Lost In A Lost World

I lost my wallet a few weeks ago while Cindy and I traveled to Seattle for the weekend. It was a disorienting experience (not having it in my pocket) combined with fear (where is it), anxiety (who has it now), frustration (what was in it), all at once and each equally intense. My wallet was my key to everyday life, containing credit cards, a debit card, my driver's license and much more. It was my digital DNA that allowed me to be me.

This vault of information could also allow someone else to be me, so I began making phone calls to credit card companies and the like to cancel accounts. The paradox of using an automated phone system soon set in...to reach a live operator I needed the account number, but I did not have the account number since the card was gone. I also found that most voice recognition systems do not respond to sarcasm, frustration or phrases such as "I lost my card" or "I NEED HELP YOU BLEEPING RECORDING".

Life, as they say, is what you make of it, full of accidents and surprises. It is up to us to make the decision on how to react and where to focus our thoughts. Had I lost my wallet a few years ago it would have involved much hand wringing and worrying about things I could not change, all wrapped up in the constraints of negative emotion. Losing it now, well, it wasn't fun, but it was over and done with within a few hours and I could begin to feel the relief of letting go.

Many pushed buttons later, the accounts were cancelled and replacement cards ordered. They have been trickling in and no errant charges appeared on any of the cards. My identity appears to be still safely attached to me and me only.

The other day there was a message on my work phone: my wallet had phoned home. Found by a nine year-old boy who gave it to his father, my wallet arrived in the mail earlier this past week, fully intact, minus whatever cash was in it that I insisted the boy keep as a reward. It is worth every penny to remind me of the goodness of people that are out there.

Reach Out And Touch Somebody's Hand

For years, Cindy and I have made it a point to have lunch together once a week. Just the two of us, no family, no friends. Sometimes it is filled with discussion, other times it is an opportunity to listen without comment, but every time it is an opportunity to be with each other, to tie up big threads and leave the little one hanging about for another day.

This week was no exception. We had just finished getting our self-serve drinks when I noticed an elderly woman starring intently at her receipt. She explained to me she was legally blind asked me to read the number on her receipt so she would know what to listen for. I told her the number and she thanked me, and then continued working on getting lids for the drinks she was managing.

Just then her number was called and she looked about a bit flustered as if wondering how to manage both the beverages and the food. I offered to get her tray and delivered it to the table where her friend was waiting, both of them thanking me for the assistance.

I stood back later and never considered why I helped that woman, as I already knew. It was my family that taught me right from wrong, to say please and thank you, showed me how kindness, courtesy and respect were part of everyday life.

Helping others brings good feelings to the giver and the receiver, making both feel more worthy of good deeds, reinforcing the decency of people, feeling more connected to others. Studies show that service to others helps us to feel more grateful for what we have and less invested in whatever causes stress for so many of us.

It was not conscious thought on my part to help this person, it just happened. It, of course, was the right thing to do. It was also a reminder to me that when opportunities to help present themselves we must take the risks we are asked to take, we must put ourselves out there and remember not everyone in this world is bad and waiting to sue us for a good deed gone wrong.

Harvest Moon

We have had clearing skies as of late, which means streaks of white on blue (instead of the opposite) during the day and an opportunity for some stargazing in the evening/morning. The waning moon has been peaking through the clouds and the nights are getting colder, another reminder that fall is in the air. Shorter days and longer nights means I am slowly exchanging my short-sleeved shirts and shorts for warmer clothing.

Each season has a signature smell. For autumn, it is more than just the scent of falling leaves, fresh air, and apples. It is difficult to distinguish exactly what makes fall smell like fall.

Breathing air into your lungs that is slightly colder than expected is part of it. The smell of burning wood in a fireplace, especially those that are being lit for the first time since spring with the slightly damp odor from the bricks unused for months.

On cool, crisp, sunny autumn days, the air has almost a spicy smell to it, reminiscent of earthy and woody notes, definitely there but still subtle and unassuming. It is the smell of pumpkins and the last of the vegetables growing in the garden.

Pinpointing what causes the air to smell like fall can be elusive, as autumn is a sensory explosion of odor and color. Quite fitting, considering winter arrives soon enough with the absence of most things beyond the white of the clouds, snow and ice.

Dirty Laundry

Laundry is a chore that everyone does at some point. It can be a weekly time-consuming chore that ties you up for many hours. Doing laundry is one of the oldest known domestic tasks and while the process differs across cultures and time, the basic need (clean clothes) is unchanged. If you're typical, you likely dread doing laundry, a mundane part of life. If you're atypical, like me, you actually like doing laundry.

It's the obsessive part of my personality, I know. A full hamper of dirty things is bothersome, as it all could be clean and put away in its place instead of being piled in a jumble. Still, there is a certain satisfaction in gathering all of the sheets, towels and clothes and knowing they will be clean when you are done.

We moved two years ago to a new home, new neighborhood, new views...but the best part was the new front-loading washer and dryer. The smell of detergent and dryer sheets, cleaning the lint filter on the drier after every load...ah yes. Dirty clothes go in, clean, nice-smelling clothes come out.

I work during the week so I save laundry up for the weekend. Walking downstairs, opening up the washing machine and starting a load before the coffee pot is on, the hum of the washer reminding me of my accomplishment. The challenge of the stains, the crease of permanent press...bliss.

All in all, washing, drying and folding is very meditative and relaxing. A tremendous sense of satisfaction and fulfillment arrives each and every Sunday night, as I know each and every towel in the house is clean, dry and folded just right, my clothes neatly hung and/or folded, and clean sheets on the bed.

American Pie

As Cindy related in her blog, we have recently been overrun with apples from the tree in our backyard. We harvested about half of them a couple of weekends ago, and then sliced, diced and froze them for future pies, crumbles, buckles and other baking opportunities.

The tree was there when we bought the house, so what variety the apples are is still in question. We think it is "Akane", an early season apple with firm flesh and plenty of juice. Developed in Japan in the 1930s, it represents an unusual marriage of the classic English early variety, Worcester Pearmain, and the high quality American heritage apple variety, Jonathan. Whatever it may be, they are better eaten in pie than out of hand.

Apple pie has, in a way, become a tradition itself. Pumpkin may be the primary pie at Thanksgiving, but apple is what brings me back to the table after too much turkey. The fragrant aroma of apples and spices signals many that Christmas is upon us, and what Fourth of July would be complete without apple pie. A flaky crust topped with vanilla ice cream, a crumble topping with whipped cream, an open-face Tarte Tatin...it is looked forward to regardless of the shape it takes.

What makes apples and apple pie so all-American? We didn't invent either, as the wild ancestors of apples can be found in Western Asia, specifically in Kazakhstan, and apple pies have been eaten since long before the European colonies were started in the Americas. In the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, apple pie became a symbol of American prosperity and national pride with "as American as apple pie" becoming a stock phrase.

Then again, as long as we have pie, does it matter?