Presence, Security

Saying Goodbye

August 16, 2025

Photo by Erik Mclean on Unsplash

My good neighbor moved this week. She had lived in her family home for years. She inherited it  from her parents, who were pillars of our little town. Members of her family had lived in that house for decades. They planted grapevines and an apple tree and made the yard beautiful. My neighbor’s friend said that she remembered visiting in the summertime from the Bay Area many years ago, and how my neighbor’s father would make ice cream outside with their old-fashioned ice cream maker, cranking the handle, patiently waiting for the ice cream to form.

I was lucky enough to see my neighbor as she pulled out of her driveway for the last time. We had said our goodbyes in the morning, but she was still there, late in the afternoon, finishing up last minute packing and cleaning. She took time to wax the kitchen floor and scrub the refrigerator, which was staying for the new owners. I had wandered outside to grab my purse and lunch bag from the car, just as she was driving away. There were tears, from both of us.

She has a place to move to and a partner who loves her, who stayed by her side through the entire process. Her sweet parents failed to downsize their cherished belongings before they passed away; the house’s good-sized basement was full of memorabilia. It’s a job that nobody ever wants, culling the belongings of the people we love who pass before us. And it was a job that she hadn’t had to do, because the house had so much storage—until the end, when the basement had to be emptied. She tried to save the things that were most precious to her, but it was difficult to make decisions about every treasured item and impossible to move it all. She had to let a lot go. Continue Reading…

Presence, Security

Mistakes and Grace

August 2, 2025

Photo by Prometheus on Unsplash

It was a week of mistakes and grace—always good when those things go together.

I did a clumsy thing and hit a rather big item on the road in the dark the other night. We were just heading home from a wonderful evening, the kind where you look back on it and realize that you finally had a day that felt like summer. There was barbecued chicken, a pool with floaties, and the best of friends, all together for the evening.

The problem with lovely evenings is that, afterwards, you pretty much have to drive home in the dark, which is what I was doing when I got distracted—or went into a trance for a minute—and hit a big object in the road.

It startled both my son and me.

I didn’t even see it!

But the car found it. My child wisely said, “Better check the tires.”

Which I did, the next morning. Funny thing: the “check tire” light had come on earlier in the day, even before I hit the camouflaged object hiding in the road. The light came on again in the morning as I was heading to work. Did I think much about it? No! Did I get out and look at the tires? Yes! Did they look okay to me? Yes! Am I actually skilled in looking at a tire and determining if it is actually okay? Not so much.

So I was rolling down the freeway, heading to the groomers so Biscuit could get a bath and a haircut, when I noticed a truck had slowed down next to me. Was the driver motioning to me? Maybe? Couldn’t tell. Did I want to make eye contact? Not the kind of thing that I generally try to do.

But then I pulled off at the next exit, and he was waiting on the side of the road.

“I’m glad you pulled off,” he said. “You’ve got a flat tire.”

So I did.

Not just a little flat. Not kind of flat and probably enough air to drive to the nearest gas station to get air into it. Nope. Pancake flat.

He offered to change it for me.

So that was a mistake that turned into grace. My first mistake: hitting the thing in the road. My second mistake: naively ignoring my car’s tire warning light. But the grace? This stranger who took about half an hour out of his day to help a stranger on the off-ramp of a busy freeway. (Bell Road, westbound, for any locals who want to picture it.) Also grace: that my sad tire did not blow out on the freeway. That could have changed everything.

But that was not the end of grace for me that day.

Because the next conundrum was getting the flatty tire fixed.

If you live anywhere around the Auburn area, I need to tell you about Phil Souza of Souza’s Tires. He took time out of his already full day to fix my flat tire, which also needed a new lug stud. He refused any payment, assured me that my tires had “hardly any wear on them,” and kindly sent me on my way.

It was a rough day, but think how much worse it could have been. What might have happened to me and the car if the tire had blown on the freeway or if I’d kept driving merrily along, damaging the wheel rim or the car’s suspension, never realizing that the tire was flat until it was too late? What if I hadn’t found an honest tire shop to fix my tire and get me on the road again?

So much grace in a day that didn’t go anything like I planned when I got up in the morning. Grace that got me safely to town and back home again. Grace that cared for me, in spite of my mistakes.