Sundays are

Posted on January 28, 2008


…always crazy for me.

There’s something about Sunday mornings that unlocks my mind and heart and soul all at the same time.

I end up feeling like I am on the verge of discovering something new. Something about humanity? Something about God? Something about the homeless man that was holding the door open for us at the bottom of the parking garage saying, “Be careful ma’am, the ramp is slippery. Sir watch out, the ramp is icy.”

I always find myself getting closer to something. The something that makes me think that my flyspeck existence means something, or at least could mean something. Maybe I’m just selfish in this.

That man reminded me of the woman who was standing outside of a concert hall in the heart of our dying city. It was sometime in December and huge clumps of snowflakes were trying to act like a heavy rainstorm. She was very obviously cold. I started to pull at the second sweatshirt I had on, and to this day I still wish I had given it to her.

It was almost one in the morning but we still stopped for an early (late) breakfast at Ram’s Horn after the concert. I couldn’t think of anything else except that woman’s face.

“Don’t stew over it,” Emily said to me.

I don’t know how not to stew over it at this point. I couldn’t do anything for that man, and I walked away from the woman.

And I like to call myself a generous person.

How despicable.

I have to do something to help them. I can’t just walk by again. It hurts.


Posted in: Uncategorized