Friday, January 10, 2020
Thursday, September 12, 2019
On 9/11
I could see the smoke from the Pentagon from my office window. I was 28. Now I'm 46. I've been with the same company for 25 years, and I still work with many of the same people on this day that were there with me on that day.....it's something we shared that will bind us forever. I remember almost every moment of that day. My current office faces the exact same direction, and is on the same floor and in the same suite number, on this day as it was on that day.....although in the twin tower next door. In many ways for me, not much has changed since everything changed.
Every 9/11, I go in my office with my morning coffee, wait for the time, shut my door and turn off the light. I stand at the window and gaze out over the eastern horizon, watching the black smoke billowing up into the sky in my mind's eye, and I cry. I mourn deeply the loss of everything that would never be the same again after that day. Everything in our lives is now defined as "pre-9/11" or "post-9/11". Events like this cause seismic shifts in our human existence in an instant. It's my generation's Kennedy assasination.
After a few moments of quiet reflection, I open my office door, turn on the light, pour some more coffee and get on with my day... and my life. I live well. And I live free. Because not much changes after everything changes.
Every 9/11, I go in my office with my morning coffee, wait for the time, shut my door and turn off the light. I stand at the window and gaze out over the eastern horizon, watching the black smoke billowing up into the sky in my mind's eye, and I cry. I mourn deeply the loss of everything that would never be the same again after that day. Everything in our lives is now defined as "pre-9/11" or "post-9/11". Events like this cause seismic shifts in our human existence in an instant. It's my generation's Kennedy assasination.
After a few moments of quiet reflection, I open my office door, turn on the light, pour some more coffee and get on with my day... and my life. I live well. And I live free. Because not much changes after everything changes.
Wednesday, March 27, 2019
I Am Sooo Bad At This!
My lord, its embarrassing to even admit how long its been since I posted here. I'm going to stop promising to do it, because I only make myself look bad when another five or six YEARS go by between posts.
I was just having a discussion with myself the other day about keeping promises and how I let myself down day after day. I finally broke the cycle with the purchase of a piano, fulfilling my promise to myself that I would play again after 30 years. I am so excited, overjoyed and proud of myself for pushing through the anxiety and just doing it. I'm still trying to sort out all the reasons that made it so hard to pull the trigger on that dream, to stop talking and start doing. Its almost like I had to do it before I realized I was doing it. I tricked me!
I also want to write. I keep coming back to this blog and promising to start it again blah blah blah. So no promises, but I am going to try to write more. It's like buying that piano and playing it that night with my youngest, was the key to open the gates that kept me out of the life I kept talking about having. A life that includes personal successes, finishing what I start, doing fun and satisfying things and keeping promises.
Life is more than waking up, going to work, coming home, making dinner and going to sleep, only to start all over the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat.
There's so much more in life. There's so much more in me.
I was just having a discussion with myself the other day about keeping promises and how I let myself down day after day. I finally broke the cycle with the purchase of a piano, fulfilling my promise to myself that I would play again after 30 years. I am so excited, overjoyed and proud of myself for pushing through the anxiety and just doing it. I'm still trying to sort out all the reasons that made it so hard to pull the trigger on that dream, to stop talking and start doing. Its almost like I had to do it before I realized I was doing it. I tricked me!
I also want to write. I keep coming back to this blog and promising to start it again blah blah blah. So no promises, but I am going to try to write more. It's like buying that piano and playing it that night with my youngest, was the key to open the gates that kept me out of the life I kept talking about having. A life that includes personal successes, finishing what I start, doing fun and satisfying things and keeping promises.
Life is more than waking up, going to work, coming home, making dinner and going to sleep, only to start all over the next day. Wash, rinse, repeat.
There's so much more in life. There's so much more in me.
When Your Daughter Says The Word "Cum"
Yeah. She said it.
During dinner tonight, Wednesday March 27, 2019. She's going to be 12 in a week and tonight was the absolute end of everything.
I just witnessed it with my own eyes, like a flashing neon sign so big you can see it from the highway. The moment when your youngest child turns that corner and puts innocence in her rear view mirror.
My baby.
Said "cum".
Out loud.
We were watching South Park (yes I know, I am responsible for this, I know) and Butters had been saving all his.....anyway, she said it, and I had to leave the room to ride that wave of what-the-fuck outside with a cigarette to calm me down. In my quiet stupor, thoughts raced through my head without filter...
I couldn't figure out why it freaked me out so bad, its just a word. I don't really like the word to begin with, but what would I rather have her say (besides nothing)? Semen? Ejaculate? Jizz? Ew. None of these are good choices.
How cruel is this? This shocking revelation that my youngest was officially growing up, is happening right on the heels of my uterus being torn from my body. Don't get me wrong, I was super excited to send that bitch packing, and I did not get overly emotional about it. But in this moment, I realized there would be no more babies. My current baby was gone, and I would not be having any more in the future.
Did I just witness the precise moment that she shifted from a child to an adolescent? I revisited previous musings to myself about the last tampon that I used prior to my hysterectomy. I had waxed poetic about how we rarely know when we do something or experience something for the last time, until its long gone and we simply never do it or see it again. Like the last time you give your kid a bath, or the last time they let you brush their hair, or the last time you carry them. At some point in the past, I picked up my kid and when I put her down, it was the last time I ever did that. But I can't tell you when that was. So many of these important "lasts" don't get the respect and attention they deserve. So when I used what would be that last tampon, I looked at it and said "You are my last tampon. Ever." Then I allowed myself to sit on that idea for a minute, have a quiet thought about the next chapter of my life, and threw it away. I saved the box of leftover tampons to burn at my uterus retirement party I plan to have after I am feeling better.
I eventually recovered enough to come back inside. My baby girl had stolen my spot on the couch and was all snuggled up with a blanket watching Chicago Fire. I booted her to the other side of the couch and snuggled down to write this story. Before I knew it, she was knocked out. I looked over at her face and she was that innocent little girl again, so I let myself forget about what she said earlier and pumped the brakes on the whole growing-up thing. Even if just for a moment.
Maybe we should get a puppy.
During dinner tonight, Wednesday March 27, 2019. She's going to be 12 in a week and tonight was the absolute end of everything.
I just witnessed it with my own eyes, like a flashing neon sign so big you can see it from the highway. The moment when your youngest child turns that corner and puts innocence in her rear view mirror.
My baby.
Said "cum".
Out loud.
We were watching South Park (yes I know, I am responsible for this, I know) and Butters had been saving all his.....anyway, she said it, and I had to leave the room to ride that wave of what-the-fuck outside with a cigarette to calm me down. In my quiet stupor, thoughts raced through my head without filter...
I couldn't figure out why it freaked me out so bad, its just a word. I don't really like the word to begin with, but what would I rather have her say (besides nothing)? Semen? Ejaculate? Jizz? Ew. None of these are good choices.
How cruel is this? This shocking revelation that my youngest was officially growing up, is happening right on the heels of my uterus being torn from my body. Don't get me wrong, I was super excited to send that bitch packing, and I did not get overly emotional about it. But in this moment, I realized there would be no more babies. My current baby was gone, and I would not be having any more in the future.
Did I just witness the precise moment that she shifted from a child to an adolescent? I revisited previous musings to myself about the last tampon that I used prior to my hysterectomy. I had waxed poetic about how we rarely know when we do something or experience something for the last time, until its long gone and we simply never do it or see it again. Like the last time you give your kid a bath, or the last time they let you brush their hair, or the last time you carry them. At some point in the past, I picked up my kid and when I put her down, it was the last time I ever did that. But I can't tell you when that was. So many of these important "lasts" don't get the respect and attention they deserve. So when I used what would be that last tampon, I looked at it and said "You are my last tampon. Ever." Then I allowed myself to sit on that idea for a minute, have a quiet thought about the next chapter of my life, and threw it away. I saved the box of leftover tampons to burn at my uterus retirement party I plan to have after I am feeling better.
I eventually recovered enough to come back inside. My baby girl had stolen my spot on the couch and was all snuggled up with a blanket watching Chicago Fire. I booted her to the other side of the couch and snuggled down to write this story. Before I knew it, she was knocked out. I looked over at her face and she was that innocent little girl again, so I let myself forget about what she said earlier and pumped the brakes on the whole growing-up thing. Even if just for a moment.
Maybe we should get a puppy.
Wednesday, January 9, 2013
The Note
This morning, like many mornings, I was driving the girls to school. I tuned the radio to "their" station, HOT99.5 (gag). The morning guys were talking about songs that must be played loud...and to my surprise on comes Andrea Bocelli singing Con te Partiro. What? Huh? This can't be. But he is absolutely right, you are compelled to turn up the radio....and....there it is. The note. The note that when a tenor sings it with such purity of tone and immaculate delivery, my breath catches and I start to cry. I can't explain why, it just IS. I'm playing the song on You Tube -right now- and I am crying. It fills your soul so completely that it forces everything else out through your eyeballs. Not unlike the brown note. Sort of.
What is the brown note, you may ask? The brown note is a note at an extremely low frequency that when played supposedly causes people to lose control of their bowels. Seriously. Well, as serious as an urban legend can be anyway. For example, on the season finale of The League, Taco took a bunch of vuvuzelas and reconstructed them to emit the infamous brown note. The MythBusters even tried it. The brown note theory was even tested as weaponry by the Germans, Russians and shockingly (or not), the French. Nikola Tesla used the brown note to play a joke on a friend.....now behold the genius that is Tesla, Man Out Of Time....
"For entertainment, Tesla once convinced his good friend Mark Twain to test out a vibrating platform in his Manhattan lab. Twain took him up on the offer and found it to his liking. When Tesla commanded Twain to come down off the platform Twain refused because he was having a good time. A few minutes later Twain ran from the device. It seems that Tesla had deliberately neglected to tell Twain that the vibration tended to cause diarrhea." http://www.intuitor.com/resonance/tesla.php quoting Margaret Cheney, Tesla Man Out Of Time, 1989, Dorset Press —Preceding unsigned comment added by 195.90.183.53 (talk) 02:51, 11 June 2008 (UTC)
So, back to my gushing admiration for tenors. This gushing admiration will come as a surprise to some of you, but not all of you. I am a lover of ALL music (except country) but many of you probably know me as the crazy, metalhead, up-the-irons Iron Maiden lover. Or you may know me as the dressing-in-costume-for-The Legwarmers show, shameless white-person-dancing, Aquanet-using 80's lover. But not many of you know me as the tenor lover. We all know that Bocelli is amazing, but I stand firmly on my opinion that there is no. period. one. period. better. period. than the Maestro himself, Mr. Luciano Pavarotti. Which got me thinking (danger, Will Robinson!).....
I got to meet him once. And because of that meeting, and the fact that I was with my Dad when it happened, I feel an extra special connection to him and his music. We were on a flight from LA and I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old. This was when Pavarotti was HUGE (literally...he took up two first class seats). To a little girl, who knew who he was, I was not only intimidated by his status but definitely also by his size. Dad wanted to get his autograph for Mom. So of course, as always, he made ME do it. I remember like it was yesterday. "Go get his autograph for your mother." "No, Dad you do it!" "He's not going to give it to me. He won't say no to a little girl. You do it." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.)
My Dad had a way of always making me do stuff I didn't want to, but that was good in a way as it pushed me outside of my comfort zone. Like the time he made me take the wheel of our 42-foot sailboat when I was around 10...as a freak hailstorm was hitting Long Beach Harbor when we were heading out to Catalina Island. "I'm going down to look for rain coats. I'll be right back. Hold the wheel!" "I don't want to! You do it!" "Just hold the wheel steady! You'll be fine." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.) ...of course when he finally comes out the hail storm is over.
Or the time he made me go down the double diamond slope at Mammoth, ok honestly it was probably intermediate but I was maybe 12 so it looked a double diamond to me. (And "double diamond" just sounds better for the purpose of a compelling story.) It was spring break in No. Cali so we had warm days/cold nights. The slope was straight down at the start, so much so that my skis were hanging out in the air over the edge, and it was coated with a layer of ice from the overnight freezing. And since it was morning and going to be warm that day, I was wearing only jeans and a shirt. NO GEAR. No gloves or anything. "Dad, I'm NOT doing this." "You'll be fine, just go side to side on the slope and you can't go wrong. Just take your time." "Dad, I'm NOT doing this." "Come on, just go." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.) Anyone seeing a pattern here? About halfway down my skis lost traction and I ended up ass over tit down the slope, trying to stop myself by digging my fingers into the ice-covered snow. To no avail. I arrived at the bottom about the same time as my skis and poles.
So now you understand. Like all those times, I was scared but I did it anyway. I took the dinner menu over to Pavarotti and I sheepishly asked him for his autograph for my Mom. He was a massive man, and I could barely look him in the eye, but I said she was a big fan of his and it would be an honor to have his autograph for her. I don't remember if he was overly nice about it, but he did it, and that was so cool. Of course Dad says "See, I told you he would do it for you!" Success!
I forgot where I was going with all this.
Anyway, I had gotten tickets to see Pavarotti in concert, which I was lucky enough to have had the honor of doing once before with my Mom. Unfortunately as his health deteriorated his tour was postponed and then ultimately canceled. He died on September 6, 2007. My Dad, a little more than a year later, on October 30, 2008. So you see. Special connection.
This morning, as the girls were curious of my crying, I tried to help them understand these are not tears of sadness, that it's the music, how it swells my heart. But in a way, for me, maybe they are just that. And trying to follow the random connections my brain makes? From a 10 second clip of Bocelli on a crappy radio station, to all this I just spewed into your brains, which by the way all came to me in the three minutes it takes to drive home from the school. Well, like I said, it's hard to explain.
It's the note.
Attention readers!
The following is a complete sidetrack from today's intended subject matter....
What is the brown note, you may ask? The brown note is a note at an extremely low frequency that when played supposedly causes people to lose control of their bowels. Seriously. Well, as serious as an urban legend can be anyway. For example, on the season finale of The League, Taco took a bunch of vuvuzelas and reconstructed them to emit the infamous brown note. The MythBusters even tried it. The brown note theory was even tested as weaponry by the Germans, Russians and shockingly (or not), the French. Nikola Tesla used the brown note to play a joke on a friend.....now behold the genius that is Tesla, Man Out Of Time....
"For entertainment, Tesla once convinced his good friend Mark Twain to test out a vibrating platform in his Manhattan lab. Twain took him up on the offer and found it to his liking. When Tesla commanded Twain to come down off the platform Twain refused because he was having a good time. A few minutes later Twain ran from the device. It seems that Tesla had deliberately neglected to tell Twain that the vibration tended to cause diarrhea." http://www.intuitor.com/resonance/tesla.php quoting Margaret Cheney, Tesla Man Out Of Time, 1989, Dorset Press —Preceding unsigned comment added by 195.90.183.53 (talk) 02:51, 11 June 2008 (UTC)
We now return to your regularly scheduled programming.
So, back to my gushing admiration for tenors. This gushing admiration will come as a surprise to some of you, but not all of you. I am a lover of ALL music (except country) but many of you probably know me as the crazy, metalhead, up-the-irons Iron Maiden lover. Or you may know me as the dressing-in-costume-for-The Legwarmers show, shameless white-person-dancing, Aquanet-using 80's lover. But not many of you know me as the tenor lover. We all know that Bocelli is amazing, but I stand firmly on my opinion that there is no. period. one. period. better. period. than the Maestro himself, Mr. Luciano Pavarotti. Which got me thinking (danger, Will Robinson!).....
I got to meet him once. And because of that meeting, and the fact that I was with my Dad when it happened, I feel an extra special connection to him and his music. We were on a flight from LA and I couldn't have been more than 8 or 9 years old. This was when Pavarotti was HUGE (literally...he took up two first class seats). To a little girl, who knew who he was, I was not only intimidated by his status but definitely also by his size. Dad wanted to get his autograph for Mom. So of course, as always, he made ME do it. I remember like it was yesterday. "Go get his autograph for your mother." "No, Dad you do it!" "He's not going to give it to me. He won't say no to a little girl. You do it." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.)
My Dad had a way of always making me do stuff I didn't want to, but that was good in a way as it pushed me outside of my comfort zone. Like the time he made me take the wheel of our 42-foot sailboat when I was around 10...as a freak hailstorm was hitting Long Beach Harbor when we were heading out to Catalina Island. "I'm going down to look for rain coats. I'll be right back. Hold the wheel!" "I don't want to! You do it!" "Just hold the wheel steady! You'll be fine." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.) ...of course when he finally comes out the hail storm is over.
Or the time he made me go down the double diamond slope at Mammoth, ok honestly it was probably intermediate but I was maybe 12 so it looked a double diamond to me. (And "double diamond" just sounds better for the purpose of a compelling story.) It was spring break in No. Cali so we had warm days/cold nights. The slope was straight down at the start, so much so that my skis were hanging out in the air over the edge, and it was coated with a layer of ice from the overnight freezing. And since it was morning and going to be warm that day, I was wearing only jeans and a shirt. NO GEAR. No gloves or anything. "Dad, I'm NOT doing this." "You'll be fine, just go side to side on the slope and you can't go wrong. Just take your time." "Dad, I'm NOT doing this." "Come on, just go." "Fine." (sigh. eyeroll.) Anyone seeing a pattern here? About halfway down my skis lost traction and I ended up ass over tit down the slope, trying to stop myself by digging my fingers into the ice-covered snow. To no avail. I arrived at the bottom about the same time as my skis and poles.
So now you understand. Like all those times, I was scared but I did it anyway. I took the dinner menu over to Pavarotti and I sheepishly asked him for his autograph for my Mom. He was a massive man, and I could barely look him in the eye, but I said she was a big fan of his and it would be an honor to have his autograph for her. I don't remember if he was overly nice about it, but he did it, and that was so cool. Of course Dad says "See, I told you he would do it for you!" Success!
I forgot where I was going with all this.
Anyway, I had gotten tickets to see Pavarotti in concert, which I was lucky enough to have had the honor of doing once before with my Mom. Unfortunately as his health deteriorated his tour was postponed and then ultimately canceled. He died on September 6, 2007. My Dad, a little more than a year later, on October 30, 2008. So you see. Special connection.
This morning, as the girls were curious of my crying, I tried to help them understand these are not tears of sadness, that it's the music, how it swells my heart. But in a way, for me, maybe they are just that. And trying to follow the random connections my brain makes? From a 10 second clip of Bocelli on a crappy radio station, to all this I just spewed into your brains, which by the way all came to me in the three minutes it takes to drive home from the school. Well, like I said, it's hard to explain.
It's the note.
Tuesday, July 3, 2012
The Neverending Story
Dear Friends, Family and Followers,
I can't believe I haven't posted to my blog since August 2010. How embarrassing! Well to say a lot has happened since then is a total understatement. The understatement of the century, as a matter of fact. I have experienced seismic shifts in my life....changes in relationships, loss and grief, making new friends, old friends found anew, kids growing up, work bullshit (that's about the only thing that is the same day after goddamn day), politics and the imminent death of our constitution.....these are all topics you can look forward to in the coming weeks. I find it a bit daunting to even try and backtrack, tackling the topics of the past two years. Even worse, just the last one. In case you were unaware, I am the queen of compartmentalisation (is that even a word? And if it is, did I spell it right?) and I fear the sorting out of all this mess will be too emotionally difficult. Because I will feel the need to put this over here, and that over there, and...oh, what is THAT? I don't even know where to put that. I will be forced to face everything and give it a name. But I know at the same time it will be cathartic, to write it down, all neat and tidy. Maybe I will try and present the various past happenings only in the framework of how it is impacting my life today. As things come up, you know. That usually makes for the best kind of writing anyway...off the cuff. Like right now. So my original intent of this blog was to record some of the hilarity that was gifted upon me by my two beautiful, wonderful, smart, funny, and sometimes sick and twisted children. But it deserves so much more than that. I have thoughts and ideas, opinions....oh LOTS of opinions. Oh yes. This blog will be so much more, my friend. So much more.
My faithful blog, how I have missed you.
It is time.
I can't believe I haven't posted to my blog since August 2010. How embarrassing! Well to say a lot has happened since then is a total understatement. The understatement of the century, as a matter of fact. I have experienced seismic shifts in my life....changes in relationships, loss and grief, making new friends, old friends found anew, kids growing up, work bullshit (that's about the only thing that is the same day after goddamn day), politics and the imminent death of our constitution.....these are all topics you can look forward to in the coming weeks. I find it a bit daunting to even try and backtrack, tackling the topics of the past two years. Even worse, just the last one. In case you were unaware, I am the queen of compartmentalisation (is that even a word? And if it is, did I spell it right?) and I fear the sorting out of all this mess will be too emotionally difficult. Because I will feel the need to put this over here, and that over there, and...oh, what is THAT? I don't even know where to put that. I will be forced to face everything and give it a name. But I know at the same time it will be cathartic, to write it down, all neat and tidy. Maybe I will try and present the various past happenings only in the framework of how it is impacting my life today. As things come up, you know. That usually makes for the best kind of writing anyway...off the cuff. Like right now. So my original intent of this blog was to record some of the hilarity that was gifted upon me by my two beautiful, wonderful, smart, funny, and sometimes sick and twisted children. But it deserves so much more than that. I have thoughts and ideas, opinions....oh LOTS of opinions. Oh yes. This blog will be so much more, my friend. So much more.
My faithful blog, how I have missed you.
It is time.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Paying it Forward, Backward and Sideways
"Instant karma's gonna get you, gonna knock you off your feet. Better recognize your brothers, everyone you meet." - John Lennon
Earlier this month I was on a flight from Chicago Midway to DC. After takeoff I was moving around in my seat and noticed a Blackberry in the crack between the seat and the seatback. I considered for a moment whether or not to turn it in, and decided to keep it and find the owner myself. You know it would have been more lost than found in the airline's lost and found department. I contacted the owner the next day, got her address and mailed the phone to her at my own expense. No problem I said to her, paying it forward you know.
A week later to the day, I was in line at a sandwich shop and had realized when I got to the cashier that my debit card was missing. I had left it at my previous stop! As I stood there panicked the lady behind me offered to pay my lunch. It was, ironically, almost the same amount as what I paid to mail the phone. Exactly a week later!
The next week I get a thank you note from the woman whose phone I returned. It was very nice and she was so happy to have her phone back with work and some personal stuff she had going on. The funny thing was, as she travels almost constantly for work, that the phone showed up at her house on the one day she was home this entire month! I thought, wow, I have to tell her about my lunch incident. So I remembered where she worked and guessed at the email syntax and shot off an email. Her response this morning was nothing short of amazing!
She said she had a story to share with me, and here is her account:
===================
"The girl in front of me was limping and struggling while all the people behind me were tisking wondering what the hold up was. I asked her, "Are you okay?" She said she was, but her flip flop broke and she could barely walk. Without even thinking, I just said, "What size are you? I'm a Nine...." She nodded in agreement and I quickly took off my flip flops and said, "Here, take mine, I have two pairs of shoes right in my bag."
She said, "You're giving me your SHOES????" Everyone in the line was looking at me aghast. I said, "Someone just mailed me my blackberry I left on a plane in DC....I have about nine more pairs to give away to pay that one forward." Everyone laughed and the whole line lit up with smiles. I popped on my high heels and walked through the terminal -- feeling just great!
==================
Ok, so really, you just can't make up stuff like this!
It makes me wonder, if now that girl may help someone she would have otherwise walked past, and maybe some of those other people that overheard would do the same.
Maybe I can change the world after all, just as I had planned, one person at a time.
Earlier this month I was on a flight from Chicago Midway to DC. After takeoff I was moving around in my seat and noticed a Blackberry in the crack between the seat and the seatback. I considered for a moment whether or not to turn it in, and decided to keep it and find the owner myself. You know it would have been more lost than found in the airline's lost and found department. I contacted the owner the next day, got her address and mailed the phone to her at my own expense. No problem I said to her, paying it forward you know.
A week later to the day, I was in line at a sandwich shop and had realized when I got to the cashier that my debit card was missing. I had left it at my previous stop! As I stood there panicked the lady behind me offered to pay my lunch. It was, ironically, almost the same amount as what I paid to mail the phone. Exactly a week later!
The next week I get a thank you note from the woman whose phone I returned. It was very nice and she was so happy to have her phone back with work and some personal stuff she had going on. The funny thing was, as she travels almost constantly for work, that the phone showed up at her house on the one day she was home this entire month! I thought, wow, I have to tell her about my lunch incident. So I remembered where she worked and guessed at the email syntax and shot off an email. Her response this morning was nothing short of amazing!
She said she had a story to share with me, and here is her account:
===================
"The girl in front of me was limping and struggling while all the people behind me were tisking wondering what the hold up was. I asked her, "Are you okay?" She said she was, but her flip flop broke and she could barely walk. Without even thinking, I just said, "What size are you? I'm a Nine...." She nodded in agreement and I quickly took off my flip flops and said, "Here, take mine, I have two pairs of shoes right in my bag."
She said, "You're giving me your SHOES????" Everyone in the line was looking at me aghast. I said, "Someone just mailed me my blackberry I left on a plane in DC....I have about nine more pairs to give away to pay that one forward." Everyone laughed and the whole line lit up with smiles. I popped on my high heels and walked through the terminal -- feeling just great!
==================
Ok, so really, you just can't make up stuff like this!
It makes me wonder, if now that girl may help someone she would have otherwise walked past, and maybe some of those other people that overheard would do the same.
Maybe I can change the world after all, just as I had planned, one person at a time.
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