Thoughts from Tana ...<br>

“I wouldn’t want to meet the guy who bought a fifty pound can of horseradish.”

This was the line in a Crabby Road comic strip. It’s funny how it settled in my mind and made a lasting impression. Like the words to a familiar ditty, they hummed in my mind over the holidays, but with a different twist to the meaning.

There was an article in the newspaper about a man’s Christmas decorations. When he was interviewed, he said that he had second thoughts about putting them up this year, but decided to continue putting them up for others to enjoy. People drive from all over to see the display and this year, he added a moving train. “I try to add something new every year,” he said.

In contrast to the lines in the comic, I said to myself, “I’d like to meet the guy who strings 20,000 lights and puts up cutout characters for the holidays.”

Then there was the evening I heard the familiar bell ringing as I approached a store. I watched three small children step over to the bright red pot hanging on a tripod to drop in the coins their mother had given them. The sight warmed my heart on the chilly winter night.

Immediately, I added the charitable mother and children to my mental list of people who would be nice to know.

When I walked over and dropped in my own contribution, the bell-ringer smiled and wished me a Merry Christmas. She went on that list, too.

Then there was the day a woman came rushing into the office. Practically out of breath she asked, “Do you have a piece of rope or something? There is a dog running loose in the street outside and I’ve got to do something before he gets hit by a car.” Our receptionist pulled out her desk drawer and, like magic, she retrieved a piece of heavy twine. The woman’s eyes widened with appreciation. With a hurried, “Thank you,” she left as hastily as she had entered. There was another one!

And then there was another incident that took place as I was heading home from work. I was in the middle lane of a three-lane street and just ahead I noticed a man waiting to pull out from a service station. “Poor man,” I thought, “you’ll probably be there awhile in the traffic.” But then something unusual happened, three cars stopped simultaneously to allow him to make his entrance. I muttered, “Whoa, that was really something!” Oh, boy, my list was growing.

Since the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, I have heard over and over, “Everything has changed.” There have been intervals when I suffered moments of guilt because I had forgotten that “things are different” and there I was going about as usual. I would scold myself for an indulgence and remind myself that I should not be doing what I was doing in these troubled times.

One evening my husband and I went out for dinner. As we sat waiting to be served, I looked around at the other patrons. People were clearly enjoying themselves, laughing, talking and eating. The thought crossed my mind that one would never know there is a war going on.

Perhaps the reason the Crabby Road comic line had an opposite effect on me was that I had been searching for an antidote for my own uncertainties and feelings. By keeping this mental list, I came to realize that not all things have changed. Twinkling lights still lit up the nights, the sound of a single bell drew charitable givers and a humanitarian got involved. Strangers united to spare another frustration and they also gathered just because people need to be with each other.

These really weren’t uncommon, for I have seen them year after year. Yet, this year there was a difference. In years past I have taken them for granted. I believe that the value of the disaster is that it forced each of us to bring everything in our lives into sharper focus.

With New Year approaching, I welcome it with a grateful heart that everything has not changed. I look forward, with pen in hand, to adding to my list of people who would be nice to know. I am convinced that come this time next year, it will be sizable.

Maybe I missed the real punchline to the comic, but I like mine better. I would like to meet someone who buys a can of horseradish that size. I’d bet they have plans to share it.

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