We were not long into our nightly loop.
The girls on their bikes and I, on foot, had just turned in the cul-de-sack when an old man who had been gardening in one of the neighbor’s yards drove up from behind and slowed,
rolling his window down a bit before he came to a stop.
He hadn’t even spoken yet,
when through the crack in his window he pushed towards us a 4-pack of sidewalk chalk.
“I’ve been keeping these,” he said, muffled, through his mask.
His eye creases revealed his hidden smile.
“I just knew I’d find someone who knew how to use them,” then he simply winked at us,
and drove off.
Now, sometimes moments like that feel like not much at all,
but that sidewalk chalk felt like a mission to me.
I considered letting the girls decorate in front of our house, or maybe the patio out back,
but then I realized that maybe a gift presented in such a surprising way was deserving of a slightly more special display.
My girls are three of the only 5 children living on this entire street. They are the three youngest ones.
Their voices are the only shrieks and giggles that come echoing through these trees,
and sometimes it feels like the sound of them is this neighborhood’s own respiration sound.
Today I talked to a neighbor walking by as I carried in things from the car who admitted how much she had been struggling.
Fighting depression, worried about money,
sad about her cancelled travel plans.
She said she was walking just to change up the same old view she’d been looking at for months.
She said how great it was to just hear children right now,
and as she did the heaviness inside her came spilling out.
She lives alone with her husband.
He, whom just the other day called back
“I’m lonely” to me as I asked over the fence how he was.
Later, in the day another neighbor had ridden by on a bike.
She had not even lifted her eyes.
With chalk now in hand, we walked on and noticed the elderly man from the big fancy house on the corner kneeling on rocky ground weeding his driveway all alone.
He and his wife normally live in the big city,
but they came to stay here at their second home when the lockdown first began.
Through their windows I have seen them sitting still and somber at their giant table that was never intended for only two.
I’ve imagined them contemplating all the things that money can’t buy. I’ve seen them watching us, too.
It was the first time I had seen him out in months.
I said hello, and waited, making sure that he saw I was smiling at him.
All day I had taken note of all the people around us who had been looking down;
Lost in their own thoughts, burdened,
perhaps full of fear.
The worry of not knowing what is next slowly pulls foreheads to the ground.
“Let’s walk up towards the top of the hill,”
I suggested to the girls, “I have an idea,”
and at the top I said,
“Yes. Right here.”
“What are we going to draw?” They all asked me, and I answered,
“I thought we’d write something instead.”
I told them, “Let’s come up with something that can encourage everybody as they go out and come back home.
I think everyone is missing being touched a little.
Since we can’t give hugs physically,
we have to find other ways.”
So, we came up with a plan,
and as the sky began to grow dark we crouched down and began to write out our hug for all the people on our small country lane.
The people who just needed to hear children.
The top of the hill now reads
“BEAUTY IS STILL EVERYWHERE,”
and I hope it reminds everyone to look up
and all around.
This article was written by a guest blogger. The opinions expressed here are those of the writer and do not reflect the opinions of Bob Lacey, Sheri Lynch or the Bob & Sheri show.
Mom Outnumbered
Hi! My name is Kerri Green; Wife to Justin, and mother to four highly entertaining daughters -Alena, Chloe, Tessa, and Paige. I am an artist, a writer, a daycare provider, a lover of people, a believer that there is humor and beauty in all things, and the author of Mom Outnumbered; a blog about real family life, and my observations of it. My goal is to make people laugh, to be there for them when they cry, and most importantly, to let them know that they are not at all alone in this up and down world. I live with my family in Sebastopol California, and I am opening the window into our life. So welcome! Come in. Sit down. Just please don’t mind the mysterious wet spots.
