The threads that connect us
Lisa’s butter cookies on my Dad’s pottery, Herk’s gorgeous piece, and my book.
Lisa messaged a few days after Christmas and asked if she could purchase a signed copy of my “30 Days” book. She had been thinking about a special gift for her dear friend’s 60th birthday on Jan 1st, and had an epiphany; I was touched that it involved my book. She dropped by on New Year’s morning to pick it up, and brought homemade treats – butter cookies with a hint of ginger and the most delicious pecan brittle. She had packed a birthday brunch basket for her friend to drop off with the book.
“Sharing the stories of others — happy, sad, joyful, tragic — make up the fabric of us simply being human,” Lisa wrote in her email; it brings her contentment and joy. I had just met Lisa a week earlier, but I knew we were destined to become friends.
When Lisa retired recently, she threw herself into volunteering with KindWorks, a nonprofit for which I serve on the Board. She set up apartments for refugees, and joined us to make KindSoup over Zoom every Monday to share with shelters and neighbors. She had mentioned her passion for KindWorks to her brother-in-law Herk in PA, a high school pottery teacher. He was so moved. He had been making and collecting his pottery for years, but now he had a better idea. He wrapped up 60 pieces of his beautiful bowls and mugs and dishes, shipped them to Lisa, and asked if they could benefit KindWorks in some way. We've used some of his pieces to plate welcome meals we make for Afghan refugee families. The others Lisa displayed on her dining table and invited friends to choose their favorite -- with one suggestion: to please make a donation to KindWorks. (Lisa and Herk's generosity raised over $2000 for KindWorks, thank you both!)
I had asked my dear friend Deb, and the ED of KindWorks, to pick out a piece of pottery for me from Lisa’s ‘sale’ as I was going to be away that weekend; my dad’s greatest joy in the last years of his life was making pottery and I loved that connection. A few days later Deb dropped off a gorgeous tan and blue bowl with a perfectly shaped lid. Just a few minutes earlier, I had found home-baked cookies on my doorstep. Our sweet little neighbor, who I see every day from my office window walking her puppy named Donut, dropped them off as a holiday treat. Wonderful how things happen. You receive cookies, and a few minutes later the perfect cookie jar appears. :-)
Doing kind works has brought Lisa contentment, she had shared in her email. “I still laugh when I remember making my first best friend in life when I was in first grade with a little kind act,” Lisa wrote in her initial email to me. “I asked my father to drive me to the local candy store so we could buy some pixie sticks (my childhood favorite sweet) and then drive on to Karen's house to knock on the door and hand them to her. He indulged me, and the plan worked! We were best friends all through eight years of elementary school and her home was like my second home.”
Lisa (right) and Karen in first grade.
After Lisa dropped off her friend’s birthday surprise on Jan 1st, she texted to thank me for being part of this kind gesture. She added that she had read my Washingtonian piece, Pakistan on the Potomac. “It’s such a touching story of faith, hope, love, and lots and lots of resilience,” she wrote. “Our moms have taught us a lot haven’t they?”
Indeed they have. I sent her my mom’s wisdom, which I had shared recently on a news program.
My mom’s wisdom, which I continue to turn to …
“What lovely words from your wise mom in your own voice,” she quickly wrote back. “Here’s to all of the wise moms out there. May their wise voices be heard in our hearts always.”
And added, “I smiled at your story about your mom. The first ‘C’ I got was in third grade in penmanship. Mom wasn’t so pleased, but my father looked at me and said, ‘Did you do your best?’ That’s all I ask.’”
I shared with Lisa how my Dad had loved pottery — he found so much joy in creating pieces and could hardly contain his excitement when they emerged from the kiln, colors blending to create beautiful new hues; that that’s why her pottery gesture resonated so deeply with me. Just that morning I had been admiring Herk’s exquisite piece on our dining table and telling Arif how much Dad would have reveled in its shape, color, and beauty.
I told her that when I held my Dad’s remembrance after he passed away two and a half years ago, I took out all his pottery pieces, and filled them with his favorite treats – lemon tart in one, shami kebabs in another, until the table was overflowing.
“Oh my!” I could almost hear Lisa’s excitement jump off her text when she saw the photos. “Each one is more beautiful than the other!”
“I have come to believe that there are tiny threads that connect us all in some way or another,” she wrote. “In the press of the hours and days, weeks and months, we don’t always take time to see those threads.
“To me, it is through the stories of others and my own life experiences that I learn and realize that we are more alike than different.”
How eloquently Lisa captured the essence behind “humanKIND” — and the power of sharing our stories.
And she shared one about her Dad.
Lisa and Dad, over 33 years ago. “As we stood outside the chapel preparing to enter, my dad looked at me and said, ‘You look good.’ He was a man of few words and not one to be overly sentimental, but he meant what he said.”
“I hold onto an old bank book that my father gave to me the spring of my senior year of high school. Deposits were made starting a handful of weeks after my birth … $10, $26, $5. That act of generosity and hard work paid for four years of a private university, with some left over for a crown and root canal. I am number seven of nine children. Dad worked hard and gave me a gift that no one could take away – a university degree.”
Lisa’s bank book from 1959 and her college diploma - small deposits that lead to a priceless education. That she kept it, and found it so easily, says it all.
And this is how our friendship began, on January 1st, 2022 – one story leading to another, about our fathers and mothers, about pottery, special friends, kind gestures, and pixie sticks… revealing the threads that bind us.
It’s my new year’s wish for us all as we enter another challenging, perhaps lonely, year - may we quilt unexpected friendships, story by story.