The mailman has been really screwing up lately. he keeps giving angel our mail and angel's mail to us, you know, stuff like that.
who's angel?
i can't believe i haven't told you about her yet. i think i've mentioned her once or twice. we met while mister and i were falling in love. he was helping me find a place to live and after exhausting every paper and For Rent list in Oakland, his brilliant idea was to just drive around the neighborhoods you want to live and look for vacancies ...
ok.
it actually worked! he spotted a ladder in a ground floor window of a duplex right down the street from the school i was studying/working at. he parked and rang the bell. then he disappeared for about ten minutes and came out beaming... "you gotta come see this" he motioned.
angel was almost 80 then. she was the sweetest little old catholic widow i had ever met. she took us up to her apartment and showed us around and all the cabinets her husband had made in her kitchen and bathroom and how he was a retired window-dresser before he died suddenly of a heart attack. her previous tenant, a longtime chain smoker, had just died of emphasema and had left the huge apartment empty for the first time in 35 years. it was perfect, but wouldn't be ready for a month or so. and we waited.
and mister decided to move in too and we turned from lovers into partners for good. i prayed that god would let me live there so i could take care of angel and look out for her.
she decided (against her daughters advice) to give it to us "kids" in the end and the rest is an amazing story of family and friendship. her daughters are so glad to have us so close to their mom. our children adore her and delight in her visits and our adventures upstairs.
she kept me company those long nights when mister was drinking and working and then sleeping all day. she took care of me and continues to look out for us. she is tough as nails. born and raised on a North Dakota farm, she took a water bottle to bed at night and then kicked it across the floor in the morning after it had fallen out of the bed and frozen solid.
she doesn't waste a thing and her place is not full of trinkets and things too many to notice. she has just enough of everything, no more or less than she needs.
her home is a sanctuary i have often escaped to.
boy was up there playing scrabble one night and she suggested it was time for him to go home. "but i AM home", he replied. she loves telling that story.
and i'm so glad i got my mail and she got hers today because a corner of a letter caught my eye and the return address said Z and Mrs. Z.
i opened the envelope while kiddos busied themselves with tube and easter candy. (They always seem to know when mom’s distracted and how to make the most of it.)
Surely it is from Mrs Z with details about Z’s memorial in august, no doubt that’s what this is. But the first thing I saw was a ten-dollar bill.
Huh?
Then I read:
“The following is a legal document to be executed in the event of Z’s death.
If you are not the intended recipient and you don’t know where to locate the intended recipient, please accept my invitation to take part in the following.
Enclosed Is $10 Dollars In Cash.
* Place the money in your wallet or purse, but be sure it is not mixed up among your other bills. At your convenience or the next time you venture out to a favorite bar, restaurant, or café use this money.
If you don’t remember me or you’re one of the countless people for whom I have no address, I simply pass onto you the knowledge that it isn’t the friends closest to us who make up our world; it is the strangers. Those anonymous people without names or expectations, who ask for little, maybe a smile, a few kind words, it isn’t much, but it is something.
Because when I strip down my life I discovered what I valued most were those unassuming strangers who stepped into my life whether for a moment or for a lifetime.
Though it’s not the memories or friendships I cherish; but the conversations.
These conversations covered all topics; they were rarely serious, sometimes passionate, and always entertaining. The best ones left a dull ache in my side, and looking back they had more meaning than I ever realized.
These conversations help shape my life and my view of the world, because through them I connected to you and the world outside myself. But as hard as I tried, I could not create these moments, they just happened. The most I could do was put myself out there, and I did, as did you, and for this I am grateful.
So today I want to buy you a drink to celebrate your life and all those strangers you are yet to meet.
CHEERS,
Z”
The first thing I thought was how cool that he did this and how true that he was like this and how much he was like his mom who always used to tell me “strangers are just the friends you haven’t met yet.”
What an awesome way to go through life. Believing and practicing his mother’s theory. And he did. He was always talking to someone and just interested in the people around him.
And I couldn’t help but think about blogging and bloggers and that this is what the blogosphere is all about. Conversations. Connections. Being moved and touched by strangers. people whose names and addresses you’ll never know. But they influence you profoundly and become so dear. I love that about this.
I’m going to enjoy my drink. If I could, I’d let Z buy Simpleton one too, cause he’s Z’s kinda people.
And I tucked the letter and bill back in the envelope and noticed the Ronald Reagan stamp and smiled. Z, always the joker, even from the grave.
Thanks for the letter, Z. and say Hi to terry schiavo for me. Bet she’s so happy to finally be there, huh?
who's angel?
i can't believe i haven't told you about her yet. i think i've mentioned her once or twice. we met while mister and i were falling in love. he was helping me find a place to live and after exhausting every paper and For Rent list in Oakland, his brilliant idea was to just drive around the neighborhoods you want to live and look for vacancies ...
ok.
it actually worked! he spotted a ladder in a ground floor window of a duplex right down the street from the school i was studying/working at. he parked and rang the bell. then he disappeared for about ten minutes and came out beaming... "you gotta come see this" he motioned.
angel was almost 80 then. she was the sweetest little old catholic widow i had ever met. she took us up to her apartment and showed us around and all the cabinets her husband had made in her kitchen and bathroom and how he was a retired window-dresser before he died suddenly of a heart attack. her previous tenant, a longtime chain smoker, had just died of emphasema and had left the huge apartment empty for the first time in 35 years. it was perfect, but wouldn't be ready for a month or so. and we waited.
and mister decided to move in too and we turned from lovers into partners for good. i prayed that god would let me live there so i could take care of angel and look out for her.
she decided (against her daughters advice) to give it to us "kids" in the end and the rest is an amazing story of family and friendship. her daughters are so glad to have us so close to their mom. our children adore her and delight in her visits and our adventures upstairs.
she kept me company those long nights when mister was drinking and working and then sleeping all day. she took care of me and continues to look out for us. she is tough as nails. born and raised on a North Dakota farm, she took a water bottle to bed at night and then kicked it across the floor in the morning after it had fallen out of the bed and frozen solid.
she doesn't waste a thing and her place is not full of trinkets and things too many to notice. she has just enough of everything, no more or less than she needs.
her home is a sanctuary i have often escaped to.
boy was up there playing scrabble one night and she suggested it was time for him to go home. "but i AM home", he replied. she loves telling that story.
and i'm so glad i got my mail and she got hers today because a corner of a letter caught my eye and the return address said Z and Mrs. Z.
i opened the envelope while kiddos busied themselves with tube and easter candy. (They always seem to know when mom’s distracted and how to make the most of it.)
Surely it is from Mrs Z with details about Z’s memorial in august, no doubt that’s what this is. But the first thing I saw was a ten-dollar bill.
Huh?
Then I read:
“The following is a legal document to be executed in the event of Z’s death.
If you are not the intended recipient and you don’t know where to locate the intended recipient, please accept my invitation to take part in the following.
Enclosed Is $10 Dollars In Cash.
* Place the money in your wallet or purse, but be sure it is not mixed up among your other bills. At your convenience or the next time you venture out to a favorite bar, restaurant, or café use this money.
If you don’t remember me or you’re one of the countless people for whom I have no address, I simply pass onto you the knowledge that it isn’t the friends closest to us who make up our world; it is the strangers. Those anonymous people without names or expectations, who ask for little, maybe a smile, a few kind words, it isn’t much, but it is something.
Because when I strip down my life I discovered what I valued most were those unassuming strangers who stepped into my life whether for a moment or for a lifetime.
Though it’s not the memories or friendships I cherish; but the conversations.
These conversations covered all topics; they were rarely serious, sometimes passionate, and always entertaining. The best ones left a dull ache in my side, and looking back they had more meaning than I ever realized.
These conversations help shape my life and my view of the world, because through them I connected to you and the world outside myself. But as hard as I tried, I could not create these moments, they just happened. The most I could do was put myself out there, and I did, as did you, and for this I am grateful.
So today I want to buy you a drink to celebrate your life and all those strangers you are yet to meet.
CHEERS,
Z”
The first thing I thought was how cool that he did this and how true that he was like this and how much he was like his mom who always used to tell me “strangers are just the friends you haven’t met yet.”
What an awesome way to go through life. Believing and practicing his mother’s theory. And he did. He was always talking to someone and just interested in the people around him.
And I couldn’t help but think about blogging and bloggers and that this is what the blogosphere is all about. Conversations. Connections. Being moved and touched by strangers. people whose names and addresses you’ll never know. But they influence you profoundly and become so dear. I love that about this.
I’m going to enjoy my drink. If I could, I’d let Z buy Simpleton one too, cause he’s Z’s kinda people.
And I tucked the letter and bill back in the envelope and noticed the Ronald Reagan stamp and smiled. Z, always the joker, even from the grave.
Thanks for the letter, Z. and say Hi to terry schiavo for me. Bet she’s so happy to finally be there, huh?
posted by Z Family at 10:19 PM
3 Comments:
Hi. I can look at blogs again.
I encounter many familiar faces in a day. The strangers are often nicer.
Yes indeed.
That is awesome.
And that's true about blogging.
I feel very honored.
Thank you, and thanks to Z too.
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