It’s been a long time since she asked for my coffee club card. It’s  at least a couple years now since the young mother with the pink streaked hair stopped asking.  I used to know her name long ago when she started working the 11pm to 7am shift at the seedy convenience store I visit every morning about 430am for a $1.62 cup and a chat about important things.

This morning was a little different.

I pulled up and walked in at the expected time and performed my cream and coffee ritual. She was making fresh pots when we picked up where we left off at the same time yesterday morning in the dark when the store is always empty of customers save the same old nameless homeless guy out front whose hand I always shake as I walk in.

“How’s the kids?” I asked, as she was scooping grounds and wiping up the creamy drips of someone before me. “Oh they’re good, Josh started basketball and we had another birthday for him on Saturday” she replied as we often opened with updates on her family.  She took the night shift so she could be home when they wake up to get them off to school like a ‘regular’ mom. She lives just down the street, an easy walk to and from a job that can’t pay more than $11.25 an hour, which has surely gone up a couple bucks since we first met, if not for her job performance then at least for her change in countenance.

Over the years, we’ve talked about many things. Important things.  She’s read all the 150 stories on my website at least a couple times each and asks me to tell her when I have a new one.  Right about now, she’s probably reading this and surprised to be my topic of the day.

Well, it’s because this morning was a little different.

Our daily devotions together often focus on the themes of my stories about life change, inspiration, humor and paying things forward when we are able. Over the years, we both have changed, but hers has been nothing but remarkable.  The pink streaks are still there, as are the multiple piercings that decorate her face, but she’s not the same angry person I met a couple years ago. I have since wondered if our ten minutes a day over coffee could have helped to change the bitterness of a young single mother into the charming, cheerful young lady she’s since become.

And then she shared with me evidence that our chats had, indeed, been a buoy for a lot longer and a lot more than I’d realized.

Today’s topic centered on some things I needed to do as soon as I arrived at the office that would determine if a few clients will have food for the coming weekend or not and how, in that sense, my job is very rewarding.

Coffee made and winding up our brief morning ritual, she shared with me something pretty incredible.

“You know, you’ve racked up a lot of free coffee over the past couple years.”

I acknowledged that I had but that I’ve never been good at keeping track of it.

Apparently, she had.

“Every time I used to ask for your coffee club card, you always joked and told me to put it in my job description to keep a running tab.  I know you’ll never redeem the cards and the every 6^th cup free bonus, so I hope you don’t mind what I’ve done,” she began explaining, asking for my indulgence with an endearing, sheepish grin she’d gradually grown since we’d been friends.

“John out there has been my homeless friend for a long time.  And since you don’t use your coffee club bonuses, I’ve been using them to buy him a small coffee and a donut whenever he shows up.  And we talk about important things together before he leaves, just like you and I do every morning.  I’ve read him some of your stories and heard pretty much everything about his life there is to know.”

I smiled and said I liked her style and think she’s doing a noble thing with my coffee rewards and to keep it up.

She’s a different young woman than I met a couple years ago. She shares better stories of her kids and is quite optimistic about their future as a family. Mostly though, her face glows each morning and she has a smile that makes me forget about all the piercings to see how beautiful she’s become inside.

Time was up. I had to get to work to get some people fed for the weekend, and to write this story.

I paid my $1.62 and said thanks until tomorrow.

And as I walked out, I again shook the hand of a homeless man as I had so many times before..

But this time, I thanked him and called him by name.

Today was the first time I’ve ever seen his smile.

I wish I’d planned better,

worked longer, took the other job, done this and not that.

I wish I’d had someone to tell me what today would look like.

I wish I hadn’t called in sick, took that fall, been more careful at certain things

and more careless at others.

I wish I’d been able to see the world, see my grandchildren, see my lover one last time.

I wish I’d stayed in the game, away from those of some people and closer to others.

I wish I’d lived when I had the chance and taken chances that made me feel alive when I had them to spend.

I wish I could go back in time and take the road less traveled more often or simply, traveled more.

I wish I had more wishes that came true and that I’d been more true to myself.

I wish I’d given more instead of giving up more often.

I wish it wasn’t over when I still have beginnings left.

I wish I’d dwelt on cliffs instead of valleys, nows instead of maybes and I wish I’d been more aware.

I wish it wasn’t so quiet and dark and moist and blurry. And I wish it wasn’t so red.
And I wish I’d kept my eyes on the road
instead of my phone,
and had more time
for a better final wish
than that.

Hundreds of groups
and cancer societies,
“Fun” runs for the cause
So many varieties.

Medical remedies,
And pills by the score
Injections and treatments
But wait…so much more.

Diets and lifestyles
Eat this and not that
Exercise, energize
And warnings like that.

Tobacco and sugar
Red meat, even chicken
Too much or too little
And you mght be stricken.

Research and politics
Pharma conspiracies
Media stories that
No one ever sees.

The answer to cancer
The cure and the healing
Is out there somewhere
But no one’s revealing.

So deaths by the millions
Are an agony still
Marching undaunted
Continuing to kill.

By random selection
Genetics or chance
The villain arrives
And takes the last dance.

So stand up and speak out
Condemning on cue
And pardon the French but
My answer to cancer:

Fuck you.

Dear Mom.
It’s Christmastime andI think I’m going crazy.
I’m getting ready to hang the kids’
stockings and it’s been murder
decorating the tree so tonight I’m gonna have to knock myself out
to finish up before I go to bed. I have a sharp knife
to trim the extra branches and a loaded gun
of hot glue for the ornaments. I’d like to end it all
by around 10pm before I go on a rampage
cleaning the kitchen. I’m sure you’re just as sick
of the holidays like me and will shoot me
a return email in the New Year!
Meanwhile, tonight I need to be committed
even if it kills me.
Merry Christmas!
Your son.

I  hit the jackpot.

Double nickels.

At 4:21pm this Thanksgiving day,  I officially join the ranks of a population I’ve served for the last two years at a job I love. It’s a cohort which has inspired more stories on my website than any other life experience to date. And I’ve had my share.

Butch (my dog and resolute Facebook icon) shares my birthday, entering his third year on four legs. Our “Thanksbirthday” celebration (I tried “Birthgiving,” but it sounds like a bloody placenta–which is kinda gross–though I understand there are some cultural traditions known for eating one now and then,  and if I don’t stop here,  I’m gonna barf a pumpkin pie) will be with family and friends…and festivities most will enjoy and appreciate this holiday.

Most.

Across town,  generous Thanksgiving  workers will be sweating the stuffing that matters.  St. Thomas More Catholic Community is carrying out their part of a huge mutual tradition we began together 20 years ago delivering meals to 800 senior citizens who have neither family, food nor invitations elsewhere. Casa de Luz is feeding 600 families, ministering deep within the district of the desolate Naked City.  Indeed, across America, prompted by the abundances in their ovens and on their tables, kitchen cooks will find themselves inspired to extend spontaneous invitations to strangers and almost forgotten others, and will send them off with leftovers and homespun experiences most never had and many never will again.

Every breath I take is a moment growing older. I hyperventilated once in February and lost count but I still calculate 55 years breathing and I am more alive today than ever before. This past year, some have lost that gift and the many who remain will spend some part of the day and much of the ensuing season lost in fond memories and teardrops that will decorate their brittle little Christmas trees.  Older now, I find life is a lot less a celebration of another year or another holiday than the simple thankfulness that I’m still very much alive to write this short story for your Thanksgiving day.

Writing stories for people is my passion. Today, this one marks the 150^th on my website. And as usual, I’ll be posting shorter ones on Facebook for followers to catch a laugh or two.  I will also be thinking about my dad and others who will enjoy breathless feasts in a faraway place somewhere at a table which will soon hold a place setting bearing my name, and indeed, will take my own breath away and not make me fat.

But while I’m alive, I write my stories and breathe life into those around me just as are those servants across town at this very moment.

Stories sparked by inspirations are gifts to those who need reminded that someone cares. The season for making memories is now in high gear.  For me, it’s not because it’s our birthday, my official entry into senior citizenship and the dreamy discounts at restaurants, nor is it because it’s Thanksgiving.  It’s because I’m not yet a corpse. And that’s pretty remarkable if you ask me considering the life I once lived.

So, as the parishioners of St. Thomas, the servants at Casa de Luz, and the many quiet summons from early morning cooks in country kitchens everywhere, I will extend an invitation to the uninvited, hoping to breathe life into someone and to write a truly unforgettable chapter in their lonely life.

Indeed, bigger things are happening in our world today. Much bigger than birthdays or birds on dinner tables. Yet in the midst of the daily news, the best  human kindness begins with an invitation and a pen to author generosity in the life of someone who really needs some. That’s how love works.

I tell my stories using words as tools to warm breathing hearts.

Yours can easily be with a place setting a hot meal.

Happy Thanksbirthday to my dog and me, and happy human kindness to all who still have breath and life and a hot meal to share with someone.

LMSM, Don

Paris is burning, but Megan is on the bus home from her second job at 2am and hardly knows today’s world news. She’s thinking about what she can make for three school lunches that need to head out the door in a few hours, how she will pay her overdue rent and if she can get just three hour’s sleep before leaving to her other job.
Important things are happening in the world tonight.
I know John has been up most of the night not because he’s a night owl, but because he’s an 81 year old vet whose gas was shut off last week. He’s cold and can’t get a warm meal until next week sometime when his $700 check arrives to pay the bill, the rent and a ride to the food bank to pick up leftovers others have donated.
Important things are happening in the world tonight.
And here I sit in shiny black shoes and a borrowed suit at 430am at my office, because I know they’re awake and they are the important things and because I think I’ve crafted a plan that might help their tragedies.
Important things are happening in the world tonight.
I’m always in the office at this time of the morning. It’s quiet and I’m alone to think about these important things. I’m not generally wearing a suit and shiny shoes, but tonight I will be at an event with over 400 people who need to hear about what’s important.
I honestly don’t care about winning, but I do care about the possibilities it may bring to our little non-profit in old Henderson and how, if translated correctly, some important people tonight might pause and hear about people like Megan and John and 10,000 more like them. And maybe they’ll give a dollar to help.
Our agency was nominated for Outstanding Non-Profit of 2015 and the winner will be announced this evening over a gourmet dinner in a room full of suits at a luxury hotel. Win or lose, all nominees will win something for the people they serve every day. A voice.
People don’t like sad stories, but sad stories can move the right people to do the right things to help make fewer sad stories. I believe that’s important.
So I’ll sit there for a few hours, maybe win, likely not, but I’ll have the captive ears of a privileged few who need to know the important things that are happening in this world, right here at home.
And taking off this suit and uncomfortable shoes, I can sleep well tonight, knowing I went to bat for the tragedies which begin at home and end with charity.

LMSM, Don

Uninvited, he slipped in. Undetected.
It could have been any unguarded entry but at this point, it didn’t matter.
He was unwelcome.
But he was insidious.
Scanning the surroundings, looking for place and opportunity, he found both.
It was there he began his evil conversion, enveloping others, a serial killer, slow enough to go without notice, fast enough to do the job.
His host: clueless.
His strategy was brilliant. He was a fast mover, acting like he owned the place, which indeed, given time, he would.
All seemed to be okay for a while, but he would soon become the most feared and hated guest at the party, and far from the life of it.
The silent intruder gained momentum and his impact was first noticed on that Friday morning by a man in white who recognized him and called out his name for the first time to my father, who was told this party would soon be over.
“Cancer.”

This coming Friday, Mike Miller will have been gone from our family for his first year. Ultimately, the invader was unsuccessful, for dad’s legend and legacy are still very much alive and celebrating at a party which never ends and where every guest was invited.

Life means so much.
Accept the invitation.

I’m not online, in a tweet or on a post in Facebook.
I’m not at the store, don’t shop from home or at the mall at all.
I’m not on the road, in the car, catching a bus or ride to anywhere.
I’m not at work, on the job, working hard or hard at work.
I’m not at a movie, out to eat, at a friend’s or having a drink.
I’m not around and nobody is looking.

I am invisible.

I haven’t much time, but enough for you.
Rich in history and stories true.
I haven’t much money, but I’ll give to you
A rich adventure before I’m through
If you seek me out with time to spend
To make me visible before the end.

And you might find that I am priceless.

Enrich your life. Make a new friend and hear their story.

Friday August 21st is National Senior Citizen’s  Day.

Big drops,
falling,
landing.

Faster now,
they race
for
standing.