Our family was also going through a very difficult year, with major health issues, a serious work-related problem for my husband, and trouble with our rebellious teenage son. I made a half-hearted effort to put up a few decorations around the house, but my heart just wasn’t in it.
“Mom, I wish we could spend Christmas with Grandpa and Grandma in Minnesota,” said my fifteen-year old daughter, Rachel. She was sitting on the floor, wrapping a small gift for one of her friends.
A wave of homesickness swept over me. How could I encourage my daughter when I was also struggling? “I know you’d like to spend Christmas in Minnesota, Rachel. So would I.” I looked up from the notes I was writing on my printed Christmas letters. “But Minnesota is 2,000 kilometres from Calgary. You remember how hard it was to drive in that snowstorm two years ago? And then the temperature dropped to –30 on the way back?”
“I remember,” she sighed. “Tim and I almost froze our feet when the heater didn’t work well.” She shivered just thinking of it.
We had concluded driving to Minnesota for Christmas was simply too risky and buying airline tickets for four people was totally out of the question. No one was coming over for Christmas either; I just didn’t have the energy to invite anyone. We would be spending Christmas alone.
I was startled when the doorbell rang. It was dark outside, and we weren’t expecting anyone. Rachel went to open the door, and then said, “Mom, there’s a box on the doorstep — with presents… and nobody is out here!”
Who could have left it? It was indeed a mystery. The box contained numerous packages wrapped in bright Christmas paper. Each had a typewritten tag: Open Dec. 14, Open Dec.15. There were a total of twelve — the “Twelve Days of Christmas.”
It was December 14th, and the tag for that day was attached to a turkey still wrapped in the plastic from the store — so we wouldn’t miss the fact that it needed to be put into the freezer immediately, and not get placed under the tree by mistake! The tag read:
Our LOVE is given anonymously, so enjoy fun with your family, but don’t tell anyone please.
I put the turkey in the freezer and the rest of the gifts under the tree. After that, we gathered each day as a family to open one more gift. Each one had a clever little note. We would try to guess what each package contained. It became a game for us. Even our son joined us on occasion. As the days passed we discovered potatoes, sweet potatoes, a package of marshmallows, cranberries, packages of gelatine, pickles, olives, cans of green beans, corn, mints, ginger ale and nuts.
All together the packages made a complete Christmas dinner for four people. As we opened each package, we realized an unknown Canadian friend was thinking of us, loving us, wishing us a wonderful Christmas — someone who wished to remain anonymous.
We opened the 12th package on December 25th. But it turned out we didn’t need to use our packages of food on Christmas Day because a family from work kindly invited us over for Christmas dinner. We wouldn’t be spending Christmas alone after all! Instead we used those food packages for our New Year’s Day dinner. We felt so blessed, and were so thankful to be loved!
Now, two decades later, that difficult year is a distant memory. We never found out who gave us the anonymous Christmas gift. At first I wanted to know, but later it became unimportant. I’m thankful for the Canadian spirit of kindness and generosity that came at a time we desperately needed to know we were not alone after all.
~Janet Seever
Calgary, Alberta
Night on Grouse Mountain
Carry out a random act of kindness, with no expectation of reward, safe in the knowledge that one day someone might do the same for you.
~Princess Diana
It was my last night in Vancouver. It was a beautiful summer day in late June and I’d been staying with friends in North Vancouver. With the evening to myself, I knew exactly what I wanted to do. The previous year I’d spent three months living in the Kitsilano neighbourhood of Vancouver, recovering from a broken heart. Vancouver had provided me with the sea and mountain air that enabled my healing to begin. I had walked on the autumn beaches and the seawall, climbed the mountain trails, and fully explored this beautiful city.
Over the past week I had revisited many of those places. On my last night I wanted to take the cable car up Grouse Mountain to enjoy the spectacular view of Vancouver and English Bay, and watch the sunset from the peak.
I learned there was a bus that ran every half hour to the base of the cable car. It was getting late, so I shoved some cash in my pocket and headed out. I found a bus stop, but when thirty minutes had passed with no bus I started walking. I reached the next stop, and still no bus. I kept walking until finally an hour had passed, and I realized it would soon be too late to enjoy the sunset. Eventually I reached a point where the road began to climb the mountain. Here, on the darkening street, standing at the last bus stop, I gave up on my plan. I was very disappointed and also hungry. Spotting a convenience store across the road I dashed across and bought a snack.
As I left the store, lo and behold along came a bus. I raced across the road and up the steps, the door closed and off we went. There was no one else on the bus, so I sat down behind the driver and we began to chat. I spoke about my frustration waiting so long for the bus and the driver, whose name was Bill, was mystified and very apologetic. As we chatted, the whole experience began to take on a surreal quality as we carried on up the mountain road. By now I realized I probably didn’t have enough money to complete my pilgrimage — I’d spent it on the snack. When I asked Bill how much the cable car cost, he confirmed my fear — I was now about three dollars short. I figured I would simply keep going, and return back down with the bus.
When we arrived at the parking lot Bill told me the transfer he’d given me would get me back on the bus when I was ready to go back down. It was then I told him I’d have to return now with him; I no longer had enough money for the cable car.
“How much are you short?” he asked. “Three dollars?”
When I nodded yes, he reached into his pocket and handed me three dollars. “Here, take it. My treat. I’m not attached to it; it’s only money.” He brushed aside my mild protests and confusion, and insisted.
I found myself stunned by these events. The entire experience seemed to be outside of life, like a page with a single paragraph that’s been highlighted with a yellow marker. I gratefully accepted the money from this total stranger and, with some confusion, descended the bus.
“I’d come up with you if I could,” he called, “but I gotta take this bus back after the next car comes down.” I waved to him and hurried to the cable car.
As the ascent began, the bus quickly disappeared from view. Once at the top, I found a place to perch just as the sun began to set. As I sat there at the top of Grouse Mountain, enjoying the spectacular view and the sun setting over English Bay, eating my snack, I thought about the special gift I had just received. I knew Bill, from his point of view, had only given me three bucks. But from my point of view, he’d given me my night on Grouse Mountain. I was full of awe.
I wondered what it all meant. Did I now owe him something? Or had I somehow earned this gift and it had come out of my own “good” karmic bank account? Upon reflection I decided it was both. I was sure I needed to somehow repay this gift, but I was also pretty sure I would never see this kind soul again. Right there I vowed to watch for an opportunity to pay forward this gift to someone else in need.
Later, as I descended the mountain in the cable car, my heart was full of gratitude for my last night in my favourite city. At the parking lot I hurried aboard the waiting bus with the faint hope that I might find Bill. But it was a stranger to whom I handed the transfer, and the last leg of my evening’s adventure passed in silence.
* * *
Back home in Toronto the memory of the experience remained with me. Then, a few months later, the opportunity I’d been watching for occurred.
I was at Sears to buy some vacuum cleane
r bags. In front of me in the checkout line was an elderly woman buying a pink nightgown. The clerk rang up her purchase and asked her for fourteen dollars. The woman slowly dug out her money, and began to count out her bills. Then she began with shaking hands to count out quarters and dimes, then the nickels, and finally the pennies. I watched with dismay when she ran out at thirteen dollars.
“How much was that again dear?” she asked.
“Fourteen dollars,” the girl replied, “you owe me another dollar.”
The poor woman, embarrassed and defeated, was about to give up when I reached into my wallet and handed a dollar to the clerk saying, “Here’s a dollar. Is that all you need?”
“Sure that’s fine,” she responded. She finished the sale, put the nightgown in a bag and handed it to the woman.
The woman was overcome with the experience, and I knew just how she felt. To me it was only a dollar, but as far as she was concerned, I’d given her the new nightgown she needed. I felt warm and fuzzy inside. Maybe that’s how Bill had felt back there in his bus at the foot of Grouse Mountain.
Looking at me, she said, “Oh, thank you dear! You are so kind! God will bless you for this!”
I took her hand and looked into her aging eyes. Somehow, I managed to say, “He already has. Believe me, He already has.”
As I walked to my car I danced a little dance of happiness, filled with gratitude for the joy of giving I had experienced. I thanked the universe for this special experience, and the opportunity to give back. And I thanked Bill for his generous heart.
~Janet Matthews
Aurora, Ontario
Because of Bob
You give but little when you give of your possessions. It is when you give of yourself that you truly give.
~Kahlil Gibran
I stared into the empty coffee cup as if the answers to all my problems were written on the bottom. But it was as empty as my life seemed to be that night. As busy as I was with work and other activities, I felt something was missing. Something had to change. It was time to immerse myself in life and connect with other human beings in a way where I could make a difference. I made a decision right then to find a way to volunteer.
I connected with the Children’s Wish Foundation of Canada, a nonprofit organization that grants wishes to children with life-threatening illnesses. They were glad to have me.
The morning of my first “tour of duty” dawned bright and warm — a perfect day for the picnic, aka “Wishnic,” at the Toronto park to which I’d been assigned.
I found a cold drink to beat the heat and began strolling the grounds, while keeping an eye out for a group described to me only as “The Characters.” My job, I’d been told, would be to “look after” them.
It was the raucous laughter that first caught my attention. I turned to see a small band of what appeared to be very jovial garbage collectors traipsing toward me. They joked and jostled, and each carried a lumpy green garbage bag slung over one shoulder.
“Hi, I’m Bob,” said one. “We need a place to change.”
“Of course — over here,” I said, escorting them to a private area. I watched, fascinated, as before my eyes they transformed into instantly recognizable cartoon characters. There were red plush tongues, big goofy gloves, oversized pearls and giant shoes.
Once they were dressed, they filed into the picnic area, where they were greeted with squeals of laughter from the enthralled children. The kids swarmed all over them, hugging, kissing, giggling and squeezing. A surge of unexpected emotion swept over me, and suddenly I wanted to be more than just an observer.
I approached Bob and said, “I notice there’s a full bag left in the change area. Are you missing someone?”
“As a matter of fact, we are,” he answered with a twinkle in his eye. “Help yourself and come join the fun.”
Before I knew it I was Simon the Chipmunk, complete with furry horn-rimmed glasses. The children charged me on sight. They climbed onto me and hung on like little koalas. I was laughing right along with them, enjoying their joy. When finally they’d had enough of Simon, I had a moment to actually breathe. Sweat trickled down my face and my hair was plastered to my head, but my heart was full.
And then I spotted him. Across the park, a child sat quietly in his wheelchair, away from the crowd. I lumbered over and knelt awkwardly beside him. When he smiled and did his best to hug me, the discomfort I felt instantly evaporated. He raised his hand and gently pressed it to my furry face as he gazed deeply into my eyes. At that moment his limitations fell away and he was just another child enjoying a picnic — a child wise in the ways of getting the most from each moment.
I was captivated by his gaze and stilled by the pressure of his small hand. I forced my eyes to stay dry, even while my heart ached. All the trappings of success couldn’t match this. I had connected with this child, and in doing so had become one again myself. The moment became etched in my memory.
The memorable day ended, and somehow many months passed before I was to have another such moment. The voice over the phone said, “You probably don’t remember me, but my name is Bob and I had the costumes at the Wishnic.”
“Not remember you? How could I forget you?” I exclaimed. “It was one of the best days of my life!”
Bob had called to invite me to a reunion of the characters, which I learned were known as the SAPS. Using Bob’s last name, the initials stood for “Savuluk’s All Purpose Sillies.” I was touched that he considered me and I immediately accepted.
“Thanks so much for coming, Leslie,” said Bob when I arrived. “By the way, I have something for you,” he continued, handing me an 8 x 10 photo of the SAPS at the Wishnic. “Oh, and this too,” he said, placing a video in my other hand. Then he dug into his jacket pocket and produced three tiny toy chipmunks. “Can’t forget these,” he grinned. “Now go enjoy the party.”
By the end of the evening, I was in the SAPS once more, this time as a very famous bouncing tiger. Thrilled to be part of this eccentric group again, I decided to learn more about them and, in particular, more about Bob.
We met in a coffee shop and during our conversation he offered me a glimpse into his life. When I asked him where the costumes came from, he responded modestly, “Oh, I make them. I pick up all sorts of odds and ends — inner tubes, hoops, liquid latex, that kind of thing. I find the clothes at Goodwill. It takes about fifty hours to complete one costume, and then there’s repair and maintenance work as well. It’s become pretty involved, but it didn’t start that way. The costumes were originally meant for Halloween, but then my friends and I decided we could put them to better use. So we contacted some local charities, and that’s how the SAPS were born.”
I was moved by the quiet conviction of this seemingly ordinary man who did extraordinary things. When I asked about the rest of his life, he said simply, “I work for the city, cleaning streets and doing snow removal. But most of my spare time is taken up with SAPS. But when his smile faded and he looked thoughtful, I asked if anything was wrong.
“You know Leslie, it’s probably silly, but sometimes I worry about who will take over when I’m not around. I even made a tape of myself making a costume, complete with step-by-step instructions.” Not sure how to respond, I just nodded my head. I couldn’t imagine who could fill this man’s giant shoes.
Our coffee was long cold, but I asked one more question. “Why do you do it?”
“Because humour heals,” he answered promptly. “When we put on those costumes, we become kids again. And if our hugging and dancing and goofing around can make the kids forget their pain and suffering even for one moment, well, then…” I had my answer.
I was a proud member of SAPS for over ten years and whenever I “donned the fur” I felt like I was really doing something that mattered. Bob did eventually retire, and sadly, nobody took over for him. He did, however, have a grand farewell party and I am now the proud owner of one Tigger costume! I often think of all the joy those hand-made characters brough
t to countless children and their families. It’s partly because of the people who actually wore the costumes and I guess I can claim a little of the credit as well. But mostly, it was because of Bob.
~Leslie Lorette
Toronto, Ontario
Shipwreck
All things bright and beautiful, All creatures great and small, All things wise and wonderful, The Lord God made them all.
~Cecil Frances Alexander, Hymns for Little Children
It was late afternoon when our canoe slipped from the mouth of the Gibson River into the silvery sparkle of the lake and headed for home. My husband and I had spent the sunny June morning checking the numerous beaver lodges, dams, and bank dens that crisscrossed the length of the meandering Gibson River. The many obstacles made the river challenging to navigate for boaters, leaving an unspoiled natural environment — perfect for the kind of quiet observations so pertinent to Ron’s research.
My field biologist husband was gathering information on the beaver population for a book he was writing. Earlier, when I was packing his lunch Ron had said, “Why don’t you come with me and try out your new camera? I’ll do the bulk of the paddling and you can be the lookout.”
“Great idea,” I responded. “I’ll pack some extra water and trail rations.”
The sun was still shining but the air was cold and blustery. Unwelcome wind gusts buffeted our canoe as we headed out of the river and onto the lake. “Pick up your paddle,” called Ron, “the wind is getting stronger!” I grabbed my paddle, dropped to my knees in the front of the canoe, and dug in.
Partway across the lake I noticed a small movement in the water about seventy-five feet ahead. Waving my right arm and pointing I called out, “There’s something in the water!”
Intrigued, we paddled harder, while Ron steered to bring us up to the object on the left. The thrashing remained more or less in the same spot, so in just a few strokes we were about ten feet away.