I wrote at a friend's blog recently that the leaves of my thick woods are falling faster than a bent deck of cards sprung loose.

Red and gold and brown and orange and so much more are whirring though the new crispness of the season. I let the leaves fall and stay all winter. I like the look and they protect spots of groundcover.







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Going back a couple of weeks, Mary Phillips and I met interesting people while scurrying and waiting for portions of my transplant evaluation. I mention Mary so some of you can verify with her - everything I'm about to write, believe it or not, is the truth.

At radiology there was an elderly gentleman. He was quite quiet while his daughter had the biggest loudest most annoying mouth I've ever had the misfortune of hearing. She ceaselessly harped and badgered the elderly man, her father. I suppose she could get away with her abusive nature because he couldn't hear a darn thing she bellowed. Thank goodness. I don't think Mary and I had ever witnessed a-n-y-t-h-i-n-g like it before. She treated everyone so poorly. She had no filter on her stinky mouth. None.

Her father was another story. His body was a bit crooked, bent with soft curves and sharp angles. His white hair neatly groomed with a side part. I suspect he'd used a dab of Brylcreem, which created gentle rows where a comb had plowed. (For those too young to know, Brylcreem is pomade developed in the 1920s.) He was dressed in a suit, white shirt, and tie. His face was sweet. A kind smile never left his lips - not even to run and hide from the blustery daughter. When he stood up, I noticed that one of the belt loops of his suit was a little frayed. Call me silly, but I saw so much more than a frayed belt loop.

The little bit of fray invited me to look closer - to consider the days before his life had unraveled to be at the mercy of his lunatic daughter. I saw the dignity of this man... the utmost dignity with which he carried his very old and broken body that was wearing a suit with a belt loop with a tiny patch of fray. My imagination soared to think of the respect that had once been given him by adoring employees or co-workers. I imagined a life, perhaps a bit stuffy compared to our lives today, as one of honor, fairness, integrity. Had he been a titan of industry? A shoe salesman? A line cook? It didn't matter. His countenance spoke of a different era - one I sometimes wish we still spoke. I miss the tidiness of little courtesies, an Atticus Finch tip of the hat. Civility. I miss it.

My imagination creates so many people I worry about. I continue to think about the kindly gentleman with the frayed belt loop, and wish him well.


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In that same waiting room another scenario ricocheted at warp speed.

There was one woman whose list of illnesses and surgeries was unfurled for each unsuspecting newcomer. Mary & I were her first audience - during which time she also proudly boasted about a son who worked in lower-lower-lower management at Chattanooga's Coca-Cola Distribution Center.

By the time we left, she was vying for attention with one-upmanship surgeries and regaling newcomers of her son's amazing career path to become CEO of Chattanooga's Coca-Cola Distribution Center. I swear on my mother's tin of ashes that are still in my closet. (Good God. I need to do something with those.) And she was asking for names and addresses so she could tell her son to ship them a free case of Coca-Cola... AND people were actually giving her names and addresses!

Mary and I sat there dumb as stone. Not a peep. No eye contact. Incredulous.

And people ask how I think up the stuff I write about. For the millionth time, I don't have to think!


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There's not a whole lot to this post. It's about observations. Somehow or another and I don't know why or how... these observations always make me a better person.

Thanks for stopping by.