STORIES THAT WILL NEVER MAKE THE HEADLINES (but color our lives) or

LITTLE ACTS OF KINDNESS THAT DOT MY DAY

When Hank the Cat wakes us up with his urgent meowing in the mornings, I reluctantly open my eyes and coax my body to go vertical. Sometimes it takes longer than at other times. And as half of me wakes up, I sit on the bed and utter a prayer of thanks for the night’s rest and for whatever the Father has in store for the day.

 Off to Work

 I walk into the office at 10:05 and as I pass Robert’s and Stephanie’s desks we exchange lively “Good mornings” to which I add, “It’s Friday! It’s Friday!” I work only 20 hours a week, but Friday holds an excitement for me as for those who work 40. Then I hear Stephanie say, “Robert got you coffee this morning.”

 “Oh, how sweet you are!” I exclaim.

Sure enough there is a cup of hot coffee on my desk. What a pleasant way to start a work day. Dave, our accountant is already hard at work. I am so thankful for this man’s patience as he trains me in bookkeeping and in the software we have to use, new skills for me to learn. I then go to my usual routines – put lunch in the refrigerator, check phone messages, check emails. A few minutes later I decide to check any mail that might have come in. We have a mail slot where the mailman drops the mail onto the floor of a little room that has a separate entrance from my office. As I get out, I hear the furious honking of horns. There is a little red car driven by a young Asian lady who has about a third of her car into a parking spot. In front of her is an SUV driven by a guy possibly in his forties, who is trying to back his car into the same parking spot. Neither of them budges. They just keep honking at each other furiously. I watch intently. “Parking rage,” I tell myself. Then the SUV driver surrenders and gives the infamous digit salute to the lady in the red car. But he pays me the same “respect” as his car goes by. Huhm, this is going to be one interesting day.

Nothing earthshaking happens in the office as I do the chores I have assigned myself for the day. But I learn to spell “Cocanougher” which is the last name of a caller. I call back a lady I got acquainted with yesterday to ask for an update on her husband’s condition. They are from out of town but have been in the City for a few days now. He has cancer and is being treated at the VA Hospital. She was quite distraught yesterday when I talked to her. I promised to pray for him. Today she tells me that he is 40% better and thanks me for the prayers. There are many others praying for him. Soon it is time to go. I’ve put in my 5 hours.

 My Friend Joe

As I get out of the gate I spot Joe, a homeless man who hangs out in our neighborhood. I reach for a Fuji apple in my lunchbag.

“Joe, would you care for a Fuji apple?” I offer.

“Oh, I can’t bite it. I don’t have top teeth,” he replies.

I feel so silly. Duh, Raquel. How many times have you seen and talked to him and you never noticed he didn’t have upper teeth?

On the 8X Muni

I can’t get on my usual 3:47 8X because it is so packed, so I have to take the next one. As usual I am in the senior citizen section. I stand in front of a lady who doesn’t look like a senior at all, but she doesn’t offer me her seat. “I’d just stand here and look sweet,” I mutter to myself.

Soon I hear an argument between a young black father who is hanging on to a baby stroller full of stuff and a Hispanic mother who has a daughter about 5 and a son about 8 who are sharing a seat while she hangs on to a strap trying to keep her balance.

“You should have your kids get up and offer the seat to my wife,” he says to the mother, “Can’t you see, she is holding a baby?” His wife is holding a little boy about two years old.

I don’t hear her answer, but I can tell that she is not about to have her children do that. There are a few more exchanges but the mother stands her ground.

The woman seated in front of me joins the discussion, siding with the young father. I think, “You better stay out of this, lady. Look at you, you’re not a senior and you’re not giving me your seat.” But I just smile at her. In reply to my smile she says, “I like your earrings. They’re the same stone as my ring,” and she holds her ring up to me.

“Garnet, right?” I reply.

“Yes,” she says with a smile.

She sees the young dad trying to ram the Hispanic mother with his baby stroller. The lady with the garnet ring intervenes.

“Don’t do that,” she says quietly, “you don’t want to end up in jail.”

At the second stop on San Bruno Avenue, a few passengers get off and the young dad has his two-year old sit next to the lady with the garnet ring. The boy starts staring at her and crying. His dad moves him to the seat closer to him, next to an old Asian man. The little boy stares at him. The Asian man hands him a cellophane-wrapped cookie. He smiles at the old man, the old man smiles back. The young dad smiles, I smile and the lady with the garnet ring smiles. All’s well that ends with smiles.

“Bayshore and Arleta,” the bus speaker announces. The next stop is mine. I pull on the cord for my stop. The bus driver lowers the steps for me and I get off. I see Don coming, so I hurriedly walk to the spot where he usually picks me up. I pass a couple of nice-looking black ladies and one of them says, “I like your scarf.” I turn around and say, “Thank you.” I get in the car and tell Don, “What an interesting day I’ve had.”