Read this if you know a teacher who has earned your gratitude:
“I sell air,” a man once told me.
Since the time, as an infant, I inhaled to let loose my first wail, I’ve used air. Daily. And never paid a penny. So I was curious as to how he could sell a resource that’s available to everyone for free, and I asked, “Successfully?”
He launched into a detailed account of the process that air is forced through, so it becomes a product thatsells for a lucrative amount.
When he began to describe manipulation of the N2s and the O2s and the CO2s , he lost me.
I stood in the shower with water streaming over my suds-filled hair when the garbage cans that line our home’s outside wall pinged and rattled. The noise sounded like a clattering tambourine and lasted a few seconds. I thought a bold creature was rummaging through our trash–in daylight. With my fist, I banged on the wall and shouted, “Get out of those cans.”
The clatter stopped. My stern command had sent the creature fleeing.
A few minutes later, equipped with rubber gloves, I checked the cans. I was prepared to pick up strewn trash and look for signs of the scavenger. Bear? Cat? Skunk?
My Great Gram–who taught me a secret to aging well long before I needed it. I was forty before I realized I needed it, and, just recently, I’ve learned to practice it.
At a restaurant in our town, birthday guests are invited to celebrate their special occasion by culminating their meal with a silly act. They are invited to sit on a saddle which is mounted on a rolling sawhorse. When the birthday person sits, servers and guests clap and shout birthday cheers.
Last spring, when my husband Steve turned sixty, because he likes their steaks, he chose this restaurant for his birthday meal. “You’ll have to sit on the saddle,” I warned.