Bits of Change: Give a penny, Take a penny February 27, 2008

A couple of weeks ago I was paying for my lunch at a diner and noticed a “Give a penny, Take a penny” dish next to the cash register. Upon receiving my change I dropped a penny in the dish. Now unlike other change deposits, this isn’t a wishing well or a piggy bank-it’s a dish full of pennies to share with one another. I think it’s wonderful that we’re willing to give something to a complete stranger. I understand that it’s only a penny, but it’s still something and the charitable act has lasted for years.

Usually I subconsciously drop a penny or two in the tray, but this time I really started to notice the dishes that were sometimes trays or cups and made of wood, plastic or metal. While paying close attention to the physical penny deposits, I did notice that the there seemed to be a penny shortage (only a few lonely Lincolns were wading in the bottom on the dish). Maybe it was because I was younger and not as observant, but I thought I recalled an overflow of copper. Regardless, it’s still great to see a nice gesture in physical form out in the world. I just hope there are more givers than takers.

I often feel guilty taking a penny (thanks to Quaker school), and what usually happens is that the cashier hands me the penny to use or just takes it for me. Now the next time I have pennies in a transaction, I always try to leave one or two-literally paying it forward for myself and anyone else a penny short from an ice cream cone. On that note, do you ever wonder what your penny is going towards? Hopefully not lottery tickets or cigarettes. Come to think of it, there should be two separate penny trays: “Give a penny, Take a penny for cigarettes and lottery tickets” and another one for everything else.

Here’s to the penny givers. Thanks for helping me out when I came up short. The coffee was delicious, the ice cream was to die for, etc. etc. etc.

I owe you….a penny.

a few of my favorite things… February 12, 2008

Whenever life gets stressful I just close my eyes and think of simple things that bring a smile to my face. Now I don’t break into song as if I was making a guest appearance in The Sound of Music (maybe sometimes-but only in my apartment). Anyway, it may seem silly-but I think that it’s truly wonderful that memories can instantly take us to a place of calm.

Some of my favorites:

walking through a rain shower of flower petals from a towering tree

the smell of fresh lavender

listening to water stream underground in a gutter after a strong rain

holding hands with someone on a cold day

picking a fig from its tree and eating it immediately

It’s so easy to feel overwhelmed, disappointed and frustrated-but it can be just as easy to slip away for a second, close your eyes and breathe. I keep these memories on hold and when I need a burst of energy I press play. I imagine each one as a slide in a projector in the back of my brain-just waiting there for me to flick the switch.

The renter. February 4, 2008

“I need to buy land. I want to own a piece of the United States. I want a home.”

Those were the words from a nearby table that gravitated to my ear as I was sitting in a café. The phrases instantly struck my mind, cutting off circulation to all other thoughts at that moment. It made me think about the concept of owning land vs. renting.

As a renter I often think about the concept of “home” and how we create it. I’ve explored this idea in songs and essays, but never in a poem–until now. This poem is in its earliest stage-but I wanted to share it anyway. Who knows, my edits and lengthening may ruin it, so I might as well share it while it’s raw.

 

Transient

 

I am the eternal wandering soul

renting the concept of home

and sending the custody check for my floors

to the landlord

 

I paint the walls with black and white

pictures of my life

temporary tattoos that I constantly reapply

but I tell everyone they’re real

and they don’t believe me

 

Underneath these pictures

behind the couch

are scars from other wanderers

Who left their “home”

like they would leave their lover

vulnerable

empty

until someone else comes along

to fill the space

and cover the walls

until it gets cold again

too cold to stay

 

I carry letters

with different street names

and numbers

where I used to sit

and have notes sent to

but I’m gone

before the ink can dry

in anyone’s address book

 

The land of the free

where I am free of land

Painting imaginary walls of home

that I wipe clean with boxes

and moving tape

 

Maybe one day in spring

I’ll find a room with a chair

to sit in

and the branches

will push through the windows

and wrap their new sprouts

around each finger

resting buds on my wrist

and when they blossom

I’ll decide to stay

and watch it change to winter

 

stay for a while

maybe then

maybe.