For Me, From Not-the-Easter Bunny!

Earlier today I had to make a mad dash over to the pet store to buy cat food for Geronimo and since it’s right next door to Whole Foods, I thought I’d pop in to buy a small wheat roll to go with my dinner salad. But as soon as I walked in, there it was, tempting me: the Easter display.

My growing-up family, though not particularly religious, observed some Easter traditions: my Mom would make lacy pastel frocks for my sister and me, we had the egg hunt and pretty baskets and, when I got older, my mom always bought me one of those huge See’s chocolate eggs, decorated with frosting. Now, every year on Easter Eve, I get a craving for special treats.

So there I was this afternoon, my eyes abnormally bright with sugar-lust, staring at the bakery’s display of cupcakes frosted with “grass,” mini-bundts piped with spring flowers, and sugar cookies baked in the shape of eggs and coated with pastel frostings. The sweet-faced clerk stepped up to help me, and I explained to her why nostalgia for my childhood Easters had turned me into a treat-seeking missile. Caught up in the quest, she energetically showed me one delicacy after another, but everything was either too expensive or just not It, so I demurred. Feeling bad that I had taken up so much of her time, I asked if they’d be open tomorrow so I could come back and actually make a decision “when I’m not so tired.”

Though this made no sense at all, the gracious clerk smiled broadly and said she TOTALLY understood (really?) and then said, excitedly, “Ooh! I know! Wait right there!” I laughed and said I would, she went running to the back. I saw her fussing with something, and when got back to the counter she shyly held out to me a crumpled square of waxed paper in which were nestled three adorable candy bunnies. They were perfect in every way. I smiled, and she smiled.

I took the tiny sugar-warren, wrapped them, thanked her profusely, and left happy. I think she was even happier. The true theme of Easter is so much larger and deeper than anything having to do with candies or bunnies; nevertheless, an important aspect of the holiday was very much present in our encounter: joy. In this case, the joy of intuited need and fulfillment, the joy of grace, and giving, and gratitude.

She Has the Secret

My niece reports the following conversation she had with her two-and-a-half-year-old daughter:

Mama: “Hannah, how did you get to be so smart?”
Hannah: (a slight pause) “Cookieeees!”

I’ve always suspected that creme filling had unique and unexplored properties.

I was listening to Len Tillem’s “How come you’re callin’ a lawyer?” talk show on KGO radio while driving home from work today; at the top of the hour, Len put “Les” on the line to share the denouement of the call Les had made to the show yesterday.

Les — who sounded like a tired, kind, elderly Morgan Freeman — had previously called because the mother of his grandson, Bobby, had somehow become unable/unwilling to care for Bobby at some point, so this 14-year-old boy left home “with only the clothes on his back.” Now living with his grandpa, the musically-talented Bobby had apparently been begging his mother to let him at least come home to get his trumpet back, but had thus far been unsuccessful. I don’t know what the mother-son communication problem is, but it didn’t sound happy.

During the original call, Len Tillem had said that perhaps some of the listeners could help; he somehow made contact arrangements. So today when Les got on the line, he said he had talked to a “Mike in San Mateo” who told Les he had a trumpet he’d owned for years, hadn’t played in ages, and that he would gladly give his trumpet to young Bobby — all Les had to do was come down to San Mateo to get it. I’ll let Les tell the story as he told us over the air, quoting (roughly, from memory):

“Unfortunately, I had to tell him that without a car I couldn’t get down to San Mateo from Richmond…it would take hours and hours on different varieties of public transportation, and Len, this Mike said he would DRIVE up from San Mateo to Richmond and deliver it to us! He said he’d be there at 11 am the next day, and at exactly 11 o’clock he was on my doorstep with a beautiful trumpet. I asked him if he’d like to give it to Bobby himself, and he said he sure would. So we went to where Bobby was working — he does volunteer work — and Mike himself got to hand his trumpet to Bobby. Len, I took pictures and I’d love to send them to you.”

At that point Len Tillem got back on the air and said, “I’d love the pictures, Les, and let me tell you what ELSE happened after your call: we got tons of calls from listeners, wanting to do something. People were offering their trumpets — people were even offering money! I bet we got 15 calls from people all over the Bay Area, wanting to help.”

By this time, I had tears streaming down my face, thinking about Mike — who drove from San Mateo to Richmond! — and all the other good people who are our friends and families and neighbors and co-workers all over this beautiful and loving home we call the San Francisco Bay Area, all hearing about a little boy in need and dropping everything in their lives at that moment to contribute.

So if someone is having a bad day and says, “People are the worst!” or some such thing, please tell them the story of Bobby and the Trumpet.