Deana J. Driver's Blog, page 8

A woman on the plane and our talk about life after loss

My seatmate on the flight from Medicine Hat, AB to Calgary was a wonderful, gentle 85-year-old woman. She impressed me in many ways.

She only became a widow a few months ago, after 65 years of marriage, whereas I've been a widow for three and a half years after 40 years of marriage to my soulmate, Al.

This was her first flight without her husband. I've been on many trips since my loss, but I'm also younger and still working too.

She visited family on this trip and had some fascinating experiences, including being sent to an emergency shelter while the town of Irvine, AB  was evacuated due to a train derailment. And she went whitewater rafting with some of her children, grandchildren, and maybe even great-grandchildren.

Yes. Whitewater rafting at age 85. As a new widow. Talk about inspiring.

We chatted about our families and how grateful we are that they've been so helpful and supportive to us after the deaths of our main men. We spoke with gratitude that we had great husbands and how meaningful, funny, and wonderful their memorial services were. We were proud of ourselves and our families.

We talked about where we're living and what is different about our daily lives now. We are learning how to live alone after decades of being a couple. Eating alone all the time - not by choice - is not fun. I told her how I don't eat at the table. I eat in the living room most of the time. She thanked me for telling her. The newly bereaved need to hear that it is okay to change the routine to feel a little more comfortable in this new life. Once again, I was grateful for what I've learned in bereavement support groups.

We talked about what we do to keep ourselves busy and I mentioned my work as a writer and book publisher. She was curious about my work and took a pre-order card for the Flight book with her.



When it was time to leave each other at the airport, we hugged and wished each other well.

I will think of her fondly and aspire to - maybe - go whitewater rafting myself in another 20-some years.

Yes, I will remember this sweet little lady from British Columbia who also lost her husband Al.

A lot of fun and a little work at the Moose Jaw Air Show

Yesterday was a hot, but productive and fun day for me at the Moose Jaw Air Show. This was the first CFB Moose Jaw air show since 2005. The weather co-operated with a temperature of 26 Celsius, an occasional breeze, and no rain.

My late husband and I and our young children used to attend shows years ago with Al's dad, who loved everything connected with airplanes. (He was one of the first people in Regina, Saskatchewan to fly radio-controlled model planes. The excitement on his face and his vast knowledge of planes added tremendously to the experience.)

I attended yesterday's show with my son Dave, daughter-in-law Kelli, and their three young sons - who were part intrigued, part excited, part bored, but mostly hot during the five-hour show. (That's a long time for anyone to be in the scorching heat, even with loads of sunscreen and short breaks in the shade of umbrellas or displays.) 



Air Show organizers had expected a crowd of 10,000 but had to turn people away after they reached 25,000 guests! I'd call that a huge success.


Some of those in attendance had obviously done this before. They found shelter from the sun under the wings of some of the aircraft on display. (Note to self: Do this next time.)
I was anxious to attend this year's show for three reasons - because of the memories attached to my husband and father-in-law, because I enjoyed the shows so much in the past, and because I was hoping to connect with people who could help me with my next book.

I'm co-writing (with contributors) a series of books called Flight: Stories of Canadian Aviation . The first book in the series will be released this fall. I spent more than an hour walking around the displays and tarmac area, talking with pilots and other interesting folks. I handed out the postcard below and asked them to consider submitting aviation short stories for the series or contacting me so I could interview them and write their stories. (You are welcome to share the information and your own story. You can also pre-order Volume 1 on my website.)





My young grandsons had not seen me working before. They were excited to hear that I had success in finding some potential stories. The 11-year-old was especially curious about who I'd spoken to (rescue crew, helicopter pilots, air museum and history buffs, flight school folks, emergency crew). He shared in my excitement about these new potential leads and also asked me what I knew about the planes flying overhead - not much, but I shared whatever details I remembered of some of the acts I'd seen and enjoyed before.

The fighter jets make the most noise, of course. They capture everyone's attention every time.



The RCAF Snowbirds aerobatic demonstration team's performance has always been my favourite. The plane below was on display during the show. 





Near the end of the show, as we headed back to the vehicle to avoid the claustrophobia of walking in a big crowd, I snapped this photo of the RCAF Snowbirds crew heading to their planes to begin their act. I've interviewed a couple of the Snowbirds personnel for Volume 1 of my book, so now I'm even more interested in their work than before. 

From our spot in the parking lot, we watched the Snowbirds taxi onto the runway:



Our grins say it all. My son and I think these pilots are AWESOME!

I loved seeing the planes' shadows in the clouds.


And that's it from the Moose Jaw Air Show 2019. I can't wait to hear from some of the fine folks I met at this show. Stay tuned this fall for the release of  Flight: Stories of Canadian Aviation, Vol. 1 .

Grief is a tunnel - you have to go through it

A few times a year for the past two years, I have volunteered as a peer helper at spousal bereavement support group sessions. After each session, I have been moved by the stories I've heard, the pain and sadness that I've seen, and the struggles of the bereaved to carry on with their lives alone - as most of the ones I help are widowers or widows like me with adult children who live away from home.

These sessions affect me. During and afterwards.

During the sessions, I struggle with talking. I want to be sure that I listen and only speak when my perspective might be helpful to the others in the room. I speak based on my own experiences but not in any way to give advice.

Afterwards, I struggle with the triggers that hit me from what I saw, heard, and felt during these sessions. I find myself reliving the events of my own loss, the painfulness of my husband's sudden illness and subsequent death three and a half years ago, and the deep grief I felt for a long time and I am still feeling to a lesser degree.

To get through these feelings, I often sit in my vehicle after each bereavement group session and I think about some of the discussion that unfolded. I sometimes feel sad, for myself and for others (notice the order there). I sometimes cry. And sometimes I'm okay. Often, I just need some quiet time away from my home and work to reboot before returning to my daily life.

Often, I will go to a park in the city (our city has many beautiful parks) and take a walk or just sit in my vehicle and stare at the trees and water. Trees and water are calming for me. I need them in my life.

I'll take photos of what I see. It helps me mentally return to and stay in the land of the living.




 
Hundreds of books have been published about grief. I published one of them. (In fact, the Dear Me: The Widow Letters book compiled by Dianne Young was recently shown at a session by a group participant as an example of a book that has really helped her learn what it's like to be a widow and carry on. I was one of the 20 widows in Dear Me who wrote a letter of support and encouragement back to her newly widowed self.)

What I've learned through reading and the bereavement counselling I've received is that we cannot go around grief, only through it.

Grief is like a big, dark tunnel with a mountain on one side and a cliff on the other. The only way forward is through it. 




It helps to have others alongside, supporting you on your journey as you go through the tunnel. If you're lucky, they'll even pick you up and give you a ride for a bit so you don't have to go through it all alone.
As hard as the grief journey is, I am grateful for the amazing people who have supported and continue to support me as I make my way through my grief tunnel.
Some tunnels are longer than others and some people go through faster. We are each unique, our relationships were unique. Our journeys are thus different yet similar.

I've been asked why I continue to put myself through the emotional upheaval of being a peer helper at bereavement groups and at times, I consider not continuing.

But I know how important bereavement support has been to me. I could not have gone through that tunnel nearly as quickly or with as much strength without the information and assistance I received from others. 

So I give back, in gratitude for what I've received. One of the richest blessings of my life was 42 busy, fun, crazy, frustrating, wonderful years with my departed husband Al. It feels right to continue to say his name and share our story in a way that can help others celebrate the love they've lost, while giving them the tools and strength to carry on.



P.S. The next all-day grief retreat in Regina, SK for newly bereaved persons is July 27/19. See poster below and please share with others.


P.S.S.  Other blogs I've written to help others who are bereaved:
         -  http://driverworks.blogspot.com/2016/02/what-ive-learned-about-grief.html
         -  http://driverworks.blogspot.com/2018/12/getting-through-holidays-while-grieving.html

How music can speak to the soul

When you've lost someone you love, music can be either heartbreaking, a welcome distraction, helpful, healing or something else entirely. There is no predictability to what will happen when you turn on the radio or TV and hear a favourite song or even one you've never heard before. You have to have strength, be prepared to feel your feelings, good or sad, and carry on.
This is especially the case when you are a widow or widower. More than half the songs ever written are love songs. When you've lost the love of your life, this can be an exercise akin to walking on broken glass.


Today, Grief stopped by to visit for a few minutes as I was listening to music. A ballad on my iPod made me think of my departed husband, Al, and the love I've lost from my daily life. Tears flowed. My broken heart bled a little more. I gathered myself together and kept on working, kept the music playing, and heard an unexpectedly beautiful surprise.

Santana. Al's favourite artist.

I felt Al's spirit with me, his hands on my shoulders, asking me to smile. Reminding me to think of the best concert we ever attended - Santana in Saskatoon a few years before Al got sick and died. It was an amazing night.

I looked at my iPod to see the name of the song since it wasn't one I've memorized.

Europa.

Its subtitle: 
Earth's Cry Heaven's Smile.

Thank you, Al. You're the best.

When students asked about my writing and books, it all went well until that excerpt

I enjoy speaking with students about the books I’ve written and/or published but also about the importance of reading and writing to learn, grow intellectually, and make the world a better place. I also enjoy answering questions posed by students during and after my talks. Sometimes I have an answer readily available, sometimes things go slightly awry.
I was honoured to recently talk with students at Robert Southey and Viscount Central schools. I speak about how I started writing at age eight and it grew into a lifetime of loving the written word and working as a journalist, author, editor, and book publisher. I give them some tips for reading and writing and encourage them to try to make a positive impact in the world because of what they learn while reading.

Mrs. Carnegie-Meere with author-publisher Deana Driver at Robert Southey School
I tell students that there is no such thing as a dumb question, because if they don't know the answer, it's a perfect time to find out. I'd rather they ask than assume something that is incorrect.

These are some of the students' questions (and my answers) from that day:
-          “What’s your favourite animal?” (I replied that I have allergies, but I guess dogs are okay. The younger kids often ask me personal questions instead of questions related to the books I’m discussing. Or sometimes they will simply state a fact based on something they heard. After telling them of my book  The Sailor and the Christmas Trees  about a man named John, two or three younger students will inevitably tell me they know someone named John – which is nice, but it's not a question and I encourage them to instead ask a question starting with Who, What, When, Where, Why or How.)

-          “What’s your favourite food?” (Chicken. I’d eat chicken for every meal every day.)
Mrs. Jantz with author-publisher Deana Driver at Viscount Central School-          “What is your favourite book that you’ve written?” (I like all of them for different reasons. They’re all like my babies and you should never choose a favourite baby, but I guess I'll choose  Never Leave Your Wingman  because it's an inspiring true story that can be enjoyed by almost anyone in any family. Almost everyone is affected by cancer. And The Sailor and the Christmas Trees is great for children and adults too. My other three books are out of print.)
-          “Is that coat book true?”  (Yes, The Little Coat, written by Alan Buick, is a true story about a Canadian soldier and a Dutch girl who met during the war. They gave her a coat made from an army blanket.)
-          “Did you see that coat?” (Yes, my husband and I saw the little coat in 2015 when it was on display at the Military Museum in Calgary. It was on loan from the Canadian War Museum. It’s really beautiful.)
-           “Aren’t you going to ask us what our favourite animal is?” (Um… no, not today.)
-          “Who's your role model?” (My mom. She was a teacher before she had children and she encouraged me at a young age to be creative with my writing. I learned my love of the English language and writing from her.)
-          “Can you read something from the Fun on the Farmbook?” (I read Mary Harelkin Bishop’s short story called ‘A Snack For Mom’. At another reading that day, I read Keith Foster’s poem ‘Thanksgiving Memory’.) 
-          “What would you change about one of your books?” (That’s a question I’ve never been asked, but most writers I know are unhappy with some part of what they’ve written. We always want our writing to be better. Even though it's won an award and been praised endlessly by readers, I’d go back and tighten up the text of the Never Leave Your Wingman book. I wrote the book and published it quickly, within a year, because I was concerned that Dionne Warner, the seven-time cancer survivor I wrote about, might die while I was writing that book. She is still very much alive and living her life to the fullest while fighting her ninth cancer diagnosis. The day I met Dionne and decided to write and publish her story, I asked her what would happen to the book project if she died while I was in the process of writing. It was a tough question but I needed to ask it. We agreed that if we could help one person by sharing her inspiring story, my book would go ahead. After the book was published, Dionne told me that if she’d known me better, she would have answered, “What happens if you die?” It was an excellent point that is typical of what her outlook on life can teach us about how to live our lives. Live life to the fullest. No regrets.)

-          “Are you writing anything right now?” (I’m working on two new books. Author Alan Buick, who wrote The Little Coat, and I are writing short stories of Canadian war veterans who could have died had they made a different decision or been in a different place during the war. I also want to write some true stories about Prairie pilots and their adventures. So if you know anyone who has a story of a Canadian war veteran or a fascinating pilot adventure, please let me know.)
-          “I want to do freelance writing? How do you recommend I get started?” (This was a one-on-one question posed after one of my presentations. I told the student to be persistent, to keep track of everything they have ever had published, even if there was no pay for their work. You must build a resumé. When I began freelancing in September 1983, I visited the public library twice a week and looked at every magazine on the racks to see which ones matched my skill set and my interests as a writer. I mailed writing samples from my journalism career to many of these magazines and made several long-distance phone calls, which were expensive in those days, but I received no responses. In early 1984, I attended a burn symposium on my own, listened to the morning’s speakers, then phoned The Medical Post in Toronto and talked to their editor about the physician speakers and their topics. I asked if the magazine wanted stories from this first-on-the-Prairies conference and they agreed to accept four or five articles. This began a 30-year freelance career with that and other publications. Be persistent, be passionate about your writing, work hard, be good at what you do.)
-          “Can you read us some of that book about horses?” (This was not my finest moment as a speaker. I have never read excerpts from Bryce Burnett’s humorous cowboy poetry to a group of students, so I picked up Bryce’s latest book, Horses, Dogs and Wives , and skimmed the pages to find a suitable poem. I saw one that ended with “farted” and decided to keep looking. I landed on the ‘Rover’ poem instead, but I should have looked more closely at the last couple lines first. I'd temporarily forgotten that cowboy poetry usually has a surprise ending. As I finished reading that poem, the entire group of Southey students gasped and then laughed, while I sheepishly grinned. I later apologized to the teachers for reading what some might have considered an inappropriate poem for the students, but the teachers insisted it was fine. See the poem below for yourself. Would you have read it to kids in Grades 6 to 9?)


Thank you to both schools for the invitations to speak and to Saskatchewan Writers’ Guild for subsidizing the Viscount reading. Thank you to the students of both schools for their attention and their questions.
Mrs. Elaine Jantz, librarian at Viscount Central School, wrote about my presentation at Viscount school:

“Deana Driver came to our school for a presentation and spoke to our students about her books, writing and publishing. She is an awesome presenter, she kept them all engaged and hearing the stories about how the books came to be was so enlightening and made them even more interesting to get and read.  The story about a shy, farm girl going on to be a journalist, then writer, editor and publisher, really inspired some of our students as to how far you can go and what you can do if you try. She gave them great insight into how to start writing and keep going. We very much enjoyed her visit!”

(Read about a Robert Munsch question I was quickly able to answer.)

A Robert Munsch kind of question

“Are you Robert Munsch?"

I was about to start an author reading at a school and a Grade 6 student asked me if I was the prolific children’s author Robert Munsch. I've never been asked that before – for obvious reasons, including the fact that I am female.

Author-publisher Deana Driver in Southey, SK

Fortunately, I’ve presented enough author readings at schools and libraries across the Prairies that I was not flustered or stumped at all by this unique question.
I simply replied, “No, I am not Robert Munsch … I don't write those kinds of books,” and I carried on with my presentation, talking about my career as a writer – of non-fiction.
I told the students how I began writing as a young child. A one-hour school bus ride from my family’s farm to the school in town and another hour spent on the ride home again was ample time to use my imagination and my other two favourite tools – a pen and a piece of paper – to write poems, short stories, and even notes or questions for fellow travellers.
This developed into my love of the written word, my involvement in the high school newspaper, a busy two years of journalism classes at college in Calgary, a move from Alberta to Saskatchewan, and a subsequent career as a journalist, author, editor, and book publisher.
My recent presentations to the students of Robert Southey School and Viscount Central School were filled with fascinating questions from the students and, I hope, helpful or at least interesting answers from me. And maybe the student who asked the Robert Munsch question was being a goofball showing off for his friends, but I am pleased to say I connected with him in some ways.
A wall mural painted by students of Viscount Central School
He looked serious when I spoke about the seven-time cancer survivor I wrote about in the Never Leave Your Wingman book and how Dionne Warner’s inspiring story has helped thousands of people, including my own family when my mother died of pancreatic cancer in 2011 and my husband died from colon cancer in 2016.

That same student laughed at my jokes and some of the funnier book excerpts I read to the students. And it was fun to mention to that class that I did happen to publish a great children's picture book that has a similar sense of humour as Robert Munsch's books. SuperMom and the Big Baby, written by my son Dave Driver, tells of a child whose temper causes him to grow so big that his mom tries to come to the rescue, using phrases that were actually spoken by my daughter-in-law Kelli while she was sleep-talking.

He had jokingly asked for my autograph at the beginning of the session, but he surprised me by following through on his request after my presentation. So either i impressed him enough or he wanted to continue being silly and get my signature on a piece of paper towel to show to his friends.

For my own self-esteem, I'm going with Option 1.

Christmas in February - an angel sign on a plane

On the last leg of my flight home from a recent vacation in Kauai, I was sitting in a plane at the airport in Calgary, AB. I closed my eyes and said to my dear departed husband, "Hey, babe, I'm coming home," which is weird because I feel his spirit with me wherever I go.

But I said it. Without questioning it or thinking too much about it.

Then I noticed that the background music playing on the airplane was Little Drummer Boy.
On February 28th. A Christmas song. Weird.

Weirder still is that Little Drummer Boy just might have been Al's favourite Christmas song. He especially loved pumming along as we sang this song with the ragtag group of carollers from our church.

Messages from heaven come in all sorts of ways at all variety of times. I've learned this from my daughter Lisa Driver's three books (Opening Up, Leap, and Boundaries and Bucket-filling) in reading and editing her writings about angel messages and connections to our departed loved ones.

I have learned not to doubt angel signs or question them. I have learned to accept them and be grateful that my departed loved ones want to show me they are with me.

Some angel signs are stranger than others. I have found some to be upsetting because I'd rather have my husband here than wherever he's hanging out these days. But there's nothing I can do about that except feel my feelings.

This particular angel sign made me shake my head in wonder and then smile. Christmas in February on a plane in Calgary. Strange.

Getting Through the Holidays While Grieving

For the last couple of weeks, I've been thinking about writing a blog with tips on how to get through the holidays when you are grieving ... but I honestly didn't have the emotional strength to do that until now.

It takes energy to write and even though I've been a writer for the last 35 years, it's been a struggle to put words into order since my husband, Al, passed away almost three years ago. Colon cancer was the cause. Frickin' cancer.

Okay, enough about that. I am fine. Most days. I am carrying on the best that I can while missing him every day but being grateful for the life we had together.

I am fine.

But you might not be.

Grief can be heightened during special occasions such as birthdays, anniversaries, and holidays. I learned a lot about grief in my work as a journalist and in my reading and experiences after Al died. I wrote about these lessons a month after he died, and I will repeat some of the ones that are specific to Christmas, New Year's Eve, and other special occasions.


Be kind to yourself. It may be helpful to go to some events so you don't spend all your time alone, but give yourself permission to say "no, thank you" if it feels wrong to attend something on a particular day. For example, I did not go to our church's "quiet Christmas" service this year. I was not feeling sad for a change, so why bring sadness into a good day when I had experienced so many sad moments already?

Breathe. Take long, deep breaths, especially when you feel overwhelmed by invitations or expectations. For the first few months after Al's death, I often stopped walking - just stopped - and concentrated on taking three deep breaths - one ... two ... three - to regroup. There is scientific proof that deep breathing helps our body to release anxiety and stress. Taking some deep breaths is one of the easiest ways to keep going when you think you can't go anymore.

Left foot, right foot. In the early days of my grieving, this is the only way I could function - by telling myself to breathe and to put one foot in front of the other to get through this moment, then get through the next moment. Take one step at a time, make one decision at a time, and don't let others tell you what to think or do or how to feel.

Feel your feelings. If you feel sad or angry or upset or confused, it's okay to express it. It's okay to cry - anywhere. This doesn't mean you will feel this way forever. Bottling it up will delay healing and no one wants that. Do not apologize for how you feel. Apologize if you hurt someone while you are feeling, though. If possible, choose who you are with as you feel your feelings. (See 'Be kind to yourself' above.)

Rest. We concentrate too much on achievement and not enough on self-care. When grieving, self-care is essential. Rest does not necessarily mean getting a good night's sleep. That is elusive when you are in the midst of deep grief. If you cannot slow your overthinking mind enough to have a nap, try sitting in a comfortable chair or lying down for a few minutes. Close your eyes and turn off your brain for a short break. Rest.

Pre-arrange transportation. When grieving, it is important to have some control over your ability to come and go from parties and other holiday gatherings. If you suddenly feel overwhelmed or too sad to stay, have a friend or family member drive you home. Be careful not to drive when in the depths of grief as your mind may not be fully focused on the road. Be kind to yourself and others.

A bereavement support program gave me this helpful brochure:



The brochure's tips from Kelly and Karin Baltzell are:
Pace yourself To say 'No' is okay Pamper yourself Tell people what you need Make new rituals Honor traditions Remember your physical needs Tell others exactly what holidays are important to you Crying is okay Make action plans Consult your family and friends Lean on your faithTo help ensure our first Christmas without Al was a little less painful and full of dread, I suggested to our children that we each make a donation to a charity that we thought he would like. On Christmas morning, we celebrated his life by telling each other the donation we made, of cash or something else, in his memory and why we chose that charity. The amount of each donation wasn't mentioned. It was not important. We had contributed to a worthy cause in our communities in memory of a great man.

We smiled and even laughed. And we cried, of course. Tears of love.

I wish that for you this holiday season - that you get through it the best way you can while remembering your loved one and taking care of yourself.

Happy holidays!

What's in my Little Black Book?

I have an unusual name. Deana. I've had to spell it for most of my life for most people and on most occasions.

It's not only been misspelled, but it's also been mispronounced many different ways over the years - dana, dinah, donna, deanna, and on occasion, correctly - deena.

I've blamed my mom for giving me the strangest name in our family. All my siblings have normal names that sound exactly the way they are spelled. But not me. Why? I don't know. I wrote 
The truth remains that my name is unusual, leading to a low possibility of finding any souvenir or other keepsake with my name engraved, embossed, painted, carved, or otherwise embedded on it.

So when my husband saw a key chain a few decades ago that had "Deana" on it, that rare key chain came home with us.


The key chain accessory is rectangular with a little door on the bottom side that opens up, revealing a fold-out piece of paper headlined "Little Black Book", just like the words on the top of the fob.


For years, I used this key chain to hold a set of extra keys to our church, and I ignored the hidden piece of paper inside it.

When I was a volunteer youth group leader, I'd often hand my church keys over to a teenager so they could open the church office or other room to get something we needed for that day's program. Sometimes this hand-off went well. Other times, a curious teenager would ask, "What's a Little Black Book?"

I'd explain that in the old days, you'd keep a list of people you dated or wanted to date and their phone numbers in your private little black book. The youth holding my key chain would stare at me for a second and then immediately start to dismantle my key fob to see what secrets were hidden in my Little Black Book.

I'd quickly grab my keys back and squash their attempts at getting inside the head of their leader.

There was nothing for them to see, of course, but still ... it was more fun to keep them wondering.

A few years into my 13-year stint as a youth group leader, I decided to write something in my Little Black Book - for my own entertainment.

I enjoyed watching the reactions of subsequent batches of nosy teenagers who took it upon themselves to open up my secret book without my permission. They'd quickly become quiet and then smile sheepishly. And I'd smile too. It was all in good fun.

Years passed and I was no longer a youth group leader. My children had all become young adults and I had moved on to other adventures, such as publishing books.

I'd forgotten about the secret of my Little Black Book until one day at church when another woman at a meeting asked who had a key to the church office so she could get something for our committee. I handed her my key.

On her way back from using the key, she noticed the key chain's secret door and opened it up.

She burst out laughing. "You got me!"

It wasn't my intention to get her, but I surely did.

This is what she saw:




 

The Tale of the Shopping Cart and the Strangers - with my gratitude

I'm sending some pretty flowers out over the Internet to two people I do not know who helped to make a strange encounter at the shopping mall much more bearable.
Thank you for being so kind.
Here's my side of the story – because every journalist (and semi-retired journalist) knows there is always more than one side to every story.
As I approached my vehicle after coming out of a store, I watched a man in a large SUV truck drive into the spot in front of where I was parked. He came to a stop too late and knocked a shopping cart over onto the front of my vehicle.
When he got out of his Hummer, I calmly said, "Did you know you knocked a shopping cart into my vehicle?"
"No," he replied.
I was sure that it had not fallen hard enough to cause damage, so I wasn't really concerned, but I was frustrated that he had not seen it over the top of his big vehicle. "You should watch where you are driving next time and be more careful," I added.
He was not impressed. He replied that he did watch where he was driving and then said, "Did I put the shopping cart there?"
Um, what? Shouldn't you be watching for carts and other potential obstacles ... such as, maybe, children ... when you're driving?
Anyway, I replied, calmly, that he had not watched well enough and that he should be more careful.
He was obviously upset with me. He asked if I wanted him to move his vehicle. My answer went unheard because he ignored my reply that it wasn't necessary. He got back into his vehicle and backed it up a foot or more.
During this, I got into my vehicle, as did the woman who was parked beside me. She had seen, heard, and watched the whole thing. 
The fellow then got out of his vehicle, looked over at someone that I couldn't see, swore while saying whatever he said that I couldn't quite hear (which I assumed was something negative about me), and carried on into the drugstore.
The woman in her vehicle looked over at me and shrugged her shoulders. We smiled at each other. I mouthed the word, "Special." She nodded and then drove away.
I was grateful for her kindness. We shared a mutual confusion and wonder about what the man was thinking. She understood me. 
This rose is for her. 



Now here's an interesting twist in the tale...
Just before I started my vehicle to continue on my way, an elderly man walked over, using his cane, and asked me to roll down my window. He then asked if I needed a witness.
"No. Thank you. I'm sure there wasn't any damage. It's fine," I replied.
He introduced himself as "an old retired police officer" and insisted on checking my vehicle's front to make sure there was no damage. He informed me that even though there was no damage, if he had not been retired, he would have charged this man with "undue care and attention".
I was surprised. I didn't think it was that serious. Just annoying.
And I was grateful that a complete stranger had walked out of his way to offer support like that.
So this rose goes to him.



I am thankful for his kindness and offer of assistance after a strange encounter in a parking lot with a man who was having a bad day.
The driver of the Hummer was obviously unhappy before he even got out of his vehicle and was confronted by me. I could see it on his face.
I later wondered about his story. Maybe he is ill. Maybe someone in his family is ill. Maybe someone he loved has passed away. Maybe he has financial woes. Maybe he is getting laid off at work. Maybe he has employees who are relying on him in a business that is struggling. Maybe he has other issues that are causing him to be less than completely observant of his surroundings. Or maybe he's just a jerk.
In any case, I had enjoyed a lovely lunch and visit with a dear friend, so that had put me in a positive frame of mind to handle myself with dignity.
This time.
Today was a good day for me. On a lesser day, I don't know what I would have done. Maybe just stared and glared and then walked away. Maybe cried, most likely after I quietly got into my vehicle. Maybe nothing, and then been angry and stewed about it for hours. Maybe screamed, although that's not as likely since that isn't my character. I don't know. I just know that I was proud of the way I handled it and pleased with the way two strangers were there for me if I needed them.
It was a reminder also that we don't know another person's story. Even if we've talked with them about what they're thinking and feeling, we don't really know.
We haven't walked in their shoes. Or driven in their Hummers. (Winky face.)  
Since we don't know what they're feeling or what they are living with in their everyday lives, we have to try to be kind.
Some days, that is easier than others. We do the best we can.
So this pretty flower is for that guy in the Hummer who was having a bad day. 


I hope tomorrow is better for him. And for us too.
Let's keep on doing the best that we can and not beat ourselves up for the things we did wrong today.

Tomorrow's a new day. Let's try to be better at life tomorrow.