How Do We Know?

The cheque was “too much” I was told. The work that they did I could have done myself ~

just not in a timely manner.

Money as payment for services rendered, when accompanied by gratitude, is payment for size of the job and for the way in which the job is done.

The size of this particular job?

Grass waist high in some places, 

only knee high in others ~

The cheque was not ‘too much’.

Neighbour’s opinions on the worth of the job could have

many different answers.

I didn’t take the time to canvas the neighbourhood, but tentatively relied on my own judgment.

Getting the job done, and done willingly, was more important than taking up time for learning other's opinions.

How do we know how much is ‘enough’ without 

a pay grid

a salary cap

seniority benefits

years of experience

p.s. My ‘meadow’ has, very gratefully, been tamed, thank you to neighbours Alex and his dad.

"Gratitude can transform common days into thanksgivings,

turn routine jobs into joy,and change ordinary opportunities into blessings.”

~ William Arthur Ward

Vision and Story in Rags

Today was spent culling clutter throughout my house. It seems a regular, ongoing task. I really don’t know where the clutter comes from.

Most of it today was old clothes - clothes worn for work, or play, and some warm cuddly night clothes. Whatever they were, they were my favourites. I look into the box where I store all of these pieces of fabric and think of quilts that could be made of precious scraps, old soft cloths that would really do a nice job cleaning my glasses, or rags that would make really wonderful dusters. Looking at the tags, all these clothes have come from Great Britain, China, Taiwan, Canada, United States - really all over the world.  

As my hands cut and folded the worn clothes, I thought of the person behind the creation of each piece. Every step in the process of making any clothes required vision, creativity and plain old elbow grease.

For each person involved, money changed hands. For some the only vision may have been money in a bank. For others, it may have been grocery or rent money. Still others may have had a design in their head waiting to be made real. Some may have been really proud of handmade workmanship. And still others may not have cared for anything other than paying a piano teacher. Last, but not least, pride in growing cotton or raising silk worms is far from my closet, but at the beginning of the creations.

Whatever their reasons, and however these people participated, I have enjoyed all of their talents. I am grateful for my little box of memories - pieces of fabric that tell me a story each time I open my box of ‘rags’.

“When eating bamboo sprouts, remember the man who planted them.”

~ Chinese Proverb

Last Penny, First Meal

Last Penny, First Meal

Sitting alone, he reached into his pocket and found a coin. Pulling it out, it was just an old penny. Pennies meant nothing any more, but he thought he’d keep it anyway. Kind of a keepsake now that Canada wasn’t making them anymore. And it truly was his last penny. His once shiny shoes were dusty and his wrinkled suit was dusty as his shoes. He was tired after a long day walking the streets. 'Pounding the pavement' that’s what his dad used to call it. Offers of handouts, he was sorry he hadn’t taken. He was hungry - his stomach tight and sunken. He had been so sure that today would be the day he would find a job - a job that lasted. He had done a one time stint the day before at a restaurant washing dishes so he at least got fed a good meal. The sun was warm. The streets were quiet - everyone home. Home. For supper. With a family. 

Living on the streets was foreign to him. He didn’t belong with those folks gathered around the fire in the park after dark. He didn’t belong in the line ups at the soup kitchens. He shook his head. How had he gotten here? He’d heard his own story told many times - but it was at the water cooler or over dinner with a friend - and then it was always about someone else. Someone with no name or no face. He hadn’t learned how to survive without a pay cheque. Those lineups were filled with laughter, arguments or flat blank stares. He just didn’t belong there. He had had a good upbringing - sure there were arguments and dissatisfaction but it was just normal stuff. He followed his big brother through school always trying to keep up to him. He played a lot of sports. He got a good education that got him a good job. Almost even got married, but she found her career more important than having a family with him. That was OK. That’s kind of what women were doing these days.  

Then the company he was with went bankrupt - he didn’t know all the details, just that he was out of a job. Done. In a city far from any of his family - anyone he knew.

“Hey buddy. What are you just settin’ there for? Don’t you know it’s time to eat?”

An old fellow with a long fuzzy white beard and a long white braid had stopped in front of him. His clothes were neat and clean, but completely mismatched. The young man smiled at himself for the judgments tumbling through his head.

“I’m not sure I’m all that hungry, but thanks. My name is Steve.” He automatically reached out his hand in greeting. “Well I suppose I could eat a little bit. Do you mind if I join you? I haven’t a chance to visit with anyone all day. Been looking for work. By the way, how do you people survive out here? I’m between jobs and am getting back on my feet.”

“Sure, Steve, come on with me and I’ll introduce you to the folks that run this here kitchen. There’s a buncha pamphlets that’ll tell you all kinda things. Where meals are, job info, somethin’ called resume writing and how to get a clean room for the night - if you’re quick. My name is Joe and I kinda talk a lot but I’ll try to slow down a bit. Here we are.”

Joe greeted a few of his friends with laughs, back slaps and, gently to some, - ‘How’re you doin’ today?”  Embarrassed, Steve stayed close, and was introduced around.

“Steve, I finally got me a place to live but I like to keep my feet down here so I can spot you young fellas that need a guide. I can show you good and bad. Point out those folks to stay away from and those that are real helpers. Did you ever learn that stuff in all your schools and jobs? Livin’ on the street you get to feel the sun and the rain. That’s good. Livin’ on the street, you can’t lock your doors - that’s bad."

“I’d never thought of those things. I’ve been doing what I thought I should be doing - until now. But there’s no manual for suddenly being homeless with no money. The money I made at my jobs, I spent as fast as I made it. I guess it’s time to learn about surviving on my own wits and learn what’s important to me."

“Yep. You can be angry and feel sorry for y’self.  Or you can come on with me and have supper. There’s some real learnin’ to be done here if you’re willin’ to be humble and ask for help.”

The young man still didn’t feel like he belonged but the old man had spoken to him as an elder to a child, all the while walking him to his first meal in a homeless shelter.

“People who are homeless are not social inadequates.

They are people without homes.”

~ Sheila McKechnie

Proof of Purchase

Receipts ~ what good are these crumpled itemized bits of paper 

cluttering pockets, purses and dashboards, filling trash bins with shopping history?

Some long, some short, some barely legible.

Dates, times, taxes, maybe even the name of the clerk.

Sometimes a little happy face and a thank you.

But really ~ what good are they?

Made of paper ~ trees have fallen for their very existence.

Jobs were created from all that chopping and paper making.

Pristine and coiled, glossy and white

ready to serve a chugging, whirring machine

spitting out a proof of purchase ~ a detailed shopping reminder

What I do know is this ~ 

when the number of receipts in my purse exceeds the dollar bills that I started out with, it’s time to leave the store and go home.

(In the case of plastic, attention to detail is the order of the day.)

“We need proof in our society.”

~ Shirley MacLaine

Illusive Intruders

Grasping greedy fingers

scratching at my door ~

the virtual world of spammers

have been greeting me once more.

Checking spam folders daily

I change passwords as I go.

How these illusive little calling cards

find tiny loopholes, I’ll never know!

There seems to be an attraction,

this month with theme of money.

Those spammers have been as busy

as buzzing bees searching for sweet honey.

I’m sure some one of them will read this,

take offense, feel dreadfully misunderstood.

Some may grin or laugh out loud,

but to pry and grasp is not so good.

“Most people are awaiting Virtual Reality; I’m awaiting virtuous reality.”

~ Eli Khamarov

Financial Stamina

Tough times or just enough money for the month.

Meeting ends to tie shoes and tighten belts.

Financiers of the world ~ a different culture.

Polished shoes and comfortable clothes?

Grassroots folks 

work daily at available jobs or

on low fixed incomes

with families to feed.  

Buying groceries,

paying light and power bills,

keep body and soul together.

Financial stamina is not about big business, 

but about the business of each day of each week. 

“The endurance of the inequalities of life by 

the poor is the marvel of human society.”

~ James Anthony Froude

Mother's Days ~ Theme for May, 2013

Multitasking ~ juggling groceries, clothes or gifts when money’s to be spent.

Omnipotent ~ eyes in the back of their head

Teaching ~ lessons not learned until children become parents

Healing ~ broken hearts, not broken bones, but maybe a bit of broken china.

Encouraging ~ any activity that doesn’t involve extra clean-up

Refereeing ~ sibling rivalry ~ ‘nuff said

Saying No ~ when 'yes' was the desired answer.

“The heart of a mother is a deep abyss at the bottom

 of which you will always find forgiveness.”

~ Honore de Balzac