I passed the bus stop.
The mom was waiting with her son for the elementary school bus to pick him up.
He was talking a mile a minute about something important.
His hands were gesturing for effect.

I smiled at how much it reminded me of days not too long ago.
Those last few moments before the bus comes.
Listening to all they have to say.
One last hug; one last wave.

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How well do you listen?
How much do you hear on any given day?
What are you missing because you are not paying attention?
How important is being a good listener?

Think of all the things a parent may say to a child when they are teaching them to listen.
Listening ears, please.
I want your full attention.
Did you hear what I said?

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My youngest daughter graduates from high school at the end of the week.
This is our family’s third graduation in a few weeks.
It doesn’t seem possible that she will be going to college in the fall.
Not possible, but indeed true.

When she leaves, I will have the proverbial empty nest.
I don’t know how I feel abut that.
It’s the way it is supposed to be, but that doesn’t make it any easier.
It is the end of something and the beginning of something else.

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I sit here tethered to a power cord that is charging my laptop.
I use my laptop quite a bit and the battery inevitably drains.
I plug it in; the indicator light goes from green to red.
The light becomes green again when it is charged.

So simple.
So useful.

I have to charge my cell phone as well.
I do not use my iPhone to its full potential.
I prefer to write my appointments on an actual calendar and check email on my computer.

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A severe thunderstorm came through our county last night.
The sky grew very dark and ominous.
The wind kicked up.
The leaves turned over and showed their underside.

Children playing outside, took cover.
There was no time to cover the plants that had just been potted.
There was no time to take down the hanging plants that were swaying furiously.
There was just enough time to close the patio umbrella so that it would not fly away.

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I watched the cashier at the resister as she waited on the woman ahead of me.
Neither woman talked as the cashier went about her job efficiently.
I couldn’t figure out if the customer was not engaging or if it was the cashier.
I would know soon enough.

The woman in front of me was finished and took a while leaving the register.
She gathered up her things, taking her time.
She looked up and smiled; and I smiled back.
She seemed pleasant enough.

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It has been said that the way to love someone is to listen to them.
Listening is an art.
It is not something we do well.
We often are thinking of the next thing to say or our reply to what is being said.

To be all there, to be really present, is a gift to those sharing their hearts.
To hear what is said and what is not said is so important.
To pick up on nuances or body language is a rare skill.
To be a good listener requires practice and selflessness.

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There are certain things we are sure to see when we visit a city.
Tall buildings, lots of people, minimal grass, and many pigeons.
We expect crowds and noise and traffic.
We know there will be buses and cyclists weaving around cars going nowhere.

Everyone is in a hurry.
Everyone seems to be living in their own world.
It is almost as if an insulated bubble is around each person.
Walking next to, but not with, the person who happens to be by your side.

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I went to an all girls college in the Philadelphia suburbs.
The campus had beautiful old buildings with much character.
Everywhere you looked there was intricate stonework and exquisite design.
Even though I was accepted to other colleges, this campus called to me.

Funny that the beauty of the campus meant so much to me, since I commuted to school.
However, if I was going to spend my days there, the scenery and ambiance was important.
Each season was more beautiful than the one before.
Old trees with massive trunks lined the paths.

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I got glasses and braces in the same year.
The same year in my young life when I felt awkward anyway.
Back then, glasses were a necessity not a fashion statement.
Braces were silver and thick and left your mouth tasting like metal.

That was a difficult year.
I was changing and becoming a woman.
I didn’t understand what was going on inside of me, let alone understand the outside.
You’re beautiful, my mother would say, with my aunt always agreeing.

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