Random kindness, lasting memory

A highlight of our trip was a visit to Grandfather Mountain — the highest point in the Blue Ridge. What makes it different is that it’s privately owned. After an incredibly circuitous trip to get there (we got off the Blue Ridge Parkway too early and had to travel the windiest road you ever saw for 10 miles or so), we swallowed hard before paying the $14 per person admission, spoiled by all the free state parks and roadside vistas we’d seen. But you soon realize why that fee is necessary. Someone had to pay for the twisty, turny roads to the top, the observation points, the facilities, including a really lovely nature museum highlighting North Carolina flora, fauna, animals, gems and a small nature preserve with otters, bears, eagles, and deer. The place is really well done, and I enjoyed it a lot.

The centerpiece is the “mile high swinging bridge” (elevation 5305′) — not as scary as I thought it would be, but not for the faint of heart either. The day was rainy — we found out later we’d missed a torrential downpour that morning — so the mountain top was shrouded in mist and clouds. Very little view to speak of; just glimpses when the mist would part briefly before drifting back. I understand you can see for miles and miles on clear days, but, oh well. We were actually walking in the clouds, which doesn’t happen all that often in life.

Since my ankle sprain, 4 months ago now, I’ve had to take it easy. It’s still not fully recovered, and I’m always afraid of turning it again. We hiked about ½-mile up a trail to reach the bridge (we could have driven), so I was already a little shaky. After you cross the swinging bridge, you’re on top of the world. Standing on solid granite, but not all that wide, wet with mist, and full of ruts, rocks, and edges just made for tumbling over.

You can walk out to the very tip — but there was no way I was doing that. I told Mike to go ahead, that I was going to stay right where I was. I was a little annoyed at a guy about my age just standing there, where people were trying to move past. So I stood just below him, trying to stay out of the way (and away from the edge).

He invited me to stand next to him, “There’s plenty of room.”

“No thanks, I’m fine here.”

He must have noticed my shakiness, saying “Well, just grab my arm if you need to.”

That was nice. “OK, thanks,” I said.

“You know,” he said. “It’s not bad to walk out there. It’s pretty flat and there’s plenty of room.”

“Oh, I’m fine here.”

“I’ll walk out with you if you want. You should do it.”

“Well, my husband just walked out there….(i.e., I’m married, if you’re trying to hit on me or something.)”

“I’ll walk you over to him. It’ll be fine. Just go first and I’ll be right behind.”

So we did. Me gingerly picking my way, and him talking quietly and calmly to me (to distract me, I later found out).

I said I couldn’t believe they let people just walk around out here — just steps from tumbling over the mountain, with no guard rails, no giant warning signs, no “WE ARE NOT LIABLE (for your stupidity)” messages. He chuckled and said, “You must be from up North too.” Turns out he was from New Jersey, and he commented that if this was up there, there’d be bubble gum and graffiti everywhere.

“Look at you!” he said at one point. “You’re doing it!” (That’s me in the red jacket, with him behind me. And yes, that’s a 3-year-old in the GAP sweatshirt in the foreground. But really, it was scary.)

In no time, I was standing next to Mike, saying “This nice man walked me out here.”

I thanked him. He said, “Oh you just needed a little conversation to distract you. It’s easier when it’s not your spouse talking you through it.” (Ha ha, no doubt he was married, or had been.)

He snapped a couple pictures of us with our camera, then disappeared, leaving us to sit awhile and enjoy the misty view and fall colors. I never asked his name, nor he mine. I lost track of him in the people coming and going.


And that was that. I wished I’d said more, told him he should be a counselor or talk people down from ledges or something, with his calm voice and pleasant demeanor. I was actually a little choked up when I thanked him, touched by his kindness, so I couldn’t say much. It’s not often you meet a stranger who just wants to do something nice for you.

A mere 5 or 10 minutes in both of our lives, but a random act of kindness I’ll always remember.

When I was young, I admired clever people. 
Now that I am old, I admire kind people. 
                        ~ Abraham Joshua Heschel

Laugh, Cry, Remember

I saw this headline and laughed out loud.

Indiana Jones Movie Upsets Communists

Is there no one we don’t offend? How dare we “rewrite history” to portray the KGB and 1950s Russia as evil? The most surprising thing is, the offense came from Hollywood of all places. I think Hollywood probably thought it was SAFE to talk about the Cold War era (after all, the first movie had that crazy, sword-waving Arab that Indi made short work of…now THAT was not very ethnically sensitive and would likely not fly in today’s world).

But no, in this age of political correctness — this age when a crazy, radical, woman-hating society bent on destroying America is a religious choice I’m supposed to respect (but it’s OK to make fun of Christians), and when the U.S. is frequently regarded as the scourge not only of civilization, but also of the planet itself (oh wait, maybe that’s Wal-Mart) — how dare we offend Communists, who only stand for everything America doesn’t?

Go ahead, laugh. And then cry a little, remembering what this solemn holiday is all about.


I am so lucky.

My father and uncle survived World War II — my uncle, a German POW, walked across Germany to the allies as the war ended and the camps were opened, narrowly escaping death; my father, a sailor, was at D-Day, on a ship supporting the landing force.

More than 400,000* of their fellow servicemen and women didn’t survive.

My oldest brother, at age 18, enlisted in the Marines in 1968, went to Vietnam, and survived, narrowly escaping death as two comrades on either side of him were killed.

More than 58,000* more of his fellow servicemen and women died as well.

My other two brothers served in the peacetime Army (6+ years) and Navy (20+ years). They came home.

Many others serving this country in peacetime didn’t — the military is a dangerous profession at any time.

In all, more than 650,000* of my loved ones’ fellow servicemen and women have given their lives for our country. 

I am so lucky.

I don’t have a particular name, face, or memory associated with those we honor today. Instead, I have the luxury of detachment — of respecting them, of flying the flag for them, and most of all, of remembering and thanking them, without really knowing who they are. 

Many of you have this same luxury. Please, please, take advantage of it.

Sadly, many of you don’t. May you find comfort in knowing your loved one’s sacrifice is not forgotten.

Never in the field of human conflict
was so much owed by so many to so few. 
                                 ~ Winston Churchill

* My source:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/United_States_casualties_of_war