of the professional.

However, when I think of that woman painting her ‘pretty awful’ picture with such zest, I realize I have undervalued the amateur. As the word conveys, and as she remarked, she ‘loved’ what she was doing. Years ago I read somewhere, or perhaps someone said it to me, a sentence that comes back to me now: Whatever is done with love endures.

That woman’s painting will obviously not endure as art but I have a feeling the act of painting it may endure in some indirect way. It is developing her perceptiveness, increasing her joie de vivre. That joy within herself may spill over onto others – some of it spilled onto me. As a result, later in the day when a man beat me to the one available space in a parking lot over in town which he could clearly see I was aiming for, instead of scowling at him, I smiled affably. He in turn, as a result of my amiability, may have behaved more sympathetically toward the employee he had perhaps meant to bawl out, who in turn my have gone home after work and patched up a quarrel with his wife. And so on and so on. Granted I’m being a little fanciful; who is to say that the joy of one human being in painting a picture, no matter how bad, is not a contribution to other lives?”

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Kindness Visits the Danube

16 Tuesday Aug 2016

Posted by in culture, death, dementia, gratitude, kindness, Uncategorized

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So, I want to talk about two acts of kindness I experienced on my trip down the Danube with my mom. But first, I want to share the way that we brought my dad along on the trip with us. As you know if you’ve been reading this blog for any amount of time, I associate pennies that are heads side up with my dad (complete explanations here here here and here), so we decided to leave pennies around the cities we visited to spread cheer and luck and “make someone verrrrry happy!” #penniesforNick

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But as I mentioned at the start of the blog, I wanted to talk about two acts of kindness, one that was given to me, and one that we were able to perform. The first night on the boat, we settled in for 50’s and 60’s rock night in the lounge with the boat’s piano player. The first tune, while not all that meaningful to me, induced half of the audience to get up and use the dance floor. And again, if you’ve been reading this blog for the last couple years, you know that one of the things I miss most is dancing with my dad. So I teared up watching everyone. I took deep breaths, drank some water, and tried to let it go, singing along to all the songs (based on my knowledge of 50’s and 60’s lyrics, I’m actually about the same age as the majority of the passengers – who knew?). Then the piano player started “When I’m 64,” which choked me up again, because I remembered when my dad played his favorite version of it (Connie Evingson’s) and we were at the beginning of trying to find out what was wrong with him, and he had just turned 65 so the song had taken on a new meaning. But again, I fought through and got Mom to get up and dance with me to it. I was determined not to let it get the best of me. The piano player was equally determined to reduce me to a puddle bourbon-y ooze, though. He played “Yesterday,” which I had performed my first year of college for a showcase with some friends, one of whom was killed by a drunk driver the following year. But still, I held it together. Mostly. But then, oh then, he went into “See Ya Later Alligator.” Are you freaking kidding me?! It’s not like it’s that common a song that I should have expected it. I was undone by it. I ran out to the deck and hid on the stairs and sobbed. Mom came out after a minute or so to check on me and helped me breathe. Until, we heard the music inside turn to “Unforgettable,” you know, the song Natalie Cole sang with her dead father from the first jazz CD my dad ever gave me? I mean really. There was no hope at that point, so we retired to our room.

The next morning, one of the other passengers, who looked like Cameron Diaz by the way, set a notebook that said “Happy Thoughts” on the cover next to me at breakfast, gave me a quick hug, and walked off to eat. Inside, she had written a note about losses she had suffered over the years (including 3 brothers and a husband, and she was only 50) and how she looked for life’s “tender mercies,” seeking out the good that’s still in the world and recording it in a journal like the one she was giving me. Little did she know, I do the same thing. Kindred spirits. When I went out to tour the next day, I found a new blank journal and gave it to her so she wouldn’t be without one on the trip.

So that was the first act of kindness we experienced.

The second one we were able to do for someone else. At several meals, we sat with two women who were really friendly and with whom we had a fair amount in common. On the second to last night, one of them divulged to my mom that she had brought her partner’s ashes with her to scatter somewhere, but hadn’t figured out how and when to do it, and she was running out of time. Mom and I had a small balcony off of our room, so we offered it to her to use. It had rained all evening, but the rain had stopped. It was cool out and there were lightning flashes in the distance, and we were cruising down the Danube past sleepy little villages. So we vacated the room and let her take the time she needed. She seemed relieved when she emerged. I think worrying about how to do it had been weighing on her. But she was able to let that piece of her partner go and know she had fulfilled a promise. And I was grateful to her for trusting us to be, in a tiny way, a part of her journey forward on her own.

I love the phrase “life’s tender mercies” that my shipmate used in her note to me. I love those unexpected kindnesses that can pop up half way around the world. I love that being kind to a stranger is still something worth doing and something that makes you feel good, too. In all the sadness of the past year, I’m grateful that love springs forward from the most unlikely of places. And so we continue on on our own journeys, looking for the light and the lucky pennies.

A Reminder Of Why It’s Nice To Be Nice

04 Wednesday Mar 2015

Posted by in culture, humor, kindness

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I am too porous a person. I tend to take on the mood of the people around me, often to my detriment. But I was listening to Invisibilia (a new NPR podcast) recently and heard this episode and discovered that we all do this to a certain extent. We are hard wired to adapt to and adopt the behaviors and emotions of those around us.

I can see this every night as I conduct class. The mood of the entire class tends to follow that of the most vocal participant. So if someone at the beginning of class starts huffing and puffing and complaining that they suck or that they’re stressed or that they “thought this was supposed to be fun,” the entire class starts doing the same and by the end of the night, everyone is stressed out (including me). If someone begins class by saying that this is such an adventure or that it’s a great way to get out of the house or they’re having so much fun or they did a great job on that particular step of the painting, the entire class has a much more positive attitude through to the end. Often, people aren’t even cognizant that they’re setting the tone or that they’re complaining. I’ll be thoroughly convinced that someone hated the class based on the things they’ve been saying, but then, at the end of class, they’ll rebook for another. So clearly, they were enjoying themselves, but their way of communicating with the world tends toward complaint or self degradation.

In an effort to remind people that they shouldn’t take this too seriously, we have signs up in the studio saying that, “Wining is fine, but please don’t whine.” Occasionally things will get so bad that I have to set a rule during class that you cannot say anything negative about your own painting. You can say whatever you like about your neighbor’s painting, but they are allowed to beat you with a wet paintbrush.

Women in particular tend to put themselves down. Women are not generally taught to say positive things about themselves. When someone gives us a compliment, we dismiss it or say why the person giving the compliment is wrong. Partly, it’s false modesty, but I also think that we spend so much of our lives comparing ourselves to those around us that we honestly don’t think good things about ourselves. On a regular basis, I’ll hear a woman compliment her friend’s painting. But instead of saying, “Thank you,” the friend will say something like, “You’re crazy. You’ve had too much to drink.” If I give a compliment, the person will pretty much always say, “You’re paid to say that.” I also think we tend to complain about how we’re doing in hopes that someone will contradict the negative things we’re thinking about ourselves. Subconsciously, we’re hoping someone will tell us we’re special and talented and worthy of love. Interestingly, men in my classes rarely whine. They will sometimes laugh at their own work, but it tends to be much more lighthearted than the way women do it. They’re more than happy to put their friends’ talent down, though.

Anyway, I have come to realize that so much of my happiness with my job depends on the overall mood of my customers. When they’re crankypants, I’m crankypants. When they’re enthusiastic, I’m a rainbow ball of unicorn giggles. So I’m trying to learn from that and be a more positive person when interacting with others, from the teller at the bank to person waiting in line behind me at Starbucks, to my customers, and to my spouse. I need to set an example of kindness and generosity, even when I’m feeling anything but. This is not to say that I can’t have a bad day or vent or have a little pity party, but in general, I’m trying to be more aware of the way my mood influences the mood of those around me. Listen to the podcast and try to think about your role in the world, too, because I might be the next person you bump into, and wouldn’t you rather do something to make me laugh until I wet my pants than make me go home and cry into my poor kitties’ fur (because really, when I do that, I end up with cat fur stuck all over my face, and it invariably gets onto my contact lenses so I have to take them out, and then I get a headache from wearing my glasses, and you don’t want to be the cause of my headache, do you)? And if you can’t be nice, at least have the courtesy to pass me the bourbon.

Thank You to the Un-thanked

19 Friday Dec 2014

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Last night, S and I went to WalMart, home of the underappreciated employee, and passed out thank you cards to the staff. It was just a reminder that they are noticed and appreciated even if their pay doesn’t always reflect that. There was one guy in particular to whom I was pleased to say thank you. He wears an oxygen tank in a backpack with tubes into his nose while he stocks the shelves. That’s hardcore. I know a lot of other people who would not have the stamina to do the job who are perfectly healthy, so I respect the hell out of this guy. He was positively giddy to have someone just give him a simple card and acknowledge that what he’s doing is hard. When I handed the cards to people, I tried to say something like, “You have such a great smile, here’s a thank you card,” or, “The hot pink in your hair cheers me up, here’s a thank you card,” when I handed it over.

Anyway, I just wanted to remind you that holiday giving doesn’t have to cost a lot of money. A $1 card to someone who might normally go unrecognized can brighten their holiday season. The cashier at the drive-thru of your local fast food joint, the busboy at your favorite restaurant, the delivery guy who drops off packages for you, the receptionist at your doctor’s office, the janitor at your child’s school. $5 to brighten the day of 5 people. That’s math I actually do like.