Poke

I hate playing games. It all started when I was a kid and my brothers and sister and I got together on Sunday afternoons to play board games. This was quite illegal as we were supposed to be resting quietly in our own rooms. Somehow that never stopped us.

Being one of the oldest, my game playing skills were a little more advanced than my younger brother and sister, and I easily beat them every game. This made them furious. They would throw game pieces and upturn the board and stomp around and generally throw temper tantrums, disrupting the game and ending anything like fun.

One particular Sunday afternoon, my youngest brother got so mad that he drove a pencil down through my younger sister's head. The blood spurted everywhere and of course, brought my parents running.

We were shuffled off to our rooms, thinking that poor sister was dead for sure. It was quite traumatic. From that day on, I absolutely refused to play board games with anyone. There was no way I was taking any chances on someone getting injured by bad sportsmanship and hard feelings over little pieces of paper and plastic. Competition is not my thing.

Even in school, spelling bees tied my stomach in knots, even though I generally did quite well. Math bees the same. I simply cannot abide seeing someone lose at a game. Just because we are not all equally gifted at the same things is no reason to make someone feel badly.

But I finally found a game I can play with the kids where there are no winners and no losers. It all starts innocently enough. I poke one of the kids with my pointer finger, then run. They chase after me, vying for a poke at me. I can call no poke backs, and then they have to get someone else to poke me.

We have an uproariously fun time racing about poking each other, laughing, and falling over each other in my tiny apartment. What a hoot. And in less than five minutes, its all done. Everyone is laughing, no one is angry, and we go on about our business of washing dishes or doing laundry or whatever as if nothing happened.

Except we are all smiling and the weight is lifted. Go ahead and try it out.

POKE. (no poke backs).

The Invisible Man

I didn't notice him when first I sat down at the crowded table in Panera's. The bowl of steaming broccoli soup and half a turkey sandwich and the cup of rich dark peach tea held my full attention. I was ravenous. I selected a small table in the back area behind the firepit where there was less commotion, though the whole place was hopping. I chowed down for a few minutes on the sandwich until I took the edge off my hunger.

I took a long slow sip of the hot tea, held the soothing liquid in my mouth a few minutes before swallowing, enjoying the warmth spreading through my chilled body. Then I sat back munching a few chips and looked around at my fellow bread breakers. There were couples and families and student groups and singles and business people and workmen. What a mix of community sections. This is a popular place.

As I finished my sandwich, one lone guy caught my attention. He seemed a bit nervous, sitting in the dark far corner, eyeing the lunch crowd. Every once in awhile he got up, went over to the trash cans, poked around a bit, then went back to his seat. A couple of times he filled up a paper cup with water and swigged it down. Odd. No one else seemed to pay him any attention.

It took me awhile to catch on. He was tracking when someone threw away perfectly untouched food. Sometimes an unopened bag of chips, sometimes an unwanted roll. He examined them carefully, then shoved them into his backpack. Curious, I continued watching him discretely, trying not to stare directly at him. While I finished my lunch, he snagged a number of food items including several apples.

I noticed that he was wearing sandals and shorts, peculiar attire for the coldness of the air outside. His sweatshirt seemed thick and warm though. I wondered. He was fairly young with rough calloused hands. What was his game? How long had he sat in Panera's unnoticed, plucking food from the garbage? Was he just out of work? This place was too far from downtown for this to be a homeless vagrant. He seemed cleanshaven enough.

An idea began to form in my head. In the trunk of my car was a bag of clothes I was planning to drop in a Goodwill box. I hadn't gotten around to it. I knew there was a pair of jeans in good condition and a pair of sneakers that looked to be this young man's size. Right outside the window was a trashcan. It might work.

I gathered my lunch remains and cleared out, heading for my car. I opened the trunk and picked up the bag of clothes, walking back towards the trashcan outside Panera's. I made sure to bump against the window repeatedly, making noise about what I was doing, holding up the jeans and the sneakers before dropping them in the can. Then I walked back to the car and pulled out of the parking space.

Discreetly, I nosed into another space with full view of the can and waited. Minutes later, the young man came outside, looked around, then headed to the trash can. He pulled out the jeans and sneakers and a few other things and quickly tucked them into his pack and took off across the parking lot.

Well, now. I wonder if he really needed that stuff or if he was just a rag picker making money off discards. Either way, no one else in Panera's seemed to have noticed him at all. It was as if he didn't exist. Or was invisible. I wonder how often I have missed invisible people in the normal course of a day. Probably a lot.

Decorating for Christmas

I never used to allow Christmas decorations to be put up until after December 6, Michael's birthday. But today Drew asked if he could get the tree out and start. Drew never knew Michael, wasn't even thought of when Michael died. Kiel was only a baby and doesn't remember Michael at all. It is about time I moved on from that tradition. Not that I will forget Michael, but there is no sense hanging on to sadness. So I told Drew to go ahead.

True to his word, he dragged the artificial tree into the living room and set it up. Never mind fluffing out the branches or plugging it in. It is enough to start the ball rolling. And he did bring up the box of decorations. Slowly over the next few days I knew we would pick away at decorating. I am still somewhat done in by the darn chemo stuff, but I am enjoying starting the Christmas season early.

Last year Christmas was so tinged by Dad's illness and passing that it was barely acknowledged. I am sure the boys missed the normal cheer. They never spent a lot of time with their Grandpa. By the time they were old enough to engage in conversation, Dad was slowing down and often too tired to interact with them when we visited. But they respected my emotions and toned the holiday down.

I sense that Drew's eagerness to kick start the celebration is driven in part by last year's quiet Christmas and last year's cancer junk from me. So I am happy to accommodate his wishes. Let's have a joyous and light hearted time this year and keep the lights going. I even managed to hang a handful of ornaments and fluff a few branches while he was flitting about. Yeah! Christmas! Let the merriment begin.