Lessons in Happiness

able-bodied happiness

Gustavo and Dmitry had been good friends for more than 40 years. They first met on a job when they were both in their 30's. Both had previously married (in their 20's), and both were still married to the same lovely wives. For whatever reason, the wives never really hit it off. They were cordial and could enjoy the company of the group of four in the context of a restaurant meal every month or two, but even into retirement Gustavo and Dmitry continued to meet for lunch every Monday, and typically planned another activity or two (these days, usually coffee) for later each week. Recently though Gustavo was growing weary of Dmitry's incessant exhortations decrying the (alleged) conspiracy between his wife and his doctor forcing him into a regimen of medicine and treatment that Dmitry claimed "enfeebled his mental faculties." Interestingly, Dmitry also claimed that he managed to circumvent his morning 'requirements' on days he was to meet up with Gustavo, but still, over time, he maintained its insistent consistency was taking its toll. And Gustavo had to admit that he had noticed a certain faraway-ness occasionally creep into Dmitry's eyes and conversation; but the truth remained, they were both getting on in years...

The thing was, Gustavo was on a very similar schedule of treatment, and he felt Great! He believed the medicine worked wonders. He knew how to relax and enjoy his free time, he had lots of friends, and though he had some social responsibilities, on most days he could generally wait to see if the spirit moved him before deciding if it was to be an active day or not. In contrast, Dmitry felt thwarted and suppressed, and claimed the medicine slowed him down. Like right now, he was ranting about how they were always citing the studies and stats that showed without a doubt this healing path was not only the most well-traveled, but was so because it also led to the most desirable results. Dmitry was nearly shouting. "I should enjoy my old age, they say! And I say right back, well then Let Me! If I want to take your Damn medicine I will! But if I don't, then leave me be! If I die early, maybe I'll die Happy! And maybe that's better than dying slowly with my wits scattered about behind me like so many erudite droppings left to rot in the sun. They worry about my age, and my heart, and my head; but I ask, at what age must we stop dreaming? At what age must we stop learning? At what age must we stop fighting? At what age must we stop? And that's what their Damn medicine makes me want to do - Stop! - and Sit! - and Smile like some silly little seven year old schoolgirl! The difference is, that schoolgirl still has an opportunity to learn and to outgrow her silliness."

As Dmitry went quiet - (reflective and faraway) - Gustavo was thinking of dinner that night and hoping for Margaret's meatloaf; oh, that thing she does with the cheese crackers...

Serving Happiness

Will had worked very hard at recruiting volunteers for his Soup Kitchen / Bakery, but it was difficult finding reliable people to come into this part of the city at 2 or 3am. And he found the people he was helping to feed were also not consistently reliable, again (he thought) because of the early morning hours. Due to Will's full time paying job, 'The Kitchen' (as it was now known to the neighborhood locals) was only open on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, serving fresh baked breads and some basic pastries until they ran out in the mornings, and then some basic (but hearty) soups for lunch. Will's life was very busy. When Will's wife died unexpectedly last year, it was no surprise to him that she had left some of her 'old family' money earmarked for just such an enterprise. They had talked many times about wanting to give back. Married ten years earlier when they were both still in graduate school, they had plans for two children, one of which they intended to adopt. They had just begun this process when Rebecca was killed in the car accident.

Will was sadly thinking of this on his way into 'The Kitchen' at 5am on this Saturday morning. He had been devastated by her death, but knew that she would be proud at how he had pulled this together and actually was giving back, as they had somehow hoped to someday do together. And now, for the first time since he had opened 'The Kitchen' he thought he had a reliable volunteer manager. He was one of the homeless men from the neighborhood. He had some previous bakery and food experience, and had been working with Will for about three months now. Will had gotten him a cell phone last week and entrusted him just yesterday with the keys, and today was the first morning Will actually slept in. Rock (as everyone knew him) had instructions to text Will as soon as he got there and call if he needed help before they opened their doors at 6am. Will had received the text at 2am and knowing Rock would be fine, he rolled over and slept for two more hours. Will was actually smiling a little as he unlocked the back door to what he thought of as 'Becca's Kitchen'.

Suddenly Will found himself accosted from behind and in the clutches of the much bigger Rock. "Why'd you have to bolt the Damn thing to the floor?" Rock asked. "Why?" I was just going to carry that Damn little safe out the back door and you'da never seen me again. Now open it." And with that demand Rock threw Will across the floor at the safe. Will knew there was not much more than $100 in the safe; donations he should have taken to the bank yesterday. Will opened the safe, took out the money, and turned to give it to Rock which was when he saw the knife. And then he felt it. Three strong, quick punches sunk to the hilt in his gut and one thrust into his neck.

As Will lay on the floor bleeding, and watched Rock's hazy figure run out the back door, his only thought was, 'will $100 be enough to get him out of town?'

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