My World With Words

This rare treat occurs when there are two full moons in one month–and this month happens to be one of those! We won’t get another blue moon on Halloween until 2039. So enjoy it while you can!

Image credit: © Romolo Tavani–stock.adobe.com

Earlier today I was driving home from a quick run to the grocery store when I spotted a neighbor of mine walking on the sidewalk, headed in the same direction. There was no place to pull over and traffic was heavy, so I didn’t have a way to ask her if she wanted a ride home.

I know she doesn’t have a car and I’ve seen her walking the other direction from our apartments from time to time, so I assumed on those occasions she likely made the mile-long trek to the store that’s located down that other road. I also know that store is much smaller and while it has all the basics, if there’s a specialty item you want, you have to go somewhere else.

It bothered me that I wasn’t able to stop and offer her a ride.  She’s always been nice to me, and there was another three miles left to our respective homes, three miles with some steep hills along the way.

I should note that there’s no transit system in our area, so taking a bus was not an option for her.

I was troubled enough that I headed back out, knowing the next leg of her journey would be through a residential area and I could easily pull over onto a side street and flag her down as she walked by.

I did just that, and to my surprise she turned down my offer of a ride. Whether it was pride, a desire to get some exercise, fear of COVID or something else, I don’t know. I didn’t push it, however. She had offered me some help when I was moving in a few months ago, and when I declined her offer she smiled and said, “I know better than to ask again. If someone tells me no, I believe them.”

So why did this still bother me? I’d done what I could and it wasn’t as if it was a terribly hot or windy day. In fact, it was quite a pleasant day for a walk, and while I wouldn’t relish a six-mile (or more) round trip walk, perhaps she did.

I didn’t see her the rest of the day. I hope she got home safely.

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Photo credit:  © creaturart–stock.adobe.com

Today I received notification of a memorial service for a woman, Rose, who’d been an active part of our congregation. I didn’t know her well and likely won’t attend the service, but the option is open to attend via Zoom, which I may do. For those of us who do use the Zoom option, the program was provided.

I opened the file and to my surprise I recognized the picture on the front as one I’d taken when Rose completed a course sponsored by my church. She was recognized during the service for her hard work and I took the picture for our Facebook page.

I was touched to realize that the final image many will have of Rose will be that photo. Looking at it with the objectivity of time, I recognized that it was a good picture of her, natural and relaxed.

Someone once called me the “church documentarian,” a title that surprised me as I primarily took pictures for the Facebook page and no formal catalog was kept. I don’t know how my priest remembered this photo and what she had to do to dig it up. It can’t be easy going back on Facebook.

It reminded me that the simplest things we do can bring blessings to others we don’t even recognize. Perhaps there weren’t many pictures of Rose available or perhaps her family was scattered across the country and no one could provide a photo in a timely manner.  I don’t know, but now friends and family will have this picture of her to remember her by.

I haven’t taken a photo for my church Facebook page in months for obvious reasons, but now I’m eager to get back to it. If you do any sort of volunteer work, formal or informal, know that what you do is appreciated.

Rest in peace, Rose.

When I was little, I believed in the magic of Mr. Bubble. Those of you old enough will remember the TV commercials for this kid’s bubble bath in which Mr. Bubble rose up in the tub and talked to the delighted children. I would sit in my bath until every last bubble was gone, waiting for Mr. Bubble to appear.

I don’t remember believing in Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny or the Tooth Fairy (although one of my favorite books was all about the Tooth Fairy), but I believed in the magic powers of this powdered soap. You could say that one way or the other, a kid’s imagination is going to end up disappointing her.

But that’s not to say that same imagination won’t delight a child. While I never exactly had an imaginary friend, I confided all of my secrets to my rag doll, Jennifer. When she finally fell apart after years of loving, I was devastated. I don’t think I ever believed she was real in a real person sense, just in that real doll sense. I knew she could keep a secret, so she must have understood them, right?

In these troubling times–and I speak not only of world and national troubles, but of the day-to-day struggles so many of you are dealing with–imagination seems the best escape. As adults we temper the imaginary with the real, and that’s not so bad. But we have to be able to believe in better times and to conjure up images of what those days will look like.

Call it a coping mechanism or call it a dreamer’s dream, imagination may save you and keep you sane.

At least, it helps me. And now I’m heading in for a bubble bath…