A Passing Glimpse

Today was officially our last summer day, so I wanted to have a “do nothing” day. We finished school shopping this week with new backpacks, lunchboxes, shoes, and outfits. We were on the go all summer between summer camps, soccer, trips to hotels and amusement parks, camping, train rides and swimming lessons. I think we had only one day all summer when we never left the house. This morning I was ready for a “do nothing” day. Do nothing? Yeah, right… with three kids in the house, we were all climbing the walls by about 10:00 am.
So I packed lunches in their old lunchboxes, and by early afternoon, we had set out to “walk” our favorite trail, The Robert Frost “Interpretive Trail” in Ripton, Vermont. Some of Mr. Frost’s poems are posted along the way where walkers can pause, read, and reflect on the words written by the famous poet. Now, notice I said walkers can pause etc. Have you ever gone on a hike with children? They (at least mine) don’t move at a walking pace. They run, skip, hop, jump… but they don’t walk. Ever.
They ran ahead and shouted, “Mom! We’ll wait for you at the bridge,” or “Mom! I’m going off the path and I’ll meet you at the next corner.” That sort of thing.
While I walked, and sometimes I paused, read, and reflected on the words of several poems. Like this poem:
I often see flowers from a passing car
That are gone before I can tell what they are.

I want to get out of the train and go back
To see what they were beside the track.

I name all the flowers I am sure they weren't;
Not fireweed loving where woods have burnt--

Not bluebells gracing a tunnel mouth--
Not lupine living on sand and drouth.

Was something brushed across my mind
That no one on earth will ever find?

Heaven gives it glimpses only to those
Not in position to look too close.
This poem makes me think back to the first time I took my kids to the Robert Frost trail. My older son stayed within ten feet of me and my younger son held my hand. The idea of a third child, especially a foster daughter, had never crossed my mind. And we swiftly walked the mile loop, NEVER stopping to read a single poem. It was as if I was in the train car that Robert Frost referred to in his poem, and my children, the engineers, were driving it at full speed. That’s how it is. All parents say it, “Don’t blink because they grow up so fast!” Robert Frost said, “Heaven gives its glimpses only to those not in a position to look too close.” Do they mean the same thing? I think so.
All of Robert Frost’s poems talk of nature and are symbols of life and death. This particular poem reminds a lot of the last official day of summer. It was a great day, from which I can’t really pick my favorite moment. Was it when the kids ate their lunch in the arms of a giant pine tree? Was it when we all made fairy houses in the forest on the side of a steep hill to protect the fairies from impending Hurricane Irene? Was it when the kids crossed the brook barefoot? Was it picking wild blueberries and mulberries and staining our fingers and lips? I don’t know. They were all moments I can try to grab and hold in my heart, but Mr. Frost called them “glimpses.” He was right… the fall comes and then the winter comes and soon everything is covered in snow and then we are all older.
In the car, my younger son said to me, “Mom. Today’s your last day of summer vacation as a 43 year old.”
My, he’s tuned in. And it’s his last one as an eight year old.
Ahh! I could cry. I want to grab my kids and hug them and tell them to stop growing, but that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. Maybe instead of getting all sentimental, we can enjoy the last bit of today by watching a bad kid’s movie together. I’ll guess I’ll pop the corn.

Iceberg Lettuce

As a kindergarten teacher, I have to teach my students how to rhyme. Seriously! Rhyming is not a skill that comes naturally to a child, and whether or not a child can rhyme is graded on the report card. I ask each kid questions like, “Does the word frog rhyme with the word dog?” Now bear in mind, I have probably just pulled the little darling away from something fun in the classroom like “dress-up” or “block corner” and I have to force him/her to stand next to me and answer a bunch of questions. Leaving no child behind, you know? Some kids are very honest. They look up and say “I don’t care!” Other kids will stare at me blankly and shrug. A few others will answer “yes” or “no.” You see, knowing if something rhymes is a predictor of future reading ability. When I teach this concept, I try to make it fun. I randomly fit rhyming into conversation all day long. I say things like, “Sit in your chair… Claire.” (No one is actually named Claire). Or I say “Get back in line… Calvin Klein!” (No Calvin Klein either). It gets a little pathetic when I do it at home though. My husband knows to ignore me when I start talking like Dr. Suess on crack. Here’s my token phrase… “Don’t panic. We’re not on the Titanic.” I’ll say it to a student who is frustrated over a lost glue stick cap or a broken crayon because nothing could possibly be as bad as being on the Titanic and hitting an iceberg. It’s a good phrase. I take complete credit for it. I made it up. And I actually used it on myself… last night. Do you know what prompted it? Well, a piece of Iceberg Lettuce… what else? A tiny piece of green iceberg lettuce almost made me cry last night.
I know, you’re thinking it is JUST A GARNISH. Why did a piece of lettuce set you off?
Well, I will begin at the beginning… or I will try.
First of all, I have to explain why I am so fragile right now. Lettuce put it this way (ha ha), it has been one “hell of a winter!” We keep getting smacked with snow, and many of us are ready for spring. We have gone skiing, sledding, snowshoeing, and of course we have braved the elements shoveling and scraping. Enough is enough already. We’re almost through our wood supply and we had our WORST STORM THIS YEAR ON MARCH 7th! It actually was a record snowfall! AHHHH! Over two feet of snow piled up on the roof again. Many people think March is a spring month; not in Vermont! To have that Maple Syrup we are all so proud of, we have to have freezing nights and warm days and during those warm days, the snow melts and slides off roofs.
Remember that little detail.
The other thing that gets rough is that the snow has to get plowed and piled somewhere. We’re running out of room for it right now in our community. I struggle opening the doors to our car because the snow is piled up on the sides of the driveway. I feel like I live on top of a toboggon run.
A Honda Element is not the easiest car to exit in a narrow situation on a hill. The doors open in an unusual manner. The front door opens like a regular door (to the right), and the back door opens to the left. The front door has to be open so that the back door can open. I like it that way, because my kids are trapped in the car until I open the door to let them out. But then I have to grab my stuff, open their door, stand and wait for them to hop out with their stuff. And then they often bump the door, which smacks shut and knocks something out of my hands.
Here is a list of what I am usually carrying:
My Blag (purse)
My backpack
My laptop
My luncbox
Invariably something else too
I can hear you shouting, “DOWNSIZE!” “Carry Less!” or “Take two trips moron!”
Right. I live on this steep, steep, steep, hill and I don’t want to take two trips. I just want to get home and put my stuff down and put the busy day behind me.
And besides, during March in Vermont, people try not to make any important decisions. At this point in the year, everyone gets a little antsy with “Cabin Fever”, so it’s just not a good time to change daily routines, jobs, or marriages. So although I should perhaps downsize and put my wallet in my backpack or something simple like that, I simply can’t shift gears right now. Nothing changes in March. Wait until April. I’m trying to be a good Vermonter, stay the course, and be patient. Grass will appear again and then I can think clearly. I’m sure of it. I’ll make changes to my routine then (and not my job or my marriage if all goes well).
Besides, I always feel as if I need all these vessels with me. I’m a mom and I’m busy with many commitments. If I didn’t have my backpack, Blag or lunchbox, I would need something from inside one of them for some undeniable reason. It wouldn’t be the end of the world, but I just like to be prepared. Besides, I only have to bring the laptop back and forth every other day. The tech guy told me it has to show up at school every “coupla days to stay anti-virused.” The tech guy doesn’t live on my hill.
So, last night, I got of the car, opened the back door for the boys, and gathered ALL my things to prepare to climb the mushy summit. Although it had been snowing in the morning, it was now sleeting and the snow underfoot was slippery slush. The kids climbed out. Earlier, we had gone to the library, so there was also a giant “Where’s Waldo” book that had to go up the hill too. We had gone out to eat (a rare thing) so I was carrying take-out food for my husband in one of those flimsy Styrofoam containers. Now, you can see where this is going, can’t you?
Foreshadowing: slippery slush and snow-piled roofs that melt and slide onto paths and decks
I put my coat, hat, and mittens on and took a deep breath. I am a roadie. I am a woman. Hear me roar. The kids climbed ahead of me. It was pretty dark. We hadn’t left any lights on that morning, but we followed the tobaggon path past the snowman and onto the steps.
My son warned me, “There’s alotta snow on the deck, mom.”
“It must’ve come off the roof today.” I grunted.
“Why?” He yelled. I was well behind him.
Fast. Intense. Wants to know information. How dare he at 8:00 pm on a school night? I don’t have the energy for answering questions on a Thursday while carrying way too much uphill in slush!
He is that kind of kid. He wants an entire explanation of “why” the snow would come off the roof and I have to give it to him right then and there. He doesn’t care that I am causing myself to slip a disk because I am acting like a Grand Canyon pack mule. He is carrying enough of his own stuff to worry about helping me anyway.
“It melted.”
“Why?”
“It was over thirty-two degrees today. The snow warmed up and slid off.”
“Oh.”
By this point I was at the top of the slushy steps and I paused to catch my breath and prepare to step onto the giant mound of snow that was blocking what should be my path to my door. He had already made it to the door.
I took one giant step and one little step. Upon completion of my little step, I suddenly realized I had stepped on the tail of my own long winter coat. Everything in my hands and on my arms went flying as my exhausted brain tried to process the situation.
Now. If you are ever in this situation, (I know, you’re thinking “I never will be because I don’t live the way you do”) here is what happens: you’re brain will instantly make a decision on what to save. My priorities were my husband’s dinner and the laptop.
Well, things didn’t really go as planned. EVERYTHING went flying! It landed on the soft snow (the lap top is fine) I managed to snag one thing: a small piece of iceberg lettuce. Mid-air. Seriously.
My one son, bless his little heart, said. “Mom, are you okay?”
My other son, bless his heart, said, “Will we have time to watch tv tonight?”
I answered both of them at once, “Don’t worry about me boys, I’m fine!” Under my breath I said to myself, “Don’t panic. You’re not on the Titanic.” I could’ve laughed or cried at that point, either one would’ve been appropriate. I did what I had to do. I got up, brushed myself off, grabbed what I could find in the dark and went inside.
I don’t think I stayed awake too long after that. It had been a long day.
But this morning, I looked out the window to see my neighbor shoveling our toboggan run (driveway). It took me a second to realize that he was shoveling the driveway because the snow had come off his roof and completely covered the driveway. This meant that until the snow was removed, I could not get to work.
Ah… Friday. I made the necessary phone calls and got ready for work. “Oh well,” I thought to myself out loud, “I have no control over the situation. Don’t panic… We’re not on the Titanic.” I reminded myself.
We weren’t actually that late after all. My neighbor actually shoveled the entire thing pretty quickly. We left the house. I had forgotten that there was a giant mound of snow on the deck that we had to climb over. I took a deep breath of cold Vermont morning air and climbed the pile and descended the steps.
Then suddenly I saw something GREEN! I was a little confused at first. For a second, I thought it was grass. I thought it was spring. Silly me. It was just a misplaced piece of lettuce from last night. Iceberg lettuce. Garnish.
Ah… Friday. The end of the work week… and one day closer to spring. We’re almost there.
“Iceberg dead ahead!” I said to no one in particular.

Frozen Open and Snowed Out (Wine Not)

This blog is an attempt to fully understand myself and admit that I actually am a high-maintenance person. I have been in denial for about 30 years about who I truly am. I’m sorry. Please forgive my rant.
I always talk about how small our town is… I just figured out why… people don’t live here because about this time of year, it gets difficult! Very difficult!
I’ve decided Rochester, Vermont isn’t a real place. This snowy land is a snow globe on some bored child’s dresser. He shakes it at night before bed, and we citizens of this post card town wake up to lovely flakes flittering from the cloudy sky every morning. I believe it to be true. It is unreal how much snow we have as part of daily life here for MOST of the year. I’m looking out the window now. It’s coming down now AGAIN. As I watch, it’s dancing and covering my car in its daily layer of powdered sugar.
Normally doors are frozen shut and people get snowed in. Not us. It was worse this week for us… it was a tough week.
Last Saturday, we left our snowy mountain valley to go to the big city of Burlington, Vermont. Just as we drove about a mile north of our town, tiny snowflakes started to dance in the sky. “It’s just snow showers,” my husband and I reassured each other. It snows every day.
It does. We’ll be fine… ha… ha… please insert a wicked laugh here…
Snow is a four letter word. Don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty and can be fun too. But after it piles up for months, where do we put it all? How do we deal as the paths become narrower?
There are people who actually make a living removing snow around here. They shovel walks, plow driveways, and push snow off of people’s roofs. It took ten men eight hours to remove the snow from the top of the school this week. That made for a wonderful learning environment in kindergarten as the snow blower went back and forth on top of us. I wondered if it would fall on us. In hind sight, I should have hired one of those men from the roof at school to clear the roof over our deck at home. But I’ll get to that soon…
People who don’t know snow think there is only one type. This particular snow was the best snow for a snowball fight. It was just the right consistency. A person (like me for example) could grab a bunch and crush it instantly into a ball with minimal effort. It didn’t hurt to be hit by one of these snowballs. They were easy to make and even easier to throw. In fact, I hit both my kids and my husband in the head, and they laughed about it and in turn hit me in the head. Good snow! Great fun! The battle we had lasted at least twenty minutes. We were soaked and laughing by the end. Our dinner post snowball fight was warm and delicious. On the way to the restaurant, my oldest son kept hitting us with snowballs.
We of course realized last Saturday, that this wasn’t just snow showers at all; we couldn’t read the snow covered street signs. I couldn’t see to drive as the snow fell off the car roof and obstructed my view. It was a serious snowstorm. We didn’t expect that the weather was going to be so treacherous. The snow changed texture as the air changed temperature. A few hours after the snowball fight and dinner, we were driving home no faster than 35 miles per hour on Route 89 in icy conditions. We took our time.
Along the way, we actually saw “snow lightning”. It exists! I have never seen it! Have you? Its bright blue light reflected off the snow and lit up the mountains as we crawled along. It was actually lovely when it flashed. I felt honored in a way. I’ll always cling to that visual memory because it was gorgeous and dramatic. Apparently, some people live their entire lives and never see “snow lightning”. Cool, huh? Yep.
Until it changes to a different consistency again… which in Vermont can happen every ten minutes or so…
We arrived home at about midnight and our driveway hadn’t been plowed yet. The snow had certainly changed. It was now soft on the inside and crunchy on the surface. Each step we took toward the house UPHILL, our feet sunk and stuck about a foot in. The kids were disoriented because they had fallen asleep in the car and had to be led to bed. Insert sigh here…
Upon entering the house, it seemed cold, but I thought it was because we were damp from the storm.
Nope.
We had run out of oil in our furnace. Oops. Insert another sigh here…
Now, to our defense, our furnace is in the basement and the bulkhead to the basement is covered with snow. We are supposed to check the level of the oil and let the company know when it is time to come and fill it. Oops. And trust me, I just don’t think of things like that. I probably should, but there are so many other things to think about, you know? And we can heat the house with our wood-stove. And we’re not calling them to bring oil on the weekend. Too expensive! We’ll call on Monday… famous last words…
So to recap the week, we went without heat and hot water for FIVE NIGHTS AND FOUR days, my husband dealt with his second flat tire, struggled to close his car door because it was frozen OPEN, and we shoveled our way INTO the house (the snow slid off the mudroom roof onto the deck one day). Yes. Winter is bliss.
We (my husband) called on Monday to have the guys come with the Texas Tea… black Gold… oil… They couldn’t come. They were busy. They never came on Tuesday… ahhhh… we finally got our water back and our furnace primed and flushed out (or whatever) on Thursday.
And I NEED HOT WATER TO BE A GRATEFUL AND PLEASANT PERSON… can you tell? High-maintenance. Yep- that’s me.
Each day through the week, I felt grimier because I hadn’t showered… Snow is good… I chanted… snow is good. But I felt cranky…
On Tuesday, I took my class snowshoeing for the first time. Snow is good…
As the days wore on, my hair clung to itself… snow is good…
As my skin began to feel slimy, I watched the many sleds flying down the hill behind the school and kids shrieking with joy. Snow is good…
As the week wore on, I felt pretty haggard. My friend Claudia stopped her car in the parking lot and rolled down her window.
“Hey!” She smiled cheerfully.
“Hello.” I half grumbled.
“You look nice.” She said sweetly.
“What?” I snapped. I couldn’t take it anymore. I spilled it all right there and then. I couldn’t possibly look nice! I hadn’t bathed in days.
She invited me to use her bathtub that night. “We have hot wata!” She said in her New York accent. Now she has a HUGE antique claw foot tub; I have wanted to take a bath in that thing since I first saw it a year ago at her daughter’s birthday party. Okay, I’m weird… but have you ever taken a bath in a HUGE antique claw foot tub? Has your friend Claudia ever given you a glass of white wine to sip casually as you soaked in her HUGE antique claw foot tub? Winter is bliss…
Try it sometime. Especially after you haven’t felt hot water against your skin for days… snow is good… hot water is good… my glass of wine was half-full and life suddenly got better as it emptied.
See, as I sat there in the hot water at Claudia’s house and reflected on my week, I realized something. We adults forget how fun snow can be because we have to work so hard to maintain things. We have to shovel it and move it off bulk-heads and scrape it from our car windows. We have to scrape it from roofs or snow will collapse on pathways and break the roof rake (yep), and give chickens warm water every morning. We have to stack the firewood in preparation and stoke the fire to warm our Vermont homes. We have to drive slowly and carefully. I realized that my body was probably aching a little bit. No wonder I was cranky. A hot bath soothes the muscles too.
I closed my eyes and relived our family snowball fight. I remembered how nicely the snow packed in my gloved hands. I thought of my class and their little smiles as we crossed the deep white stuff for the first time in our snowshoes without sinking to our hips. I thought of the “snow lightning”. Certainly I wouldn’t have seen “snow lightning” without snow, right? Snow is good… in fact, it’s great!
So now I’ve come to admit it… I am a high-maintenance woman. I ask a whole lot. I need a HUGE antique claw foot bath tub filled with steaming hot water and a glass of white wine. After my skin had turned red, I pulled the drain and listened to the gurgle. The drain took all my troubles away. Ahhh…
Sorry… I am who I am. I need hot water. Now I’m ready for another week. And now it’s just five more weeks until spring, according to the damn groundhog. Oh, but that would be in Pennsylvania. In Vermont, we have to double it, because mud season has to come first, you know? Stay tuned…

Ass Over Tea Kettle

Any day that starts with a tea kettle frozen to the top step outside the door is bound to be interesting, especially if there is no way to open the door. Today was one of those days.
HOW did the tea kettle come to be frozen, you ask? Because, among other things on his “honey do” list yesterday (like call in “frozen” to work), my husband did me favor and gave the chickens their morning water. He then set the tea kettle down outside the kitchen door and walked to our neighbor’s house to borrow a blow torch.
Yes, I did say blow torch.
See, in addition to our washing machine seizing up, our pipes were frozen in the living room (3 problems.) Most people would consider using a blow dryer on the pipes, but I don’t use such modern appliances such as cell phones and blow dryers.
It was a Manic Monday. It was 20 degrees below zero, so we had a two-hour school delay because children couldn’t be outside. Bus drivers needed the heat of the sun to start buses. Teachers couldn’t warm their brains enough to teach reading and writing and arithmetic. Car batteries struggled to turn over. My iPod couldn’t register any sign of life until I brought it inside for an hour.
And we have chickens? I can’t imagine being a chicken right now. How do they stay warm? It must be intolerable. You’re probably thinking “They’re animals”, right? They have adapted to the cold with glycerin in their feet and their thick downy feathers. Well, that may be true but they aren’t laying eggs right now. They are free-loading, but I can’t say I blame them. There just isn’t enough light in the course of a day for a chicken to consider the urge to drop an egg.
The appliance man who came to fix the washing machine told me that when his chickens stop laying eggs, his family eats more chicken soup. I don’t have the heart to kill them because they don’t lay eggs in the winter. It’s not their fault it’s wintertime.
Though not a chicken, I am an animal too. I’ll prove it. As soon as I realized I couldn’t open the kitchen door this morning, I think I may have growled… at my husband in an animal-like fashion.
It sounded something like this: (when you read the following, please make sure to sound angry)
“When you give the chickens water, please make sure to put the tea kettle back on the stove! I got stuck to the step. I can’t open the door.” Now you’re thinking I should be grateful that he did me a favor the day before, and I should focus on what is right and not wrong… preserve my relationship… but I couldn’t OPEN THE DOOR TO GET OUT.
I tried to reach my hand out the door far enough to pull on the handle. I wasn’t strong enough. I tried to pour hot water onto the step and then pull on the handle. I still wasn’t strong enough. I finally decided to go out the OTHER door with a pot of water and go AROUND the house to the chickens. I figured I could kick the tea kettle off the step on my way back inside after I gave them water. I was in a huge hurry because mornings are rushed with packing lunches, getting kids dressed, breakfast, chickens, and of course there’s the added stress of opening the mud room door that gets stuck in the winter because of the frost heave that forms under the deck. I had to put the pot of water down and yank on the door handle with all my might to open that door to get out. Claustrophobia anyone?
So there I was stomping (like a brat) out the other door with a pot of hot water, but I quite didn’t make it as far as the chicken house. There was a bit of ice coating the stairs (that were already covered with snow), so of course I fell (ass over pot of water in this case.) A string of profanity flew from my mouth that probably woke up the neighborhood, or at least my neighbor who was scraping his windshield.
“Son of a %#NFKGHD&SUSFKF!@*(&&^55sdfhiugivbjbgg*&&%#%#%9082327!”
The pot flew into the air and the water landed on me. I couldn’t believe the water didn’t freeze in mid-air and smack me on the head like I had seen it do on the internet.
I stood up and shook like a hosed-down dog and stomped to the door with the pot in my hand. I pushed my way through the frost heave and slammed the door (so it would stay shut of course.)
Now the expression on my husband’s face was priceless. He wanted to laugh, but couldn’t. He needed to figure out how to respond without laughing because he knew I was not in the mood… and of course there wouldn’t be time to stop and laugh in the morning. I’m sure you have gathered our mornings are rushed.
“Are you okay?”
“No. I fell down the #$*&^$^$$&^% stairs. I’m taking a shower.”
“How ‘bout I take care of the chickens this morning?”
Good answer. “That would be great.” Water and fury dripped from my lips, “When you’re on your way back in, could you please get the tea pot from the back steps?”
My kids probably didn’t notice the incident, but after my shower, I paid them both 50 cents because I swore (twice, 25 cents per swear), and apologized for my animal-like behavior. They didn’t care. In fact, Desmond went to school and shared the story with his class during sharing time. By mid-morning his teacher asked me if I was okay since I had fallen down the stairs.
When I took the car to the shop in town to get the oil changed that day, I was convinced that Mike (the mechanic- yeah- I know “Mike and the Mechanics”) would ask me if I was okay after falling down the stairs. I’m sure he knew. Like I said, my neighbor saw me when he was scraping his windshield.
As the day progressed, I became able to laugh and see the humor in what had happened. I fell “on my ass over the tea kettle” and how many people can claim that? My husband and I exchanged laughs about it via email and later on that night we sat down to dinner.
We always say what we are grateful for before we start to eat. We hold hands and take turns and say what we are happy to have in our lives. When my oldest son shared, he said his token “I’m glad we’re not slaves,” AND he said, “I’m glad my parents are not split up.”
Full stop. Think about that.
He’s right. He should be grateful his parents are not split up because there are only three sets of parents in his class who are still married. It is something to be grateful for.
So now it’s time for what I’m grateful for. I am grateful to be married. I’m grateful my husband helps around the house – inside and out-. And believe it or not, I am grateful that I live where it’s cold, because if you want to preserve something you always should put it in the freezer.

In the Middle of Somewhere

• Author’s note: Please know that the names of everyone (except my husband Nick) have been changed to protect the innocent and humble.

We like it this way… in the middle of nowhere. We can see the stars at night (when it’s not raining or snowing.) We can say “hi” to EVERYONE (I do mean everyone) in the local grocery store. We can call the store and ask the clerk to add a red onion to our husband’s cart as he passes through the line (who needs a cell phone bill?) We wave when we pass each other on the road, AND… the biggest and best part about living where we do is that we stop to help each other if we are in need. Here’s a great example.
A week ago, Nick got a flat tire on his way to work at about 8:30 in the morning along Route 100. Route 100 is our biggest road with on lane flowing north and one lane flowing south. Now, a flat tire is rarely timed well, but Nick says this one was particularly badly timed because the temperature was cold, his shoulder hurt, and the roads were snowy and slick.
He got out of the car to grab the donut (and not one with frosting on it from Dunkin.) Just as he was about to change the tire and push on with the day, a man named Keith (*not his real name), stopped to offer help. Our connection to Keith is that he has a daughter in my kindergarten, and he was just coming from depositing her at school for the day.
Never one to refuse help, Nick agreed to the offer. Now he had help and good company and good conversation. A bad situation suddenly turned better.
They changed the tire and Nick was about to head off to work. But Keith offered to take my husband’s car to the shop for him. He switched cars with my husband so that Nick could take the car to work(about ½ hour north on Route 100.) Nick was on his way to work feeling grateful. The offer from Keith was generous and far above and beyond what any person should do.
If you can imagine, it gets better.
My husband called to tell me the story mid-morning. “Did you hear?” He asked. It is a small town, so I probably should have already heard. Most of the town probably knew Nick had a flat tire before he did.
Keith and his wife stopped by school to have lunch with their daughter. I expressed my complete gratitude as soon as I saw them, but they were very humble about it. “It’s what people should do for each other.” Keith said. “His car is done. Now, where does he work? We’d like to bring his car back to him.”
If you can imagine, it gets better.
They drove the car to Small Dog Electronics http://www.smalldog.com/
and presented my husband with the car. They would not accept any gas money from my husband or money to pay for the snow tire that had replaced the flat! Just flat out refused (please don’t mind the pun.)
Just knowing that we live in a town where people help each other is a beautiful thing. But what do you say to people who are like this? Is thank you enough? Do you mail them an anonymous card with money in it? Would that be enough?
I don’t know the answer to that. I just try to remember the deed and realize that people are naturally good inside and that they want to help whenever they can. I am sharing the story, so that you too can feel good too. Though evil exists, so does goodness. The goodness outweighs the evil. Almost erases it.
And I will try to never forget the good deed, with a “pay it forward” attitude. Perhaps I will have a chance to help someone some day. I will stop and help (unless it’s changing a tire because I don’t think I can remember how to do that.)
Nick wrote a thank-you note two days ago.
The same day I gave them the note, Keith was backing out of his driveway, and his car slipped and got stuck on a log in a ditch. The injustice! Some people believe that no good deed goes unpunished. I still don’t believe that. The glass is half-full. It has to be. It’ll work out. Keith is a good person. Everything happens for a reason.
He and his family live on a dead-end dirt road, so NO ONE would be driving by to help him. As soon as I heard about the situation from his wife, I told her that she could use our AAA towing option to get the car out of the ditch. Hooray! I can help!
Maybe it would help, but I wonder sometimes about our AAA. Around here, there is only one shop that will send a truck out for AAA towing, and it’s located in Rutland, which is almost an hour’s drive. We have had AAA come to us and it can sometimes take up to 3 hours before they arrive. But it’s paid for. And they can get cars out of ditches! It’s always the same AAA driver. Maybe he’s the low guy on the pole, so they send him to the “Heart of the Green Mountains.” I don’t think he’s awesome at the job, but he tries. He broke a hole in our bumper once and had to pay us cash to get it fixed. He towed our van and slipped into a ditch last winter and they had to send a tow truck for the tow truck. Each time I see this AAA guy, I can tell he is nervous about coming here. He even told me once that his GPS doesn’t work and he always gets lost around here.
Despite all of the woes of AAA, Keith’s wife seemed grateful for the offer because they had tried a small pick-up and a chain and nothing was working. I reminded her to call us for help later if they needed AAA. She said that she would. I silently hoped that the AAA guy would pull through and do a good job this time. I also hoped he wouldn’t get lost.
They never called… but…
if you can imagine, it gets better.
Keith’s wife came to school yesterday morning smiling sweetly as always. I asked her about their car and if everything was taken care of.
“It’s a great story.” She answered.
So, here it is. She went home two days ago and told Keith about our AAA offer. They were standing outside in their driveway on their dead-end road. She had barely finished her sentence about us offering AAA when they heard a rumbling noise on the road.
It was AAA.
On a dead-end road.
On the way another call.
Keith waved the truck down, and the car was pulled out of the ditch.
Now, do you believe that? I think it’s great. They live on a dead-end road and the AAA truck driver was LOST! The GPS doesn’t work. Do you think it’s the same AAA driver? I do. It’s Vermont. It’s just how it is here.
We like it this way… in the middle of nowhere. We can see the stars at night (when it’s not raining or snowing.) We love our local grocer. We wave when we pass each other on the road, AND… the biggest and best part about living where we do is that we stop to help each other if we are in need.
But I’m not calling it “the middle of nowhere” anymore. I’m calling it “the middle of somewhere.” Because it is. Vermont’s special, and we know it. We know it well. It’s good here.