Graffiti Train

    While idling in traffic, I viewed a parade of ugliness. A freight train passed by. Graffiti marred the sides of almost every boxcar. I reminded myself that this ugliness came from somewhere else.
    Graffiti is rare around here. People care about aesthetics. There’s respect for property, both public and private. This attitude prevails in most regions of our nation.
    When I visit Europe, I am dismayed at the prevalence of graffiti. I would not want to live in a place, foreign or within the USA, where graffiti is commonplace.
    Graffiti is a harbinger of cultural problems.

Oh Sew Kind

Seamstress holds the quilt mended on behalf of my mother.

    Fifty-eight years. That’s how long my mother has owned a quilt. It’s small, intended for a child. That quilt probably warmed me when I was a toddler.
    Now the quilt warms Mom. She drapes it over herself in the living room.
    Mom’s got Alzheimer’s disease. She’s 93. Her husband is not longer alive.
    Her memory is fading but she hasn’t forgotten about the longevity of that quilt. She remarks at how much pleasure it has given her. That quilt is a connection to her past.
    Wear and tear had taken a toll on the fabric of the quilt. Mending was needed. Last week I purchased new fabric. Like the original fabric, this material was pink in color and smooth to the touch.
    I visited a dry cleaning store. A seamstress works there. I requested that she sew the new fabric on to the quilt. I mentioned why the quilt was important to my mother.
    The seamstress spent two hours sewing the fabric. Her work was excellent. I prepared to pay her bill.
    She cut back her price by a third. This gesture expressed sympathy for Mom and support for me as her caregiver.
    The seamstress’s goodwill came as a surprise, but I wasn’t surprised by her goodwill. Other people have performed random kindnesses to Mom and I.
    When people observe an elderly person being assisted, their hearts soften.

Spontaneous Generosity

        A young woman approached my mother while inside a market. The woman offered to buy Mom a loaf of bread. Mom, by the way, is 93 years old. I was standing beside her.
     The bread was fresh and warm. Beforehand, Mom and I had handled a loaf. We had debated whether or not to purchase it. I chose not to. Unbeknownst to us, the young woman had overheard our conversation.
    I told the woman I would purchase the loaf after all. She again expressed a desire to buy the loaf for us.
    It seemed odd, a stranger offering to buy us bread. Why the generosity? Did she think my mother and I were poor?
    That explanation was plausible. The date was Monday, January 2nd. On the first Monday of each month, welfare payments are released to people in need. They mob this supermarket on that date. Prices are lower than anywhere else. Mom and I are not welfare recipients, we are middle class, but we still shop there.
    The young woman wandered over to a check-out line. Mom followed her.
    I cued up at another line. While a clerk tallied my purchases, I glanced toward the young woman. She and Mom were chatting. Smiles creased both of their faces. It was as thought they were old friends.
    The young woman handed the loaf to Mom. Mom returned to my line. Turns out, the young woman had bought us the loaf of bread.
    After paying for my food, I walked toward the young woman. She wore a head cover. The bottom of her ankle-length dress extended below her coat. The dress was plain.
    I asked her why she was wearing those clothes. She told me she was a member of a Mennonite Church. It was located nearby. Mennonites dress modestly.
    I shook her hand and thanked her for the bread.
    She smiled and said, 'Go with Christ.'
    The encounter reinforced a notion: An act of generosity lifts the spirits of both a recipient and a giver.