Letter from the Editor

Welcome to the second edition of Appearing This Month, Appearances online newsletter. We trust that you enjoyed the first issue and that you make it a habit to set aside some time every month to share with us. I would like to thank those readers who showered us with compliments on the first issue, and would also like to thank the National Library of Canada for deeming this newsletter to be worthy of an ISSN. We at Appearances take pride in what we do, and are always thinking of new ways to share with you. We are currently adding a link to our Housesitting/Petsitting site page, called the Four Footed Photo Gallery. This link should be up and running in October. It features the four footed clients we deal with either in the home keeping or pet sitting services. Cheryl at Somewhere In Time very kindly designed the gallery layout and we look forward to adding your friends. And in the October issue of Appearing This Month, Pet Forum will introduce Phil's Picks. Appearances' office cat and paperweight will surf the net for you and give out his golden paws ratings on animal related sites.

I would like to share with you a very special article written by Bonnie, our Associate Editor. The article not only helps to uncover some of the mysteries of CFS and FM, but also offers some realistic observations of these misunderstood illnesses, written by those suffering from them.

Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and Fibromyalgia    

Quotable Quotes:

It must be borne in mind that the tragedy of life doesn't lie in not reaching your goal. The tragedy lies in having no goal to reach. - Benjamin E. Mays

I am learning that if I go on accepting the framework for life that others have given me, if I fail to make my own choices, the reason for my life will be missing.  I will be unable to recognize that which I have the power to change.  I refuse to spend my life regretting the things I failed to do. - Liv Ullman

One Moment Of Joy

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. It was a cowboy's life, a life for someone who wanted no boss. What I didn't realize was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a moving confessional. Passengers climbed in, sat behind me in total anonymity, and told me about their lives. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and weep.

But none touched me more than a woman I picked up late one August night. I was responding to a call from a small brick four-plex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some party goers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or a worker heading to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.

When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.

"Just a minute," answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing," I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated," "Oh, you're such a good boy," she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me and address, then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?" "It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said. "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a Hospice." I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long."I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing.

As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now." We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse. "Nothing," I said. "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. ? "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life. I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware --beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

 ~ Author Unknown ~

Thank you Pat, for finding this and sharing it with us.

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