I look into my living room with the cranberry colored walls.
I smile when I remember the actions of one little boy.
Whenever he would come to visit with his mom, he never wanted to walk in that room.
He would stop right on the edge of the family room carpet.

I never understood why he did what he did.
Not at first.
Not until one morning, when it was a very cloudy day, I had to turn on the light.
It is a light next to our baby grand piano.

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Wednesday is our trash and recycling day.
The burgundy colored trash truck is heard before it is seen.
The men that have our route are incredibly punctual.
They take their job very seriously.

I can set a clock by them.
I usually hear the trash truck even before it turns onto our street.
The truck passes by when I’m on my morning walk.
I know that I will get a big wave from each of the trash men.

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I had to make a return.
I entered the first set of doors and saw a man directly in front of me.
He was wearing long gym shorts, a t-shirt, and sneakers.
He was making a wide turn right in front of the entrance.

I decided that he must be a mall walker.
So many people walk inside the mall on hot, humid days.
The climate controlled conditions provide a perfect location for exercise.
I actually made a mental note that I had not walked that morning because of the heat.

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One of our bedrooms is simply called, the room over the garage.
It is the room that my two oldest daughters shared when they lived at home.
It is the room at the top of the back stairs.
It has its own bathroom; and an arched window frames the moon when it shines through.

You must step down from the hallway when you walk into that room.
That little area at the top of the back stairs was always a favorite place to sit or play.
Toys could be lined up on the step.
It was the little place that felt out of the way yet was very visible.

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I was eavesdropping.
I admit it.
I don’t usually do that but this particular day I did.
It happened when I was out for breakfast with my friends.

We were catching up on each others lives.
They knew that we just had two weddings in our family, two weeks apart.
They knew that my daughter is a teacher.
They had forgotten that her husband is a teacher as well.

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When my husband goes to a certain Dunkin Donuts, he usually orders the same thing.
Since I don’t drink coffee and have never even tried it, I couldn’t tell you what he orders.
After going there a few times and ordering the same thing, they know him.
He is a regular customer.

He never uses the drive-thru window.
He always walks inside.
One day he came out smiling a huge grin.
They had my coffee ready for me, he said in unbelief.

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I was kidnapped.
I was daughter-napped, really.
I was told to be ready at 7:45 am.
It was my birthday celebration and I was told to ask no questions.

My daughter, who just got married, planned this excursion.
My youngest daughter was also in on the secret.
I got out to the car and discovered that my dear friend was slouched down in the back seat.
Sneaky, I reprimanded her since we had just had an afternoon together the day before.

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With a DVR, no one needs to watch commercials.
For advertisers, that must be frustrating.
For viewers, it is very enjoyable to watch your scheduled program without interruptions.
However, in the afternoon when I have my tea, commercials are expected.

It is then that I may turn on the news for about twenty minutes.
It is then that commercials interrupt each segment.
Usually I don’t pay attention to them since I may be reading as well.
However, one commercial is guaranteed to run each afternoon as if on cue.

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I have record albums in a bin in my basement.
In my teen years, they were my most treasured possession.
Some would call them vintage now.
I would just say that it is my music collection.

My husband bought me a record player years ago.
I was able to play my records for my children .
They were amazed that my albums were like a giant CD.
If they only knew the transformation music went through as I was growing up.

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I saw the video.
A French fan was distraught that his team lost to Portugal.
They call it football.
We call it soccer.

What was displayed in the video was compassion or hesed, using a Hebrew word.
A young boy who was a Portugal fan, saw that a French fan was upset.
He walked up to him and touched his arm and said a few words.
The distraught man was touched by the boy’s kindness.

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