favorite time of day

Afternoon was Mrs. Conroy's favorite time of day. After a hard day at work, her eyes were tired and her feet hurt. She enjoyed the nice long nap she took on the bus. Mrs. Conroy had made friends with the bus driver, Mr. Angstrom. He always woke her up before her stop. She usually felt fresh as a daisy when she got off the bus.

But today was different. Mr. Angstrom wasn't driving. A small man in a wrinkled uniform sat in the driver's seat.

"Where's Mr. Angstrom?" asked Mrs. Conroy, dropping her money into the box.

"I don't know. Sick, I guess. I just work here, lady. Step to the rear."

Mrs. Conroy hoped that Mr. Angstrom was all right. She didn't like this new driver. She decided not to sleep on the way home today. She didn't want to ask this driver to wake her. He didn't look like the type who'd want to do anyone a favor.

Mrs. Conroy looked out the window. It was a warm afternoon. Though she tried to keep her eyes open, the gentle rocking of the bus had a lulling effect. Within a few minutes her eyes closed. Her head dropped to her shoulders. In spite of herself, Mrs. Conroy fell fast asleep.

The next thing Mrs. Conroy knew, a hand was on her shoulder. Someone was shaking her awake.

"Wake up, lady. We've come to the end of the line. Wake up."

Mrs. Conroy blinked and opened her eyes. The bus driver looked down at her. "I said, this is the end of the line, lady. Time to get off the bus."

Mrs. Conroy peered out the window. "Where am I?" she asked. "I was supposed to get off at Essex Avenue."

expecting an answer

My aunt Edith was a widow of 50, working as a secretary, when doctors discovered what was then thought to be a very serious heart ailment.
Aunt Edith doesn’t accept defeat easily. She began studying medical reports in the library and found an article in a magazine about a well-known heart surgeon, Dr. Michael DeBakey, of Houston, Texas. HE had saved the life of someone with the same ailment. The article said Dr. DeBakey’s fees were very high; Aunt Edith couldn’t possibly pay them. But could he tell her of someone whose fee she could pay?
So Aunt Edith wrote to him. She simply listed her reasons for wanting live: her three children, who would be on their own in three or four more years, her little-girl dream of traveling and seeing the world. There wasn’t a word of self-pity---only warmth and humor and the joy of living. She mailed the letter, not really expecting an answer.
A few days later, my doorbell rang. Aunt Edith didn’t wait to come in; she stood in the hall and read aloud: “Your beautiful letter moved me very deeply. If you can come to Houston, there will be no charge for either the hospital or the operation. Signed—Michael DeBakey.”
That was seven years ago. Since then, Aunt Edith has been around the world. Her three children are happily married. For her age, she is one of the youngest, most alive people I know----all because of an open heart surgeon who knew how to honor of his profession, and how to open his own heart.

loomed before you

Suppose you set your mind to work on the problem of how you would use your own eyes if you had three more days to see. If with the oncoming darkness of the third night you knew that the sun would never rise for you again, how would you spend those three precious intervening days? What would you most want to let your gaze rest upon?
I, naturally, should want most to see the things which have become dear to me through my years of darkness. You, too, would want to let your eyes rest long on the things that have become dear to you so that you could take the memory of them with you in the night that loomed before you.
I should want to see the people whose kindness and gentleness and companionship have made my life worth living. First I should like to gaze long upon the face of my teacher, Mrs. Anne Sullivan Macy, who came to me when I was a child and opened the outer world to me. I should want not merely the outline of her face, so that I could cherish it in my memory, but to study that face and find in it the living evidence of the sympathetic tenderness and patience with which she accomplished the difficult task of my education. I should like to see in her eyes that strength of character which has enabled her to stand firm in the face of difficulties, and that compassion for all humanity which she has revealed to me so often.
Oh, the things that I should see if I had the power of sight for just three days!

the high school teacher

I have come to believe that a great teacher is a great artist and that there are as few as there are any other great artists. It might even be the greatest of the art since the medium is the human mind and spirit.
I shall speak only of my first teacher because in addition to the other things, she brought discovery.
She aroused us to shouting, bookwaving discussions. She had the noisiest class in school and she didn’t even seem to know it. We could never stick to the subject. She breathed curiosity into us so that we brought in facts or truths shielded in our hands like captured fireflies.
She was fired and perhaps rightly so, for failing to teach fundamentals. Such things must be learned. But she left a passion in us for the pure knowable world and she inflamed me with a curiosity which has never left. I could not do simple arithmetic but through her I sensed that abstract mathematics was very much like music.
When she was relieved, a sadness came over us but the light did not go out. She left her signature on us, the literature of the teacher who writes on minds. I suppose that to a lager extent I am the unsigned manuscript of the high school teacher. What deathless power lies in the hands of such a person.
I can tell my son who look s forward with horror to fifteen years of drudgery that somewhere in the dusty dark a magic may happen that will light up the years…if he is very lucky.

whether we recognize

Life comes from life. The universe is a living thing made by love and of love. The earth too as part of the universe is a living thing made of love. We experience her love in the abundance of support she provides us such as the air we breathe, the water we drink and the food we eat. And we recognize the divinity of her unconditional love and so call her mother earth or some of us refer to her as goddess. We must recognize as well that we too spring from universal love and as such carry a spark of the divine within each and everyone of us.
Ladies and gentleman,
We are here today to witness and celebrate a passage of life, a passage of love, which Ariele and Martin have chosen to enter upon. They have decided to become more than just lovers, but a family. Moving from onstage of life to another. You have been invited to be physical representatives of the divine and give your support to their union, so as to help make their new path a joyous one, one that is walked upon with wonder and ease. For truly, whether we recognize it or not, we are all family all of the time. Therefore we deeply thank you for your presence as we thank the goddess herself for being with us always.
This celebration is not and end, but a beginning, the start of a new process. From my experience it is not the marriage ceremony nor the marriage that is important, but the love and friendship that you share. Those will ensure a longer lasting relationship than any ritual.
With all my heart I bless you and trust that all will go well in your new life together. My love goes with you, as I am sure everyone else’s love in this place goes with you as sell. Goddess be with you. Blessed be.

Are You sure

I'll think about something else. I'll just sit quietly. If I could sit still. If I could sit still. Maybe I could read. Oh, all the books are about people who love each other, truly and sweetly. What do they want to write about that for? Don't they know it isn't true? Don't they know it's a lie, it's a God damned lie? What do they have to tell about that for, when they know how it hurts? Damn them, damn them, damn them.

I won't. I'll be quiet. This is nothing to get excited about. Look. Suppose he were someone I didn't know very well. Suppose he were another girl. Then I'd just telephone and say, "Well, for goodness' sake, what happened to you?" That's what I'd do, and I'd never even think about it. Why can't I be casual and natural, just because I love him? I can be. Honestly, I can be. I'll call him up, and be so easy and pleasant. You see if I won't, God. Oh, don't let me call him. Don't, don't, don't.

God, aren't You really going to let him call me? Are You sure, God? Couldn't You please relent? Couldn't You? I don't even ask You to let him telephone me this minute, God; only let him do it in a little while. I'll count five hundred by fives. I'll do it so slowly and so fairly. If he hasn't telephoned then, I'll call him. I will. Oh, please, dear God, dear kind God, my blessed Father in Heaven, let him call before then. Please, God. Please.

Five, ten, fifteen, twenty, twenty-five, thirty, thirty-five....

what does pride matter

Oh, what does pride matter, when I can't stand it if I don't talk to him? Pride like that is such a silly, shabby little thing. The real pride, the big pride, is in having no pride. I'm not saying that just because I want to call him. I am not. That's true, I know that's true. I will be big. I will be beyond little prides.

Please, God, keep me from, telephoning him. Please, God.

I don't see what pride has to do with it. This is such a little thing, for me to be bringing in pride, for me to be making such a fuss about. I may have misunderstood him. Maybe he said for me to call him up, at five. "Call me at five, darling." He could have said that, perfectly well. It's so possible that I didn't hear him right. "Call me at five, darling." I'm almost sure that's what he said. God, don't let me talk this way to myself. Make me know, please make me know.