The Man in the Park
It was a hard day.
I felt like I was running out of time, out of energy, and maybe out of chances. Everything felt stuck — the job search, the recovery, the pressure. I sat alone in the park, heavy with the feeling that I wasn’t getting anywhere. I didn’t plan on being around people. I didn’t want to be seen.
But life had other plans.
Summer vacation as a kid – it was pure magic. No school. No alarms. Just the sweet freedom of doing whatever the heck you wanted.
I remember the first day of summer break. It was like the whole world was yours. You’d wake up late. You’d eat cereal in front of the tv, like it was your job, and then make the bold decision to go outside and play.
No plans. No schedule. Just the general vibe of “let’s see what a day takes us.”
Hi, my name is Reet, and this is my story called “The Value of Money.”
Hello, everyone. I have a story to share with you today. It is a personal story about my very early years, around actually 4 years old.
Growing up in a small town named Stratford, one of my earliest memories was being allowed to walk, myself, to a nearby grocery store, about 400 feet from our doorstep.
I had all my pennies and a couple nickels saved in my piggy bank.
Out of the blue came the hoot of an owl.
Sometimes this happens in my back yard. Sometimes in my neighborhood. Sometimes I think it follows me.
It was a very pleasant surprise - three long, slow, low hoots. A pause, then it repeated. A pause again, then it repeated again.
It calls up in me the feeling of the deep woods. Where there are wise animals, knowing old, huge oaks, and the feel of soft, moist dirt underfoot.
The woods are alive with mystery and quiet surprise. At any moment there could appear a deer, a chipmunk, or a giant, black crow.
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Grandpa always wore a three piece suit with a white Oxford shirt. In the heat of summer, he removed the vest. In the winter, when he went on his daily walks, he added a topcoat and a fedora to his outfit.
Two blocks from his house was a small grocery store where my brother Mike worked as a manager.
Every day, grandpa, in his late eighties, walked to the store to visit Mike and to pick up an item or two.
I fell in love with what a GPS could do, the first time I saw an article about one in Popular Science. This song celebrates whoever invented them.
I was born into a prepared place here,
Where geniuses leave their marks,
That everything is better still.
Thank you you who first sung a song.
Perhaps the birds led the way.
Thank you you who first baked a pot from clay.
Perhaps fiery stones led the way.
Thank you you who first made a word.
Perhaps the call of sheep led the way.
Thank you you who first picked berries and nuts as food.
Perhaps you watched the deer and squirrel.
Thank you you who first made a wooden spoon.
Perhaps you saw rainwater gather in a cleft of wood.
I love walking thru fall leaves.
Not just walking thru them, but really kicking them up into the air, like wanting to see them fall again and again – to float gently down, swaying this way and that, living a little poetry for a minute, something myriad generations before had admired and enjoyed.
I love sunflowers. I mean, here is a flower that grows bigger than me. It is gigantic. And the seeds are so visible, so wildly bountiful, and so orderly arranged.
I see them growing in the community garden, and I admire their towering, poetic, lilting stance.
There are two local farms that plant thousands of sunflowers – acres and acres - and let you walk among them. It is breath-taking. So many circles of purple-black with a rim of yellow against a backdrop of greens and a light blue sky – like nature is looking with 10,000 eyes upon the world.