Skip to main content

What I Wished For

I said I wanted to volunteer, didn't I? Well, today I am getting my wish.

I'll start at 9:00ish at the food bank filling bags with canned goods and then passing them out to people until around 12:15. I am supposed to stay until 1:00, but I have an appointment to get my hair cut, one I forgot about when I agreed to help out today. I don't think I'll tell them why I'm leaving early. It would look bad.

A couple of days ago I got a call from the woman who arranged for meals for sick people, and she signed me up to make dinner for a family this evening. The couple in need at the moment is somewhat elderly, and the wife has broken something. I should know what exactly, but I have forgotten. She fell on the ice recently, and after a visit to the hospital, she is at home but still a bit hobbled. So tonight, I will deliver a salad, pasta with mascarpone, and flourless chocolate cake.

All week I have been designing book covers for a non-profit group that provides books to stores in English-speaking areas of Africa. I don't get cash for my trouble, but in the past, these people have sent me the most beautiful flowers I have ever seen, and once I got chocolate. I like that kind of pay, and I also like that they like my work.

My daughter's steel drum band is giving its big annual concert next week, and as soon as I can I'll start putting the program together. The band director is a dear friend of mine, and she lets me make this thing every year. It's a six-page program because besides the "order of service," it include a mini-biography of the guest artist, a list of names of all the kids in the band, and a few pages of patron ads that go a long way in raising money for this group. I'll be typing all of those weird little ads, which is always interesting because parents say the oddest things in them. "Go, Johnny. You're Pan-tastic!"

So, I could give you the cliché "be careful what you wish for," but that would suggest I am complaining that I now have a list of volunteer opportunities to dig into. But I am not complaining. I am delighted. Maybe the new phrase that may someday become a cliché should be "be careful to wish for good things." I have a full plate these next several days, and everything on it is delicious.

Comments

dive said…
Wow, Robyn. Are you taking part in some kind of "volunteer-a-thon"?
Or is it because we're all so lazy that you're doing our volunteer work for us?
dive said…
Oh! Love the new header picture, by the way.
Scout said…
Thanks, Dive. I thought it was time for a change. Funny how all this stuff happens at once. In a couple of weeks, I might not have a single task on the list.
Admiring your work, Robyn x
Joy said…
It is wonderful, isn't it? Serving others is such a privilege. That's why I enjoy working in the voluntary sector myself.

Thanks for visiting Norwich Daily Photo.

joy
A Pinay In England
Your Love Coach
The Goddess In You
Sassy Sundry said…
Are you trying to make up for being a taker in a former life or something? You can bring me that kind of food.
Alifan said…
Well done Robyn, good for you, always a nice feeling to help others...

Have taken your idea about new specs, and Dive has helped create a pic on my blog!!!!please note the book is his not mine....tee hee as Ame might say....
Mrs. G. said…
It is so cool that you feel joy as you bring joy. I admire you.

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...

Ish People

Tell an Ish person to show up around 9 a.m., and you'll see them somewhere around 9 a.m. Tell them to show up at 9ish, and you'll see them anywhere from 9:05 to 9:20. You have given them license to dilly dally, and who wouldn't take advantage of that? The other night at the big shindig dinner party, one of the drummers said the rehearsal the next morning would begin at 9ish. "I am an ish person," he says. Immediately the clanker goes off in my head--oh, good, I thought. I can deliver my daughter a little late. No Ish person is early, so if you say 9ish, that does not mean give or take 5, 10, 15 minutes. It's exclusively a taking phrase. Take an extra 10 minutes to drink your cup of coffee. We won't mind. We're Ish people. Sunday's rehearsal started at 2:00. Because it was conducted by the same people who conducted the Saturday rehearsal, my understanding was 2-ISH. My daughter is worse than I am about taking liberties with Ish time frames, so she d...

Long Live Anita Bowser

You know I occasionally check my hometown newspaper's website to scan the obituaries (morbid, I know, but I'm at that age). Over this past weekend, I read the obituary of Indiana State Senator Anita Bowser . She was a noted Democrat who championed causes protecting the neediest in the state's population. She was respected on both sides of the aisle for her intelligence and plain and outspoken approach to law making. The picture on her senate page is lovely. I remember none of those things about Anita Bowser . My first year or so in college was spent at a branch of Purdue University, and in the early 80s, Anita was a political science professor. She taught my American Government class my freshman year, and she was a mess. Somewhere in my old text book, I have a sketch of her drawn on a particularly dull day in class--her hose sagged at her ankles, her slip showed at least half an inch all the way around, her hair had been slept on but not brushed, and her bright red lip stic...