Everyday, you meet people who directly influence the your life. Some in little ways, by, I don’t know, recommending a book that helps you to see things a little differently. And others in large ways, like the kind that find you driving down a dark (ah, inky has found its appropriately use here!), interstate in Nebraska, listening to Bela Fleck on repeat, because it just feels right, and discussing the nature of love. Not romantic love, but Love – the un-bastardized, un-Hollywood sentiment that is easy to express (for some) but hard to describe (for many others).
Tim is one of those people who changed my life, largely and directly – he came through my world like a bulldozer, flattening my expectations and given me level ground on which to build my future. Not the nebulous “future” parents typically lecture you about, using buzzwords like “bank account/fiscal stability”, “responsibility”, or “career path”. I mean the future of me, me as a person, independent of all the outward varaibles that dictate my worth at a societal level. It is Saturday night. By all means, I should be at my apartment in Boston, showering and getting ready to meet a few friends at a favorite neighborhood haunt. But, instead, I am cheerfully grimy from a hard days work, sitting cramped in the car, my wet jeans and socks sticking coldly to my legs. By all means, I should be headed to my job on Monday, to work on projects, answer emails, return phone calls, and see co-workers that I have seen consistently over the past few years. But, instead, I will be in Oklahoma City, volunteering at Myriad Botanical Gardens and exploring a new city with new faces.
Ain’t life and all it’s endless possibilities just grand?
So, of course Tim changed the course of my life, because, without him, I would probably be getting ready to head to a local bar or restaurant with friends. I would be heading to work on Monday. And this wouldn’t be bad, I would be very happy doing both of those things. But, because of Tim and his influence in my life, I am doing something different.
“Well sure,” you say, choking back gags at the syrupy sweetiness of my outlook. “Duh, Tim had an influence on you.”
Duh? Really, that was the best you could come up with? Okay. Well, hmm, I will try again. It shouldn't be too difficult to come up with another person who has influenced me, even if in some small way...
Got it!
There was this woman we volunteered with in Florida, who, through out the day, said maybe – MAYBE - 4 sentences to us. Periodically, she would look over at us, but we didn’t interact much at all. I thought she hated us. Really, I did. Well, I am prone to that and, I will admit, may be a little too sensitive sometimes. Sensitive in the way that has me convinced some person hates my very nature simply because they are not jumping up and down, chomping at the bit to talk to me. I forget how quiet Tim and I are, sometimes, when we first walk into an organization – that we periodically use our volunteered time to quietly complete the task at hand, enjoying the fact we don’t have to talk. I forget that about us, and then make snap judgments on people who may be enjoying the luxury of their own silence.
But, even taking that into account, she hated me. I just knew it.
But there I go, giving you the details without properly setting the stage or introducing you to the cast of characters.
In Pensacola, we volunteered at Appetite For Life, an organization that delivers nutritious meals to those homebound with HIV/AIDS or other terminal illnessws. They are a prime example of where passion and business acuity meet – not only do they fundraise to sustain the meal delivery program, but they run a catering business. It is a truly genius solution, I mean, they already have the commercial kitchen, why not use it to generate funds to support the operation of the primary use of the kitchen (i.e. the meal program)?
Tim and I, along with about 8 other people spent our day in the kitchen. Some people worked in the store room, others washing dishes; some people prepared meals, others packaging them; some people worked in the office, organizing the schedule of meals, others worked in the trucks, delivering the meals. Tim and I (The Bakers) baked – pineapple upside-down cake nonetheless! Okay, it was out of a box, but I think we did a masterful job all the same. We also baked brownies and individual birthday cakes for two clients.
While mixing our various batters and prepping pans for the preheated ovens, we chatted with a man at the dish wash station and the chef standing at the stove. We had stepped on some toes earlier, when we had attempted to wash our own dirty mixing bowls and had inadvertently messed up the precise system by which the dishes get done. Other volunteers rallied around us, trying to hide the evidence of our crime, but alas, they were too late. We were quickly forgiven, but did listen to very specific directions regarding proper placement of dirty utensils and dishes (i.e. not in the water, but to the right of the bathtub sized sink).
After our brisk but stern lecture, The Dishwasher brightened, opening up about his past adventures (he had been a military man), where he had lived (what he had liked about each place, and, conversely, what he didn’t like), his thoughts on Pensacola and whether or not it was fulfilling its potential (in his eyes, it wasn’t, but it give it time and it would, he advised), and the reasons he comes to Appetite for Life. He wash precise in his method, even while talking, body moving through the same series of movements, though concentration never averted from the task at hand.
The Chef, affable and proud, never stopped moving. Hand on a knife handle, he moved his tool over a flank of beef like someone playing scales on a xylophone – purposefully and at regular intervals. He told us about his culinary training, under the same chef that trained Emeril, and how he developed his (The Chef’s, not Emeril’s “BAM”) spice rub, which is delicious and kosher, and which we ate, sprinkled on cold cuts of meat, while standing in the very warm kitchen. We learned that he coached tennis, and that, in his words, he played a bit. We were later informed he didn’t play a bit – he played a bundle – and was very talented on the court, with endurance that left most of his competitors sidelined with exhaustion. Additionally, no one in the county would play him at chess. He was that good. But he was modest about his achievements, and he took pride in his cooking, carefully slicing, mixing, sautéing, and roasting items, serving them with pride.
Where I am going with this? Fair question, I tend to ramble. Volunteerism enables you to connect with a multitude of people, all of whom have stories, and backgrounds, and personalities, and experiences that not only shape them and make them unique, but also have the potential to change you, make you see things differently. Their tasks are a demonstration of their Love. These people take pride in the work they do for others, because it is a translation of their Love.
At the end of the afternoon, the Woman (you remember, the one who had to have hated me, why else would she not be talking to me), scraped the pile of perfectly uniform pieces of chopped green bell pepper, each resembling a perfectly square emerald, into a pot on the stove, then put her knife at the wash station, pressed a five dollar bill into my hand and told me to use it for gas. She said she knew we had a long trip and this probably wouldn’t get us far, but it was all she had on her. She then gave me a quick squeeze and made her way out the door, leaving me standing, dumbstruck, clutching a $5 bill and contemplating the nature and expressions of Love.
402 Cervantes Street
Pensacola, FL 32501
(850) 470-9111
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