Author Archives: Deborah Hutti

Unexpected Kindness: Lessons from New Melleray Abbey

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Autopilot.  It is a feeling that I think most of us have either felt or certainly understand.  And there we were on autopilot.  

We were going through the motions of life, completing the hundreds of tasks that needed to be finished, but in a very unknowing, automatic way.  Those around us – both far and near – were helping us move along.  Our son , Matthew, had died and it was now time to figure out every next step that has to be figured out when a loved one journeys on.

I actually have no recall as to the details on how we learned about the New Melleray Abbey except I know that our dear friends – whose son, Torre, had sadly journeyed on many moons before – graciously forwarded the information somehow to us, and we miraculously received it.

To this day, I am still unsure how that transmission transpired. For during this time, I was not making or taking phone calls.  I was not reading or sending email or checking any social media.   We barely answered our door.  But we still had to make all the decisions and choices that all families make in the same situation as ours.  And as we all know, it is hard.

December was ending and January arriving, and the weather was exactly what that time of the year brings.  Freezing temperatures. Moments of snow.  Some moments with nice peaks of sun. Some moments with ice everywhere.  And a stillness that comes with all that is winter. 

The holidays were in a crescendo as the world prepared to celebrate the new year. It truly seemed as if I were living the words to Robert Frost’s “Stopping by Woods on a Snowing Evening” with many promises to keep and miles to go before we finished our sad task.

We called New Melleray Abbey.  Their prayerful efforts, their spiritual intention, their focus on quality in both their handiwork and in their godly work felt so appropriate for what we wanted. Our friends guided us to them and they were so correct in doing so.  When we called the Abbey, there was a developing snowstorm in Peosta, Iowa. Plus it was the beginning of the New Year holiday.  

Though we felt it would be a right fit for Matthew, there were circumstances well beyond our control.  Travel and delivery in our timeframe was simply impossible. The Abbey knew it and we knew it.  There was little that any of us could do or say.  We thanked the Trappists Monks in our call to them and understood that we needed to make alternative plans.  

Within fifteen minutes of ending that conversation, we received just one more call.  It was the New Melleray Abbey.  They had done some pondering. They wanted to help. Though delivery was impossible via their regular over-the-road trucking service due to timing and weather, they had another solution.  Leaving from Peosta, Iowa immediately, circumventing weather and graciously sacrificing the New Year holiday, an individual from the Abbey would be able to use their own Ford 350 to complete delivery just in time.

And the Abbey did so, and when delivery occurred, we did not have the opportunity to meet, see, or thank the person who so thoughtfully helped us.  I knew nothing about the particulars or the driver who so graciously journeyed to our town to help us.  Nothing.

For many of us – me included – there is something challenging . . . something difficult . . . in accepting help, any kind of help – even when it is so needed and necessary.  It is even more difficult to accept help – needed and necessary help – from an unknown source . . . from someone who is not a family member, who is not a close friend, who I may have never met.

I have always been proud of being relatively self-sufficient, of being able to generally fend for myself and take care of most of the challenges that crept up in my life.   As I have grown up, I have learned to be comfortable relying on my husband or my children or a handful of close family members and friends who have graciously helped me throughout my life. 

This circumstance was different. 

A stranger to me – a complete stranger – went truly above and  beyond.  I had to learn to be willing to and humble in accepting assistance without the ability to reciprocate in any way.  I had to understand that I needed help, that it was being offered, and that it was coming from a source hundreds of miles away. 

The New Melleray Abbey had found a solution to our situation. They considered the less prominent solution, the more challenging solution, the one that was going to be most difficult for them in all ways, and went for it.  They didn’t allow me to fixate on the barriers that I was seeing.  They looked beyond those barriers and created a whole new strategy. 

The New Melleray Abbey simply would not accept my inability to creatively resolve what seemed to me to be insurmountable circumstances.  Instead, they looked kindly and determinely past me and continued with their plans.  Full speed ahead. No stop. They set a powerful example on what true kindness means. My role – watch, listen, learn.

Thank you, New Melleray Abbey.

The Work of the New Melleray Abbey

Oh, Deb!

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“Oh Deb, stop being so naïve!”

Those six words.  Those impactful six words. 

They were mad mumbled many many moons ago.  There I was a relatively new academic administrator at a rural community college.  I was happily dancing in a world of teaching and learning having crazy-fun.  Everything was exciting.  Everything was interesting.  Everything had an air of college importance. I am not exactly sure of my stage of newness. But, I can say that my work world was full of just pure joy at every turn. 

At that point, there was a problem cooking on campus.  It was in my area of responsibility which was a bit large at that time.  The problem was a bit more than challenging and a bit less than catastrophic. Meaning that the world of student learning was not going to come to a screeching halt, but it was going to be impacted enough to bring the challenge to the attention of several levels of leaders . . . including me. My team was up to bat and I was in the line-up.

 As the newest kid on the administrator block, I was armed with a million ideas all of which I thought were tremendous and about a teaspoon full of experience. It was an incredible moment for me and probably a slightly uncomfortable moment for my colleagues.

And my background was coming into play. For . . .  as long as I can recall, in both my work world and my personal life, I have always thought that there is no crisis that can not be solved with a little ingenuity and lots of thought and lots of hard work.

For example, I am often perplexed as to why someone hasn’t invented the flying car, or why energy hasn’t been harnessed enough to end dependance on fossil fuels, or why teletransportation isn’t a reality.  I think that someone somewhere can solve the health puzzle to the point that we all will live a century and beyond.  I think world hunger can be ended, that world peace is possible, and that goodness will win at all times over evil.  Again, all solved with a little ingenuity, lots of thought, and lots of hard work. 

So, as I approached my first big collegiate challenge as a leader of learning on my campus, I was in the land of thinking big and broad, looking at everything that could be if I just put my mind to it.  I am certain that I probably rattled off more than fifty but less than one hundred potential ideas to avert the crisis.  And I am certain that all of the ideas were great however, each one needed resources way beyond what was available and reasonable.   I was certainly standing on the mountain of dream and was ignoring the world of reality completely.

Hence came those six words – “Oh, Deb, stop being so naïve!”

For a moment, the wind was definitely punched out of my sails.  I stopped thinking about what could be with a little ingenuity, thought and hard work.  I deferred to someone who had more experience than me.  I knew it was time for me to listen, to learn, to appreciate and consider solutions to the challenge via whatever the opposite of naivety is.  

Eventually the problem was solved, and to this day, I can’t even remember if it was solved effectively or not.  All I can recall is that for a moment in time, I stopped being naïve.  I acquiesced.  I actually became something new and different, and surprisingly, the world marched on.

It was at that moment, however, that I decided to never again – for as long as I remained in my job . . . for as long as I worked with my colleagues . . . on any project . . . for any reason . .  . to ever again stop being . . . naïve.

I figured out that naïve doesn’t mean impossible.  It doesn’t mean eternally gullible.  It isn’t just pie-in-the-sky thinking.  It isn’t a calamity. 

For me being naïve opens up doors to whatever is beautiful in the world.   It means having the  ability to look beyond what might seem unlikely and improbable – and to looks towards all that happens when people focus on all that is positive and possible.  It is intentionally ignoring potential roadblocks and setbacks and everything that can and might stop great ideas from growing.  It means shutting out negative energy and acting as if it does not exist. It means not only wearing rose-colored glasses, but to love putting them on.

So if in the future, you see me in a flying car or if I randomly teleport to your location,  please thank the colleague who called me . . . naïve.

A line is a line . . . until it isn’t.

IT’S ALL GOOD

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It started out as a regular beach vacation day.  Plans were for all of us to spend the day at the shore, pretty much doing what every family does at a beach – sitting, talking, swimming, laughing, playing games, and anything else that can be done while watching and listening to the beauty of the waves.  Just about mid-morning, we trudged over to the beach with a canopy, chairs, coolers, towels, rafts, and more.  We popped up our tent and claimed our space for the day.  

Matt was along for this journey, so there was a bit more to the set up.   Earlier, we had put him into the beach wheelchair (which we rented the previous evening), pushed him not only down the lane to the nearest handicap accessible beach access point, but also through the fluffy sand until he had reached the family site.  It took a bit of effort, so it was nice to have his sister and a group of his cousins to help.  When Matt and those assisting him reached the tent, they made sure he was in the shade and was pointed towards the water.  All was good, as he would say.  

It was not unusual for Matt to be at the beach. That was something he had done many times throughout his life.  He had not, however, been in the gulf water for a very, very long time.  Without the ability to use his legs and with little ability to move his arms, swimming or just being in the water was quite challenging and a bit scary for him. Anything could happen. Especially when the waves moved the water in all directions.  He preferred to sit in the shade and spend time with all from a stationary and dry location. 

As time passed that afternoon, most of the relatives were out in the ocean swimming, with only Matt, myself, and my nephew, Will, in the shade of the tent.  Watching the others, I asked a question I had asked my son numerous times and assumed the answer would be the same.  

“Matt, would you like to swim in the ocean?”  

I expected him to say no.  As he always did. That he would be fine on shore if I’d like to go swimming. That leaving him in his shaded seat was perfectly A-Okay. That he could be on the shore by himself without problem.  

But that’s not what he said.

“Mom,” he said, “I think I’d like to get in the water.”  

I was a bit stunned.  Matt wanted to swim.  He gave the signal.  And in that moment, I could feel that an adventure was about to begin.  

My response to his request was ever-so-quick and as I soon found out ever-so-funny.   

“Matt, wait here . . . don’t move . . . I gotta go get more help . . . just stay here,” I mumbled.

And in a calm and cool voice with a sense of wit only Matt sitting in a wheelchair could have, and in a most humorous tone, before I could dash off he said, “Mom, if by some miracle I jump up and stand and move, please don’t stop me.”   

His classic sense of humor about himself and his situation gave us a moment to chuckle.   I smiled.  He smiled.  And he then pointed me onward.

Within seconds, I had rounded up all the help he needed to get into the water.  (Side note – it is much more difficult than it sounds for a near quadriplegic individual to get into the ocean.  Lots of logistics come along with making it happen.)

The first step was to get him and his wheelchair to the shore line which required some heavy duty pushing through fluffy sand.  Once we got him to the shoreline and after some conversation, we decided to keep him in the beach wheelchair and push all into the water.   

By that time, looking around at the rest of beach, it was clear that families in the nearby vicinity were watching . . .and waiting.  Pushing a guy in a beach wheelchair into the water draws attention. Clearly, our happy adventure was also turning into their happy adventure.   

Though we should have known it, we seemed to forget that the big bulky wheelchair tires, which were perfect for navigating sand and trenches, were also filled with air.  Which meant once the tires hit the water, they floated.  So as Matt entered the water, he was weaving up and down like a red and white fishing pole bobber.  The event looked like the funniest roller coaster ride ever in salt water.  Eventually using the collective weight of all of his family, he was pushed out into the water until he and everyone else was soaking wet and howling with laughter.

Though the entire activity probably took less than ten minutes, it was as if time stood still.  There we were as a family group, doing something together.  Something easy for the rest of us, but something that required Matt to throw caution to the wind.  He had to overcome a fear.  He had to have a level of trust that the rest of us did not have to have.  And once again, Matt prevailed and  figured out how to participate in a fun summer moment with us. He smiled and we smiled. He laughed and we laughed.  

Many times I think back to that moment.  I learned a lot about a lot that day. I learned about bravery.  I learned about trust.  I learned about family.  I learned more about what is important. And I learned that I must always be ready for adventures.  Because they are worth the effort. 







  • Unexpected Kindness: Lessons from New Melleray Abbey
    Autopilot.  It is a feeling that I think most of us have either felt or certainly understand.  And there we were on autopilot.   We were going through the motions of life, completing the hundreds of tasks that needed to be finished, but in a very unknowing, automatic way.  Those around us – both far … Continue reading →
    • 

  • Oh, Deb!
    “Oh Deb, stop being so naïve!” Those six words.  Those impactful six words.  They were mad mumbled many many moons ago.  There I was a relatively new academic administrator at a rural community college.  I was happily dancing in a world of teaching and learning having crazy-fun.  Everything was exciting.  Everything was interesting.  Everything had … Continue reading →
    • 

  • IT’S ALL GOOD
    It started out as a regular beach vacation day.  Plans were for all of us to spend the day at the shore, pretty much doing what every family does at a beach – sitting, talking, swimming, laughing, playing games, and anything else that can be done while watching and listening to the beauty of the waves.  Just … Continue reading →
    • 

  • Aunt Dolly
    On that beautiful, ordinary summer Saturday, my mom, my dad and I were finishing a much over due chore. Aunt Dolly had passed on a few months prior. She had spent 99% of her life in her tiny second floor flat. Clean, tidy, sparsely furnished with her long time keepsakes, Dolly managed to live almost … Continue reading →
    • 

  • Adventure On
    Though it would have been much easier for the four of us young girls to decline the offer, it was an opportunity that gave us pause. There we stood pondering. Thinking. It was as if we could feel the birth of an adventure. We were experiencing that moment that feels like it’s moving in slow … Continue reading →
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Aunt Dolly

			
						

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On that beautiful, ordinary summer Saturday, my mom, my dad and I were finishing a much over due chore.





Aunt Dolly had passed on a few months prior. She had spent 99% of her life in her tiny second floor flat. Clean, tidy, sparsely furnished with her long time keepsakes, Dolly managed to live almost all her life independently and on a shoestring budget at best.





As her health became exponentially more challenging and when she needed round the clock care, my dad – Dolly’s relative, friend, care provider, and executor – made the difficult and tearful decision to move her to a very benevolent nearby facility. Dolly had no money. No savings. Nothing. Alone, poor, and in extremely poor health, she was in a bind. But with a determined search, my father found a wonderful place that welcomed Dolly. And knowing that she had no money whatsoever, their only request was that the little estate that she had be left to them.





One month into her stay there, she died peacefully.





That summer Saturday afternoon, we began the process of closing out Dolly’s residence. Our work was to bring belongings from the upstairs to the downstairs to prepare for a sale. With so few belongings, the time needed to finish the task was brief. No more than an hour later, all that was left to do was cleaning – making sure the space was as presentable as possible.





As I reached into the kitchen pantry to pull out a broom, I noticed an area we had forgotten to empty. Most shelves were bare, but the lower two plus the floor were lined with neatly stacked, old tin Folgers coffee cans.





Until I opened the first one, I was chucking over the sight. Can after can, row after row. Dolly must have loved her coffee because she was stocked up for the next century. Easily.





My laughter changed to overwhelming astonishment the moment I removed the first lid. I immediately shouted for my parents- the kind of shout that says come quick. I heard shoes moving up the staircase with great speed. To this day, I can still see my dad’s eyes as he turned the kitchen corner and saw me holding an open coffee can in one hand . . . and a fistful of one hundred dollar bills in the other.





Money. 





My Aunt Dolly collected money. 





In the pantry. In coffee cans. For a long time. Each and every can was filled to the brim with. . . money.





It was definitely a surprise and a tad bit scary. It was also comical as the three of us sat on the kitchen floor opening can after can and counting hundred after hundred. Who does this? But that moment, sitting on the floor, at dusk, thumbing through bills with my parents was not the memory maker. 





Far from it.





It was the next moment when my dad happily joyfully and intentionally mentioned how glad he was going to be to turn all that money – that big giant stash of money we had just found – over to the nursing home that had cared for Dolly in her last month.





I am sure my astonished face said it all. I think I was a bit deflated at that moment. Well a lot deflated. For in my mind, I had already spent that fortune on a fleet of cars, or a European vacay for eight, or a mansion with countless space . . . the possibilities were endless.





But not so for my dad or my mom.





As background, my parents had spent a lifetime caring for Dolly. They were there whenever she needed them. Stopping their lives to help with hers. Doing the stuff people do for each other. They, however, did not consider their care taking to be out of the ordinary. Not for my parents. Helping Dolly was just a normal part of their regular lives.





At the time, my parents were on a tight budget with six children who were nowhere near self sufficient. I could just see the coffee can money making a real difference for us. Or so I thought.





But here was my dad happily and gratefully speaking about the number of others who might receive the same opportunity and the same end of life care because of Dolly and the coffee cans. My mom nodded her head in unison. With tears in their eyes, I could easily see that both of my parents were thrilled.





I know that Dick and Isabelle could have easily have pocketed that money. Those cans could have moved from Dolly’s pantry to theirs in a flash. Perhaps their tight budget would have been better.





But just for a bit.





I now know that in the end if they had kept the money, their hearts would have been heavy. That choice would have created more problems than it would have solved.





I often ponder about choices made in the world – those that are good and those that are nearly the opposite of good. My belief- that comes straight from my parents who modeled it not just this once but over and over and over for me – is that trying to follow a good path. . . trying to maintain high integrity, an honest heart, an ethical bar that cannot be compromised – in the end can really be the easiest and most fulfilling path to follow.





 It can lead to a life richer than what can be found in coffee cans.





Largest Coffee Pot in the United States – West Pitt Street, Bedford, Pennsylvania





					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
Adventure On

					
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Though it would have been much easier for the four of us young girls to decline the offer, it was an opportunity that gave us pause. There we stood pondering. Thinking. It was as if we could feel the birth of an adventure. We were experiencing that moment that feels like it’s moving in slow motion. As if we were standing on the sideline knowing that in a blink, the tenure of our plan would be exploding into something much different than we originally thought. It became a time when talking less meant understanding more. We were barely blinking as our eyes looked from one to the next. And with four ever so slight nods, we knew that we were all in.


Adventure on.


We didn’t cheer. We didn’t yelp. Perhaps because we were equally as afraid as we were excited. We were going into the unknown. A place we liked but feared. Which at age thirteen, was pretty much a norm with every situation. But this time it felt a bit different.


We packed pretty much in silence – speaking only to affirm that someone had grabbed something the others may have not. Flashlights. Hammocks. Netting. Canteens. Rope. Knives. Matches. A flare. We knew there would be no heading back for missed items. Darkness would prevent that. And communication with the rest of our group would be severed by whatever wilderness was between us and them. This was pre-cellphone. So we were just being about our business as we sorted through our need versus our wants.


Within what seemed like minutes, but was more likely an hour or two, we were off. We trudged into and through the woods until we found eight suitable trees to hang four barebones hammocks. We set up the sleeping arrangements and quickly created a centralized rock-fenced campfire, put our canteens somewhere nearby and unpacked everything we had just stuffed into those duffle bags. The food we brought could only be described as well less than sub-standard on the nutrition scale. Potatoes wrapped in tinfoil thrown in a fire. S’mores. Maybe apples. Popcorn.


As darkness approached, we settled into those hammocks, threw the netting over us, and speaking for all four of us, were frightened out of our minds from sunset to sunrise. We prayed our flashlight batteries lasted until the light of morn.


Just hours later, we hopped out of those hammocks like four victorious warriors. Though our bravery was due to our inability to return in darkness to the nearby lodge, we convinced ourselves that we had lived a confident night rather than a fearful one. Regardless, we have always rearranged the details of this story to fit a champions’ narrative.


The march back to our origin was filled with chatter. We did it. It was over. Now what.


That’s the thing about adventures. They have beginnings. They have endings. And for me, there is always the hope of what is to come with the next adventure. It is the time after the end of the previous adventure and before the start of the future one that is most interesting.


Without a doubt, there can be a feeling of uneasiness. Which I describe as a free falling, not knowing where or when or how I will land. Will I have another adventure? Do I still have great adventures waiting for me? There is that big vast unknown. I know that I must welcome whatever lies ahead, but I am always a little hesitant. A little resistant. A little scared. Scratch that . . . a lot scared.


But that’s the thing about adventures. I do believe they are endless. Certainly they come in different shapes and sizes and durations. I can see that they are not meant to last forever, and I have a feeling that I’m supposed to experience lots of different types of them throughout my life. Again, adventures always include walking into that giant unknown.


An adventure in my life has just closed. It was one of the greatest adventures of all time – filled with the unimaginable and the incredible. There were moments of great perplexity coupled with moments of unbridled joy. My mind and my body were constantly put to the test in ways that I was rarely fully – if ever –  prepared.


It was an experience that God graced me with and I only hope that I met the challenge. With adventures, I never know. And I truly hope that I can once again experience such joy, exhilaration, excitement, contentment, and exuberance in a future adventure as I did with my previous one.


I have such great hope.


Always wanted to know what adventure my dad was on in this photo! Looks quite exciting!

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
The Golden List

					
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Early this spring, I started a new project.  I have no idea how or why I thought of this particular idea.  It just kinda came to me.  I think I was sitting in what my family fondly calls the Big Room in our home – a space that is relatively quiet, on the second floor, furnished with all that represents yesteryear including a 1980s plaid sofa, a worn out pool table, several chairs that would fit in no home (including  mine) but there they are in the Big Room. And there I was using one of them when this idea hit me.





On the surface, the idea is simple. Initially I gave myself thirty days to complete it.  I actually  chuckled at that thought as I figured I would have it finished in a day, two at the most.  But as the timeline was going to be self imposed, I kindly allotted myself a month just to be on the very safe side.  





The task centered around my next great writing adventure.  My blog has been chugging along for many years, and I thought maybe it is time to press on to new adventures and new worlds.  Maybe I need to take that big, giant leap forward.  After all, according to Mr. Gretzky – hockey’s The Great One, “You miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.” So, not moving my writing forward was much like not taking the available shot.  I will miss out for sure if I never try.





So, the new writing quest began.





Step one of the task at hand has been to identify one hundred words that describe . . . me.  Words on this list could be nouns or verbs . . . or adverbs . . . or adjectives.  All parts of the English language are welcome. The words can be positive or negative, simple, complex or compound.  Slang . . . acceptable!  Onomatopoeia  . . . acceptable! Acronyms and abbreviations – thumbs up! The list can include words that describe my past, present, and/or future as long as each entry somehow tells the story of me.





It seemed so easy when I thought of it.  One hundred words with no holds barred.  A laundry list of what it means to be me.  I wasn’t challenging myself to anything so whoppin’ grand that it was going to take all my might to complete it.  Just a list of one hundred words.  I don’t even have to alphabetize them.  Just jot them down.  One at a time.  Until I hit one hundred.    





It’s sixty days later.  Sixty days.  And I have yet to even come close to finishing.  I’m not sure if I am embarrassed or scared. Or both. What does it say about me to not be able to quickly come up with one hundred distinct words that describe me.  Sadly, yesterday I noticed there was a duplicate, and it was difficult erasing from what was already slim in number.  





As of this moment, there are – count them – a measly thirty-nine words on the list of me. Thirty-nine.  Thirty-nine.





I’ve lived much more than half a century.  I have a family and relatives and friends and a house and stuff.  I’ve done a lot of the usual and some of the unusual.  I’d call it a good mix.  But, there are still only thirty-nine words on my list and it feels like I am permanently stuck there.





To make myself feel a bit better, I’m extending my timeline.  I’m giving myself an additional six months to see if I can broaden out the list.  I may resort to reading the big giant unabridged dictionary that is kindly sitting on the lower shelf in my living room.  Doing so, however, seems to walk close to that plagiarism line.





In any event, though my latest idea may have been a failure in that I have only met a bit more than one third of my goal, it has taught me much, much more than expected.  





I am only unique by a thin margin.  





Measuring differences is difficult.  





Before I can describe anyone else, I had better be able to describe myself.  





I got some work cut out for me

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
All That. And More.

					
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Looking back, I know it was a ridiculous job, but at the time, every Saturday morning for an entire summer, I’d head out thinking I was all that and more.  I’m pretty sure I’d strut to my workspace – lower level – center aisle – terminal one – Lambert St. Louis International Air Field.  I’d clip on that name tag, make sure everything was good to go and start my ever-so-important work as the girl manning the one and only STL Airport Tourist Information Desk.





Number 2 pencils, maps, up-to-date brochures, and a working sharpie to point people in the right direction were the tools of the trade.  All that and a solid working rotary dial phone which was free of charge to those I deemed in dire need of its use.  When I’d haul it out, I felt like Alfred Pennyworth contacting Batman on the Bat-phone.  





Like I said, I thought I was really all that.  And more.





Distressed travelers would ask for the  nearest bathroom.  I would point with authority.  Hungry travelers would ask for airport food choices.  I would confidently mention Orange Julius to the left, Cinnabons to the right, and the Airport Hanger upstairs for those with more time and money.  Frantic travelers would ask about lost luggage. I had no answers for them but that’s when I would pull out that complimentary Bat-phone.  





Since I was the lone employee, it was up to me to open and close up shop.  I was on my honor to put in my time and manage whatever challenges popped up. Most of the morning, I was smiling and nodding at people on their way in and out of the airport. In general, I had a great time, doing fun stuff, at an interesting location while being paid.  





All that.  More.





Fast forward to today, 2023.  Not so sure that this job is needed anymore.  





Forget paper maps, sharpies and brochures.  A cellphone, the airport’s website, a good google search, and texting offers everything plus way more than I could ever have as even the greatest Info-girl on the planet. 





Relevancy aside, it was a job that taught me a lot . . . perhaps more than most of my other positions.  It was a job I needed.  Because it put me in my place. Quickly.





At the time, I actually had little to no workplace skills.  I needed all the practice that I could find. And one thing the info desk offered was skill building. 





In particular, I had the opportunity to practice the one skill that I still need to practice.  It sounds simple, but it’s very hard.  I had to sit and listen.  It was all about listening.  Sitting and listening.  My only line was: “How can I help you?” and then all bets were off on where the conversation went.  





I learned to nod.  Take a few notes.  Smile.  Empathize. Pause.  Listen some more. If I was patient enough, people generally solved their own challenges without too much input from me.  It was all about just listening.





When I think about my listening skills today, I think about how sharpening them is so difficult.  





At the airport information desk, I knew very little and had even less that I could share with those approaching me.  Thus, listening was about all I could do.  As my jobs changed and my career moved forward, I knew a bit more about the topics at hand, and speaking became easier.  Listening became harder.  Still is.





When thinking about some of the most wickedly smart people I know, one trait they all have is the ability to say little to nothing, hear lots, and somehow converse exquisitely.   A goal for me.





The good news is I have nothing but time ahead of me to gain traction on the basic need at STL airport.  For me, listening is a skill that I have never mastered, only practiced.  So I keep practice listening in perpetuity on my to do list.  





One day I might be good at it.  Until then,  if you see me yapping on, just remind me that the listeners only need five words. 





“How can I help you.”










I recently visited the Missouri Botanical Gardens Information Desk.  Very, very helpful.  

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
The Making of Our Tapestry

					
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It was July 20th, 1969 and my grandmother was sitting front and center.  She was in what we called the den, aka a summer porch with triple track screen windows, twelve inch square pinkish gray linoleum tile flooring, sturdy leftover furniture, and a state of the art T.V. console.  We kids were sprawled on the cold floor.  The other adults had pulled out folding chairs and inched as close to the set as possible. 





We were mesmerized.  The nation was mesmerized.  The whole world was.  Walter Cronkite had babbled all day, and now he seemed to be speechless. The moment had arrived.  And through a fuzzy feed via a scratchy audio, Astronaut Neil Armstrong set foot on the moon and said it:  





“That’s one small step for man.  One giant leap for mankind.”    





I’m not really sure what happened after that.  I don’t know who else may have stepped out of Apollo 11 and joined Armstrong.  I could not tell you how long they stayed or what it looked like or any other moon-walking fact.  But I can recall these few short words as if it were yesterday.  





Same with the words “Let’s Roll.” 





They were spoken on September 11th, 2001, by Todd Beamer on United Airlines Flight 93 as he led a group of heroes in giving their lives to save the rest of us. I’m not sure where I was when I first heard what had been said by Mr. Beamer.  I don’t know who I was with or what day it might have been, but these two words bring back such a sad, such a horrific, such an unforgettable event that each time I hear them, my heart pangs.





These words – these brief sentences – are part of my . . . well, my tapestry.  The words of my life.  The words that mean something to me, that I can not only recall but that I want to recall. The words that may bring that which is the brightest and best all the way to the hardest and most indelibly challenging.  





And there are more words in my tapestry.  





“I have a dream.” Martin Luther King, Jr. 06/28/1963.  “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” President John F. Kennedy 01/20/1961.  “Each person must live their life as a model for others.” Rosa Park, undated.  “The greatest glory in living lives not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” Nelson Mandela, undated.  “And still, I rise.” Maya Angelou, 1978.   “Dream, Believe, Dare, Do.” Walt Disney, undated.





Words are so powerful. So very powerful.





They have shaped me like no other.  From the very famous of famous quotes that I so vividly remember to the knowledge that my own father never – not once – said what he described as “curse words” in front of me for an entire lifetime.  Words (or lack of) have created a great big tapestry full of thoughts and ideas that have become me.  





I’d like to think that I choose my words carefully at all times.  But that is where that greatest glory from Mandela comes in. I often fall down in that particular quest.  Drivel often escapes from my mouth and if there was a life instant replay, I’m sure I would be fretfully embarrassed on a daily basis.  Sometimes I say things and moments later I wonder if I have some type of stunt double who creeps forward at all the wrong times with all the wrong words.  Without a doubt, the best thing I can ever do is listen twice as much as I speak.  But, alas, I might like talking too much.





Words.  





I have a feeling that my tapestry isn’t finished quite yet.  I think that out there in the great big world, there are statements and sayings and words that I have yet to hear. And memorize.  Not the kind that I might find in a dictionary or wikipedia, rather the kind that occur naturally that skew my life just a bit or a lot . . . that set me in a new motion . . . that puzzle me.  





For those around me, I say bring on your words.  Challenge me with your thoughts.  Give me a few good sizzlers that stupefy me. Make me ponder.  Or make me laugh . . think Yogi Berra with “If you come to a fork in the road, take it.”  Offer me some crazy-funny stuff, some decidedly serious stuff, or just sit and chat for a spell.  I promise to listen.  And use your words to improve myself.





 Add to my tapestry.  Please.





I think about these words sometimes – Because I always wanted an elevator!

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
Time to Think

					
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The moment that I confirmed that I had one of the greatest jobs in the world was perhaps the most boring, the simplest, the quietest day ever. I was just sitting in my office, glaring across my desk at a shelf full of books.  Not one of those books was open nor had I just read anything.





I was literally just sitting, leaning back on my chair.  The phone was silent – a landline at the time – and my computer screen was asleep.   I may have had a pencil in my hand twirling it from tip to eraser, back and forth on my empty desk.  





I could hear the keystroke of Betty’s computer, the person who managed the volume of paperwork that passed through my office on a daily basis, and I am quite sure that she knew that I was just sitting, staring into space in the office behind hers.  





Without a moment to alter what I was doing or more importantly not doing, the president of the college and my boss stepped through my office door. I had no report I could grab and pretend to be analyzing it, I was not engaged in any important phone call, and there was no current meeting happening within my office walls.  I was still just sitting.  Without a moment’s pause, he snapped, “What are you up to?”  





And I decided to go with honesty, “Well sir, I was just doing some thinking.” And it was his next line that sealed my belief that I had the the best job ever.  “Great,” he said.  “We hired you to think. Anything you want to share?” 





For the next hour or so, he and I spoke about the what ifs, the possibilities, the far-edge dreams, the thoughts about what could be, what should be, and more.  Some call it brainstorming.  Some call it thinking outside the box.  I usually called it wasting time with a purpose.  





But most importantly, I was just reassured that my employer was paying me and counting on me to . . . think.  To think about things that are.  To think about new things, unknown things.  To consider the unexpected and the unusual. To ponder with no particular direction. He was encouraging me to press on with the world of wondering. 





And to me, that was wonderful.





I had spent a fair amount of time  in a classroom as a student.  And as we all know, students live in an endless stream of thinking time.  Students read and listen.  They investigate and ruminate.  Students are afforded semester after semester to live in dreamland and to share those dreams with others.  





Once we graduate and leave those hallowed halls, life changes.  Mine did.  I secured my degrees and took off on unexpected adventures, eventually landing back in higher education, but not as a student, rather as an employee. 





Initially, I focused on productivity.  I made sure that all my work – whatever that meant – was done by the end of the day.  I tied up all loose ends, leaving no hanging chads to face in the morning.  My office ran smooth as butter.  





But.  That is all it did.  





As time passed, I recognized that there was no ingenuity to it.  There was no bedazzling of anything.  It was all paperwork in, paperwork out.  And people in, people out.  Those breathtaking experiences that I had as a student in a college class long ago – where ideas were rampant and the try and fail method was expected and praised – was not happening in my job.  I was boring myself and I knew it.





The only thing I could do was , well, change.  Which is when I started to do some thinking.  Which was when the president caught me in the act of thinking.  And affirmed the activity.  And then joined me. 





I truly believe that the best places to work are those that allow time for employees to dream.  Somewhere out there are great ideas waiting to be found.  The only way to do that is for people to have the freedom and free time to search.  Employees also need extremely supportive employers and employment.  Who allow wonderment.





Though I did not solve all the problems of the world, I am quite sure that the moments that I was encouraged to devote beaucoup time to thinking were the moments that brought about the most positive change to the problems faced in my areas of responsibility.  





I don’t know what is happening in the world of work today.  I do know that we are in the midst of the great reshuffle.  I know that today’s technology is many light years beyond what was available for me.  (I’m thinking AI and beyond!) I also believe that today’s generation is clever, capable, and creative.  





I know that I still spend a great deal of time thinking about those what ifs.  (It’s the best part of my day even if it looks like I’m doing absolutely nothing to those on the outside.)  I can only hope that those behind me are devoting a boatload of time to sitting and thinking.  





Because there’s nothing better.  For all of us.  





Something about glowing red trees that makes me want to . . . think.

					

		
		
	


				
					
	

		

							

					
Seeing the Simple

					
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I didn’t count, but I’m guessing we were 20+ in total.  We had pulled tables together and snatched chairs from elsewhere until there were seats for all.  It was Friday, and Friday meant lunch.  The location was always the same and could only be described as the area’s finest local dive – great food, great fun, great atmosphere all in one. It had a local flare with beer well before noon, free help-your-self popcorn, and fun over-portioned monthly specials on the menu.     





We had been there many Fridays before. It was our end of the week landing place after hours of a common court sport.  Our group could easily be described as a rag-tag bunch of folks, but that would be using by-gone language.  In today’s lingo, we were an inclusive, open, accepting conglomeration of people accidentally brought together by a common interest.





At first, this Friday seemed to be no different than those of the past.  We arrived sporadically and sat randomly next to whoever had arrived moments prior.  We ordered drinks and lunch with little to no change in what we may have ordered the previous Friday.  





We talked about who may have won or lost a match, the comical antics that may have occurred while at the gym, the person whose skills were off-the-chart great for that day, and other various sundries found in common friendly banter.  Normally, I would have described the moment as talking about lots of stuff and nonsense with style!





But this particular Friday was a bit different.





In the midst of all the stuff and nonsense, as we laughed and chatted, Dave leaned across the tabled and said to me, “We’re lucky, aren’t we!” I looked at him and at first said the usual, “Yes we are!”  But he continued.  He talked about looking forward to lunches just like this one, to valuing friendships like those we had at this table of 20.  To knowing that this was something unusual . . . special.





Those sitting nearby stopped and listened.  He actually didn’t say that much, but what he said was all the right words.  He said what everyone else knew and thought. He mentioned in less than a paragraph that it was of value to him to have a circle of friends who ate lunch most Fridays together.  Where the conversation was simple and the laughter was easy.  Where the food was cheap, but the friendship priceless.  





The moment ended and we went on with our lunch.  But an hour later, as I was in my car heading back to my home, I must admit that I was given pause by my friend Dave, who had simply and succinctly described something that I am still not sure that I can put into words. 





There are times in my world – and in everybody’s world – when the living is hard.  Life can be a bit challenging at times with problems that may or may not have solutions.  My realistic side knows that not everything is always bright lights and daisies. 





Yet, when I really think about it, life can also be pretty doggone simple. It can be and often is.  I just have to look carefully for the moments when life is at its best.  I have to be willing to see what is right before my eyes that might be glorious.  I have to stop and take notice when the world is spinning in the right tempo in the right direction with just enough sass to make it fun.  





All too often, I fail to stop and smell the roses of the world.  I either speed through it, going a thousand miles per hour on some quest of mine or I simply am totally unaware of that which is happening around me.  





Regardless of reason, I was gently reminded by Dave and my 19+ other lunch partners that I need to look up more and see the simple.  Seeing the simple creates a huge path for me towards all that is positive, all that is creative, all that is fun.   





Here’s hoping that everyone finds their Friday lunch group and sees the simple.  






Something about Squirrels that seem so simple to me.