transparent

Tell us about a time you found a friend in an unexpected place

Last September, on my first day at my present job, the cleaning woman advised me to recycle colored paper as she dusted my desk and emptied my trash. On the two following mornings, she asked how I was settling in. On the fourth, she added, “By the way, my named is Miriam,” pointing to her tag and emphasizing the name. Oblivious, I said, “Yes, thanks again.” She smiled and left. A few minutes later, she was back. I’m embarrassed to admit that I thought, impatiently, What? I have work to do. “Where are you from?” she asked. And with that, I recognized how easy it is to look through people instead of at them.  For 13 years, from 1979 to 1992, Miriam had been my family’s housekeeper in Los Angeles. On her twice-monthly visits, she had watched me bond with my first pet, cope with my parents’ divorce and get ready for the prom. She’d kept photos — more than a dozen — of me and a friend whose house she also cleaned for more than a decade. Miriam has become a daily presence in my life. When my mother came to visit, the three of us went out for lunch, and they talked nonstop for more than an hour. The world is, sometimes, a weirdly small place.



web

Tell us about a time when someone’s web page brought a real surprise

In 1995, Eric and I both worked for the same company. He was based in Florida; I was at the company headquarters in Fairfax, where he would sometimes attend meetings. We became friends via telephone while we worked together, but switched to e-mail after we both left the company in 1998. He was my go-to guy for all things e-mail and Internet-related.  With each year’s advancing technologies, I often needed Eric’s help. He always responded, usually within 15 or 30 minutes of my first message. As the years passed and our lives changed, our e-mails slowed, but I always kept in touch, and he always answered. Our last e-mail exchange was in early February 2005. By March, my e-mails were being returned with the notification that his inbox was full. By early April, I was quietly frantic. One evening late that month, I restlessly sat down at my computer and Googled his name. The first site to come up was an “In Memoriam” page indicating that on February 21, 2005, Eric had “suddenly passed.” There were various pictures with a moving message about his gifts and talents and how much he’d be missed. Three years later, it’s still incredibly hard to describe the shock of learning about Eric’s death via a Web page. It was even harder to later learn that Eric had fallen on rough times and committed suicide. The Web had given much but had taken away more.



Editor's query

Tell us about a time you made a dining faux pas

What did I know about restaurants? When I was growing up in the Bronx, the closest my family came to eating out were the times my parents would bring home frankfurters and salami from the delicatessen across the street. In 1955, when I was 16, I went on a big date with my 19-year-old boyfriend and a few other couples. We went “downtown” to an Italian restaurant in Manhattan’s Greenwich Village. This was the era before everyone had credit cards, so after a lovely evening of good food, good conversation and lots of laughs, we paid the bill in cash and left the restaurant. As the group was walking toward the subway, I turned to my date and gave him a handful of dollar bills.“You left this on the table,” I naively told him. He is now my husband of 49 years, and we are still laughing about it.



Editor's query

Tell us about a time when someone literally left a mark

In the summer of 1977, I was 7 years old, and my brother, Chris, was 4. One night during a beach vacation, our parents allowed us to wave sparklers on the patio. Chris wasn’t very coordinated with his, and he struck my right arm. I wailed! The small burn scarred. Months later, Chris and I awoke on a January Sunday to a heavy Pittsburgh snowfall. We begged to play out on the beautiful white blanket covering our yard, and our wish was granted. The day turned tragic when midday sun began melting the ice covering our house. As we played side by side, several sheets of ice fell on Chris. When he didn’t get up, I screamed for my dad. An ambulance took my brother to the hospital, but he died of internal injuries. We received an outpouring of condolences from people saddened to hear of such a bizarre accident and a life so young lost. I’m 36 now. I sometimes feel guilty after weeks or months have passed without thinking about Chris. Was I really standing next to him that January day? Sometimes it seems as though it never happened. But then I look at the scar on my arm, and smile because I am thankful for the time I had with my brother.



Editor's query

Tell us about a time a misplaced item made its circuitous way home

As a child growing up in northern Idaho in the mid-1950s, I was fascinated by a hand carved wooden figurine my parents owned. The old, hunched over Asian man’s round hat and pipe were removable, and I loved taking them off and putting them back on again. With all the handling, I eventually broke the pipe at the base; my mother mended it with a drop of Elmer’s glue. The figurine disappeared while I was away at college. My mother had passed away, and my father remarried; his new wife persuaded him to hold a huge yard sale. Years of personal and family possessions were sold. More than 30 years later, while on a business trip to Boise, I was headed to the airport when I spotted a run-down looking antique store. Something drew me in. Strolling around, I saw nothing of interest — until, as I headed out the door, I caught a glimpse of a little-old-man figurine, just like the the one I’d loved as a child. But, already on my way, I didn’t stop to check it out. Back home, though, thoughts of the figurine haunted me. After a few days I called the antique shop, bought the item and had it shipped. When the figurine arrived, I carefully took it out of its box and examined it. There, at the base of the old man’s pipe, was a line of Elmer’s glue.