Tag Archives: kindness

An Icelandic Adventure: Part Two…The Beauty of Iceland

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“Your path is illuminated by the light, yet darkness lets the stars shine bright.”
— J.L.W. Brooks

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
I DID NOT see the lights.

I was getting itchy feet and wanted to take a quick trip to my favorite place…Scotland. Edinburgh is such an easy city for a single traveler. I wasn’t sure if anyone else would be going with me, so I began to make plans for one. I found a relatively inexpensive flat in the building where I’ve stayed comfortably several times, and I found an equally inexpensive flight via Icelandair with a schedule that would be perfect, with a brief layover in Iceland. I’d never flown Icelandair, but I’d heard good things about them. I booked the flat and airline tickets, and I was good to go. Edinburgh in late October-early November can be cold and rainy, so I didn’t want to invite a first-timer to join me, and I was perfectly fine to go alone, but I decided it would be more fun to invite my cousin, Doug, to join me if he was available. This wouldn’t be his first rodeo, and we travel well together. He agreed. With everything set, all we had to do was wait for the departure. Haggis and Sticky Toffee Pudding were in our future!

If you’ve got a layover in another country, can you count it as a country you’ve visited?…Me
Only if you leave the airport…Granddaughter, Fiona
If you pee in a country you can count it. Hey, You’re leaving your DNA…Seatmate, Maria Oh! This one counted! Believe me!

Flying from Boston to Keflavik wasn’t a long flight, but my seatmate and I found it a rather uncomfortable, bare-bones trip. She was a darling, and although I generally prefer not to make conversation with the person next to me on a flight, the two of us really hit it off, and I was blessed by her companionship. She was on business, coming to Iceland from…San Diego. Oh, my! Neither she…nor I, for that matter, were prepared for what lay ahead.

“Oh, and it’s snowing,” the captain said rather nonchalantly as we made our final descent and landing.

I explained the logistics of this Icelandic Adventure in Part One…the delays, the chaos, the canceled flight, the disorganization, and the lack of information…but there was so much more to the story than the way we stood in line or jockeyed for position to get on a bus.

Iceland is known for its unparalleled beauty. My ChatGPT friend describes it this way.

Iceland’s beauty is unlike anywhere else on Earth—raw, otherworldly, and almost mythic in its contrasts.

Imagine vast lava fields blanketed in soft green moss, stretching beneath skies painted with streaks of pink and gold at midnight in summer—or illuminated by ribbons of emerald and violet in winter’s northern lights. The landscape feels alive: geysers hiss and roar, volcanoes smolder beneath glaciers, and waterfalls—powerful, endless—tumble from cliffs into misty canyons.

The coasts are wild and dramatic: black sand beaches shimmer like obsidian, sea stacks rise like ancient sentinels from the surf, and icebergs drift silently through the glacial lagoons, glowing blue in the Arctic light.

Inland, the highlands are a dreamscape of color and solitude—ochre rhyolite mountains, steaming hot springs, and winding rivers carving through untouched wilderness. And then there’s the silence: vast, pure, and humbling, broken only by the rush of wind or a distant waterfall.

Iceland’s beauty feels both ancient and eternal—a place where the planet’s raw forces are still visible, and where you sense, more than anywhere else, the power and poetry of nature itself.

Trapped on buses, in motel rooms, and in the airport terminal, I saw NONE of that, but I was indeed surrounded by beauty at every turn.

The Icelandic beauty I saw was in the faces and actions of my fellow passengers who were stranded in Keflavik with me. It was in the kindness, concern, and compassion for others, even when personal comfort was in flux and ultimate destinations were unknown. There was a palpable feeling of “We’re in this together.” Everyone was frustrated, disappointed, and concerned, but for the most part, people kept those feelings in check.

The airport is enormous, so perhaps this spirit was not consistent throughout, but from my vantage point, I saw only goodness, thoughtfulness, and kindness. No voices were raised. No one tried to cut the line, and no one complained about crying babies or tired children. People shared snacks with strangers and offered words of encouragement to people feeling overwhelmed and discouraged. High school groups were respectful, subdued, and attentive to their chaperones. Although the preferred response may have been tears, people nevertheless found the strength to share smiles and even laughter.

I’ve been fortunate to visit many countries. In each one, without exception, I’ve waited in line for the loo. It was no different here. I don’t think men talk in the restroom line, but women do. The line was short, but the women talked…in many foreign accents… about where they were from, where they hoped to go, how to access the soap, which faucet produced the strongest stream of hot water, and how best to position your waterbottle for the quickest fill. It was a beautiful exchange. Simple, important, and caring. These small moments of normalcy provided an opportunity to reaffirm our connections with each other and the world beyond. Despite everything, we were going to be OK.

As the hours became days, I was blessed by innumerable acts of kindness and bountiful blessings beyond anything I could have expected. Strangers were understanding and patient with the glacial speed with which I descended stairways or climbed aboard the buses and trams, and people repeated directions for me when I couldn’t hear them or understand.

My guardian angel in all of this was a young man studying at St Andrews University in Scotland. I noticed him when we were expecting to make our transfer out that first morning. He was wearing a t-shirt from a store in a small town less than twenty miles from my home. At first, I thought he, too, was a Vermonter. He was from New York City. How serendipitous that he chose to wear that shirt…a gift from his mom…on that day…and that I saw it. We kept running into each other. He probably thought I was stalking him. Hey, he was cute…maybe subconsciously, I was. I enjoyed his company, and he didn’t send me away; in fact, he became like my adopted grandson, showing me great kindness and friendship. He had major school-related issues of his own; nevertheless, he looked out for me. Who cares about Northern Lights when you can observe the beauty in this level of generosity and caring?

Anna, Rachel, Luke, and I came together originally because we wanted to share a taxi to the airport in the morning. Our trust in the transportation provided by the airline back to the airport was waning, and we wanted to be sure not to miss our flights out. I believe that becoming a team strengthened all of us. We knew we weren’t alone and that someone had our back. We shared a lot and created deep bonds within a short time. I don’t know how I made the team, but truly grateful that I did.

Rachel and Anna hamming it up at 3:30 a.m. with No Sleep.
God, they were fun people!
Luke and I are at the airport. I’m the one with the tiny backpack.
The purple suitcase and lavender bag Luke is carrying are mine…and yet…he’s carrying them. Amazing!
Photo courtesy of Anna B Sexton

The world feels like such a dark place these days. We face economic stress, political tension, climate concerns, and deep social division. It’s difficult to stay hopeful, and we often struggle to find joy and light. Yet my experience in Iceland allowed me to see the essential goodness, grace, and compassion that still live within each of us—qualities we may forget, or that sometimes lie buried beneath the weight of our worries. I missed a few days in Edinburgh, but don’t feel sorry for me. I wouldn’t have chosen this episode in my life, and I hope never to repeat it. I did not see the Northern Lights, but I saw the light of kindness, support, and love. What a gift. I am truly blessed!

Photo courtesy of Pixabay.
The beauty I saw was not in the sky..

“I will love the light for it shows me the way, yet I will endure the darkness because it shows me the stars.” 
 — Og Mandino

The Winooski River…One Week in July 2023

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“You can’t argue with a river – it is going to flow. You can dam it up, put it to useful purposes, you can deflect it, but you can’t argue with it.“ 

–  Dean Acheson

“I couldn’t stand living where you do,” he said.”You are so close to the river. You know, you can never turn off the sound of the water plunging over the falls. It never stops.”

I purchased my condo a year ago, and contrary to my friend’s opinion, I rather like the sound of the water as it rushes on. He was right, though; like a close friend, it’s always there, whispering, giggling, and sharing secrets in the background of every activity in my tiny home. I usually find its constant presence comforting, but on those rare occasions when the white noise seems overwhelming and perhaps a tad annoying, I simply close the window or turn up the radio. Like any bosom buddy, the river never seems to mind.

It may be silly… at my age, I’m entitled to a wee bit of frivolity…but sometimes, as I watch the river from my living room, I imagine that I’m on a cruise ship that is taking me on a grand adventure, and the river never disappoints. I watch the changing seasons from my deck and delight as families of geese and ducks swim past, occasionally stopping to fish and forage among the cattails that line the nearby banks. Herons, turtles, and kingfishers also make an appearance now and then; even tubers and kayakers find their way down the river.

Oh River...My River
A dessert as sweet, silky and smooth as butterscotch pudding.

A necklace studded with the feathered jewels of geese, goslings, and mallards linked with clasps of giant turtles.

Bring me your unbridled delight and self-assured contentment.

I will pour them into cut-glass goblets and serve with fresh fruit and honey.
A pair of Canada Geese keeping an eye on the teens.

July 2023 arrived accompanied by rain. I watched the raindrops—first one and then another—create patterns of ever-widening circles disturbing the smooth surface. Soon, the solitary droplets were joined by a chorus of staccato drumbeats, leaving pockmarks in their wake. There is something soothing about a gentle rain on a summer day.

Oh, River…My River

A stippled dance floor patterned by hoofers who tap in circular heel-toe-rhythm.

A gauzy summer dress of pastel Dotted Swiss.

Bring me your unquestioning acceptance and continual adaptability to unexpected alterations, unscheduled revisions and unplanned transitions.

I will place them gently in a Tiffany box displayed with other treasures.
Raindrops tap-dancing on the river.

The rain, however, continued off and on for days. Random periods of blue skies and sunshine belied the approaching danger.

“Be careful coming home,” my daughter warned as my granddaughter and I returned from a weekend trip to Canada. “There are flash flood warnings for this area. Stick to the main roads and don’t take chances.”

We drove cautiously through Upstate New York past swollen rivers, but as we drew near Montpelier, we realized this wasn’t going to be an a-few-roads-washed-out event. Entering town from Exit 8 on the Interstate, we were instantly aware that roads were already impassible. Stores were closed, or closing, and Main Street was being locked down. It was too late to build an ark. The flood was upon us.

Oh, River…My River

A locomotive churning, rushing, and unstoppable carrying flotsam, jetsam, hopes and dreams.

A water moccasin moving indiscriminately through the valley leaving poison and destruction in its wake.

Bring me your indefatigable persistence, your resolute power and singleminded confidence.

I will store them in a jar of Delft blue and proffer them sparingly with a wee silver spoon.

Like everyone else downriver from the dam, I watched and waited. Wrightsville Dam, just a few miles north, was within a foot of reaching capacity. Would it contain the water or overtop the barrier created after the Flood of 1927? This was an unprecedented event, and no one knew exactly what would happen in Montpelier if water was released. We watched and waited until the rain slowly subsided and the water level began to drop. Hopefully, this phase was ending.

Oh, River...My River

An aging rock star at the end of the final set, exhausted and played out.

A barn cat dropping dead mice on my doorstep…a gift, a demand for attention, or just too tired to carry it farther.

Bring me your astonishing resilience and incredible adaptability

I will keep them in a shaker next to the salt and pepper 
sprinkling liberally.
At the next bridge down, “See what I brought you,” the river seemed to say.

When the immediate danger had passed, neighbors, friends, and strangers ventured out to assess the situation and to see firsthand what the river had left in her wake. We stood together on the pedestrian bridge, looking on in astonishment and awe at the power of small drops of water that had decided to work together.

Oh River…My River

A contrite and apologetic school boy emerging from detention, yearning to make amends and return to class.

A Sunday morning realization that the detritus of Saturday night necessitates hours of clearing away, mopping up, hauling out. Picks up a broom and begins.

Bring me your inexhaustible energy, silent resolve, and desire for restitution and restoration.

I will burn them as a scented candle of perfume and light.

“I would love to live like a river flows, carried by the surprise of its own unfolding.” 

John O’Donohue

The Winooski River was born nearly ten thousand years ago. It has literally been here for millennia, yet new waters flow within its banks every day. As the Greek philosopher Heraclitus observed in 500 BCE, “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river, and he’s not the same man.” The river is a paradox, constant and dependable, yet always evolving and reinventing itself…never quite certain of its identity. The same waters that wreak havoc and destruction also bring life and joy.

Oh, River…My River

A complicated, prepubescent friend in search of themselves.

A super hero assuming the shape of the vessel or breaking free from the banks and confines of her existence and creating her own path.

Bring me your enthusiasm and openness to change…to try-on another’s cloak and experience life from new and unexpected perspectives,

I will wear them on a gold chain around my neck.

Much to my delight this afternoon, a lone Merganser was dipping and diving in the river just beyond my deck.

In this piece, I chose to write about the Winooski River but omitted any discussion of the destruction caused by the flood. My poor little state has been devastated. Montpelier is my home, and it is what I know best, but many, many towns were punished by this Flood of ’23.

I’ve been asked if I was affected by the flood. I’m beside the river but high enough above it to have avoided the flood waters. I don’t have a basement, so I’ve nothing to pump out, but here’s how I was affected: Post Office…closed. My bank…closed. My church and nearly all the other churches in town…closed. The bookstore…closed. Hardware store…closed. Both movie theaters and live theater…all closed. Restaurants…closed. Jewelry store…closed. My gas station…closed. Bars, liquor store, and cannabis shop all closed. Candy store…closed. Every store selling clothing…closed. The library…closed. Roads closed, and even City Hall and the police department had to relocate.


Whether or not there was water in your house, if you live in Montpelier, this flood affected and continues to affect you. Walking past growing mountains of debris, the remnants of the homes and lives of friends, neighbors, and strangers, is gut-wrenchingly painful. Conversely, the outpouring of love, kindness, and goodwill is palpable. Strangers working side-by-side to do whatever they can to alleviate the pain and suffering of others is heartwarming, humbling, and encouraging. We are Vermont strong.

This is Love made Visible
Photo: Ryan Holmes via Orbit of Love

You probably can’t muck out a basement, haul out soggy books, or wipe down walls, but you can help if you wish. One place to donate is through Montpelier Alive.

The Depth of My Seeing

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I can see clearly now the rain is gone. I can see all obstacles in my way. Gone are the dark clouds that had me blind. It’s gonna be a bright (bright) Bright (bright) sunshiny day.

Jimmy Cliff, I Can See Clearly Now

As I was getting ready to take a bath, the door suddenly opened, and without knocking, in walked my little sister…not an uncommon occurrence in my family. There’s not a lot of privacy with two younger sisters. I had already taken off my top and snaked off my slacks as well. While water filled the tub, I stood waiting in my panties and brand-new training bra.

Interesting concept that…an instructional undergarment. I never truly understood the function of a training bra. Training for what? But I digress and that of course is a discussion for another day.

Penny hesitated momentarily at the door with her mouth agape, shocked by the sight of her older sister sporting a brassiere. She quickly exited down the hall in the direction of our mother, pausing only long enough to shout back at me, “I’m telling Mom you’re wearing a breer!” Slipping into the bathwater I smiled. Yes, I was proudly wearing a “breer” and taking another step toward coming of age.

Don’t we all share similar milestones along our life’s journey? Losing a tooth, learning to drive, graduating from high school, the first job, marriage, children, grandchildren, all leading sooner than we imagined to retirement and Social Security. Cataract surgery, too, I now recognize as a senior citizen rite of passage.

During the past month I checked that off my list. Whoo! Hoo!

The local experts specializing in cataracts have refined the experience to a smoothly functioning assembly line…timed, efficient, and every detail carefully thought out, planned, and practiced. Throughout the entire process…start to finish…I probably saw my surgeon for less than an hour…including the procedure itself…as he moved from patient to patient, eye to eye. He was friendly, proficient, highly skilled…and he looked like he was about 20 years old. On the other hand, as I sat with my fellow patients waiting for our pupils to dilate, it was very evident that we all grew up with Howdy Doody, watched the Beatles on Ed Sullivan, learned to drive on a standard transmission, and remembered when kids played outside until the streetlights came on. None of us could remember getting old so quickly. By the way, if for any reason, you should ever need to find a collection of senior citizens, the waiting room of a cataract surgeon hits the jackpot!

Rachel Carson National Wildlife Refuge, Maine

Over the years, I’ve asked many people what they recall about getting their first pair of glasses. Most told me that they were amazed to realize that there were leaves on the trees…not just a mass of greenery, but individual leaves! Of course, they knew theoretically that there were leaves, but until they got glasses, the leaves remained an amorphous green cloud floating above a solid grey trunk. The removal of my cataracts provided a similar experience. Within a couple of hours of the surgery for my first eye, I was amazed at the clarity, brightness, and color of the world around me. I felt like I was going from an old model television to high definition. When I tried to explain this phenomenon to my granddaughter, who has only known HDTV, she said, “Oh, You mean, like when you get a new iPhone”? Yes, that’s it! That’s it exactly.

I had to wait four weeks before I could get my second eye repaired. Even with one very good eye, I was still finding it difficult to read. My frustration with reading prompted me to proceed with the surgical option in the first place. I struggled to read the required texts for my class, and if I couldn’t get my book club pick in large print, it was a nightmare. As the scheduled date for my second eye approached, I began to wonder. What if it isn’t my eyes that are making reading difficult? What if I’m losing my ability to concentrate? What if I’m just not a reader anymore? What if? What if?”

Surgery for the second eye was scheduled for Wednesday morning at 8:25. A few days later, I found myself lost in the pages of a book. By Tuesday afternoon the following week…a mere six days later… I had finished a book of 566 pages! Granted, this was a book I was highly motivated to read, but it proved that I could still enjoy reading!

I was back!

I was overjoyed at my ability to find pleasure in reading again, but what really surprised me was how quickly I forgot how challenging my sight had been before the surgery. I am already accepting clear vision as a matter of course. Unless I get a smudge on the lenses of my glasses, I forget how difficult it had been to see.

“For now we see through a glass, darkly;

I Corinthians 13:12 KJV

Our brains are so amazing that unless we really focus on an experience and try to hold on to the memory the present pushes it to the back of our minds. The beauty of a summer day, the smile of a grandchild, or the taste of a ripe strawberry will easily supersede the pain of negative experience, and while not truly forgotten it is nevertheless dulled and diminished…at least for a time…allowing us to enjoy the blessings of life that remain. Once the bad haircut grows out it is forgotten.

It has been a little more than a year since I wrote a blog post about what I thought it might be like coming out of the pandemic. I imagined that we were all standing on the threshold, moving from before to after. Of course, at the time, none of us could have envisioned just how vast that threshold was. We knew there would be a time after the pandemic, but it was as nebulous as the leaves on the trees pre-glasses.

As more of us are vaccinated and can once again gather in person, I find that it is becoming difficult to remember how painfully lonely I was for months on end as we avoided one another and kept each other safe by social distancing and self-isolating.

The weekly Zoom calls that provided at least a modicum of human interaction during the dark winter months are slowly being discontinued in favor of tentative in-person connections. Mask mandates are being relaxed and I’m finding that lipstick is once again part of my beauty routine. Our lives are quickly falling into a pattern that is comfortable and familiar. We can’t say we’re back, but we’re definitely on the way.

I don’t ask for the sights in front of me to change, only the depth of my seeing.

Mary Oliver

I am no longer worried that I may die from this dreadful infection, but I am worried that we…I…may forget the lessons learned about the value of human connection, human touch, and what’s really important. Rather than seeing the pandemic as the tree with undefined leaves, I might gather those truths that rest among the first leaves of Spring like the blossoms and press them to my heart instead of between sheets of waxed paper. This time of COVID has been painful, frightening, frustrating, and dangerous, but it also revealed a great deal of beauty in the way people supported one another with love, understanding, and kindness. Perhaps, as we emerge, we could remind each other of the blessings and gifts of grace this unique time has given us. Together we might be the people we hoped we’d be…the people we were meant to be.

Just Waiting For My Turn

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“The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.”

Arnold H. Glasow

Back in December, after having lived through a very challenging year, several of my friends began to contemplate the idea of choosing a word that would guide them through the coming year, a word that would become a mantra of sorts and one upon which they might meditate in the days to come. These friends shared the words that had guided them in previous years along with the words they were considering for 2021. I found this entire idea rather intriguing.  What word would I choose, I wondered.

When I settled on patience as the word that would guide me into 2021, I optimistically envisioned myself sitting before a fire with a glass of wine, the warm glow of candles, and snow softly falling just outside my window, as I crocheted, read, or was absorbed in something entertaining and life-affirming on the television.  I’d be uncomplaining, calm, and perhaps even serene as I waited for my turn to get the COVID vaccine or Spring…whichever came first. 

“It is strange that the years teach us patience; the the shorter our time, the greater our capacity for waiting.”

Elizabeth Taylor

Reflecting on the word I chose, now only three weeks into the new year, I’m reminded of a scene from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade.  Thinking he has found The Holy Grail, the villain drinks from the golden goblet and soon shrivels away to dust.  The Grail Knight, who has been guarding the true chalice, then remarks in a slow, deliberate tone, ”He chose…poorly”.  I think I too, may have chosen…poorly.

In truth, there was a fair amount of hubris in my decision. Certainly, I’d have the strength of character and the fortitude that comes with age, to be able to postpone the gratification that would arrive with the vaccine…or…Spring.

Spring Flowers Are A Long Way Off

But, wait a minute. Who was I kidding? I realize that I have to wait, but I don’t know what gave me the idea that waiting would be easy. After nearly a year of COVID isolation, I have crocheted the same pattern at least five times, I have trouble reading unless I get large-print text, and I’ve already binged watched all fifteen seasons of my favorite detective series. I am almost out of wine and I’ve been out of Diet Coke for a week.  There is snow outside my window…but it arrived with ice and slush as well.  Not exactly what I had envisioned. 

Public school prepared me to stand in line and wait my turn.  I never push or shove and although I might think about cutting the line, my conscience makes it a near impossibility. I immediately merge when the sign says lane closed and never try to pass cars expecting to squeeze in ahead of others. And more than once I’ve stood outside a closed bathroom door giving the present tenant privacy and time to complete their tasks only to discover that it had been unoccupied the entire time. I understand the morality of waiting, taking turns, and remaining in your place in line. I was taught well.

I really don’t mind standing in line when everyone is waiting equally.  I like take-a-number and I appreciate serpentine lines where you move up one at a time. You reach the head of the line after those before you have been served. Then…as it should be…it’s your turn. 

The British Crown Jewels

Twenty years ago, I joined a long line in The Tower of London to see the British Crown Jewels. It’s not often the approach to an event is as memorable as the event itself, but I have remembered this experience for two decades. The line of courteous visitors wound through two adjoining rooms. Videos of the Royals wearing the pieces we were about to see played on the walls.  When we reached the cases filled with the royal treasures, we stepped onto a moving walkway that carried everyone, at a snail’s pace, past the crowns, scepters, and the rest of the collection.  There was no jockeying for position because tall and short visitors had equal access. At the end of the walkway, people could exit the building. If, however, you wished to take another quick look, a docent would direct you back to the people-mover and you’d take your place once again.  It was such an orderly, efficient, and just system.

The worst standing-in-line experience I can remember was in Moscow in 2002. It took us two hours to go from our plane through passport control. It was a small airport and there weren’t many arriving passengers. It wasn’t that the officials were that thorough or that the process was complicated. The problem was that the line was very fluid.  People pushed, elbowed, and bullied in front of others who were ahead of them. My public school line-training and years of Sunday school lessons wouldn’t allow me to return a shove for a shove or even put up much resistance.  All in all…it was not a pleasant experience.

Four Wonderful Words!
Photo Credit…Pixabay

Standing in line for the loo is a uniquely female adventure and has taken place in every country I’ve ever visited.  There’s a special kind of bonding that takes place in the brief connection of women in bathroom lines. Of course, like any other kind of line, some remain silent and keep to themselves, but generally, women in long lines exchange smiles at the very least and often strike up conversations, share tissues from their purse when the TP has run out, and point out stalls that have just become available.  It is a temporary community of common need.

When we reached St. Petersburg, on that trip to Russia, we were treated to a fantastic lunch and entertainment in the Music Pavilion on the grounds of Pavlovsk Palace. While most elegant in every other aspect, there was no running water and no plumbing. Two porta-potties had been set up in the back. Presently, I found myself outside the familiar blue buildings in the ubiquitous line of women. 

The Music Pavilion Nineteen Years Later…Upgraded to THREE porta-potties.
Photo Credit: Visit-Petersburg.ru

Irene, who had quite a commanding presence on an ordinary day, proclaimed in a voice of added authority, “I’ve had just enough vodka to be assertive.” she said forcefully.  “We are all going to wait equally.  None of this his and hers stuff.  It will be first-come, first-served.” 

“Yes!” the rest of us exclaimed with smiles and muffled cheers. 

You can imagine what happened when my husband found himself in need of the WC.  Seeing two units and a single line of women, he assumed that, as is normally the case, the one without a line was standing at the ready for the next man to arrive…him.  Hilarity ensued as the women quickly put him in his place at the rear of the line.  I was told that one of the women even threatened with her cane, but I can’t swear to that.

This isn’t the first time I’ve waited for a vaccine. In the 1950s, my classmates and I were herded into the school gymnasium where we took our places in a long line that snaked around the room. I was too young to understand the promise the polio vaccine held for us. All I knew was there were a lot of kids crying. I wasn’t in a big hurry to get to the front of that line. How times have changed! Today it is the elders…those same kids from the ’50s and ’60s…who are counting on the promise that comes in a syringe. This time all the tears are tears of relief.

“Patience is not the ability to wait, but the ability to keep a good attitude while waiting.

Unknown…Probably a Woman

Perhaps there was more wisdom in my selection of patience as the word to lead me forward than I thought, for it has already taught me important lessons. I know that kicking and pushing won’t get me to my goal any faster. Even if they would, my belief in the inherent fairness of taking turns is so ingrained that I would never employ them. I know that friendship, connection,  kindness, and sometimes even humor are possible in the communal act of standing resignedly together in a line waiting. I know, too, that no matter how long the queue there is always an end and the eventual reward is worth all the effort. If life is indeed a journey, not a destination, then it may follow that waiting is also a journey. The length and speed of the line…like life… are out of my control, but whether I find a way to enjoy the trip or rail against it is up to me.

I’m considering cookies or maybe chocolate as my word for next year.

Chocolate, cookies, and tea.
Photo credit…Pixabay