the kindness of strangers

Deeds of lovingkindness are equal in weight to all the commandments.
-Jerusalem Talmud, Peah 1:1

Maybe it's the season, or maybe I exude a Blanche DuBois-like vulnerability, but I have been truly touched the past couple of days by some very selfless acts.

On Monday, I was walking through Georgetown as snow began to fall, and it was a magical moment for me, my first D.C. snow. Since my appointment had just been pushed back, I decided to stop for lunch, and I chose Johnny Rockets, the silly Los Angeles chain. (It reminds me of the wonderful times I spent in California when absenceofwill lived in Pasadena.) I sat down at the counter and ordered my favorite, grilled cheese with tomato. A little while later, a man walked into the restaurant to place an order to go. He looked at the menu first, then at my food. He asked what I had, since "it looks good," then asked for the same. We talked while he waited, and it turns out that he had come into the diner because it made him think of San Francisco, where he used to live. It also turns out that he attended Duke University and has, on more than one occasion, been kicked off of the campus of the all-girls boarding school where I used to work (it was a college in his time). When I told him I was looking for a job in non-profit, apropos of nothing, he offered his assistance and left me with his card. (As a lobbyist for Quinn Gillespie, he knows leaders of advocacy groups from both sides of the political spectrum.)

Later that evening, I ran down in the snow to the small, local grocery store to pick up a few items for dinner, and I discovered at check-out that in my haste to leave the house, I had forgotten my wallet. I found a little bit of money in my jacket pocket, but I was still about a dollar short. Embarrassed, I asked the cashier to take off an item, but Dennis, the owner of the store, stepped in and insisted that I take home what I had chosen.

And on Tuesday evening, I woke up from a late nap craving a tuna sandwich from Potbelly (yes, I want the strangest things to eat after I nap, although it's usually a Coke or Starbuck's Java Chip ice cream). So I headed down to the 11th & F location on my way to the movies. As I left the apartment building, I scrolled through my iPod to find music to listen to on the walk. I had jammed out to The Killers earlier that morning, so "Larry Schooler" was not far down the "Artists" list. My dear friend had interviewed my family in late December of last year and from our stories had produced a twenty-seven-minute tribute to my grandfather. I had been writing a post about him for his Gregorian yahrzeit and had planned to offer a link to this remembrance, but I hadn't actually heard it again since Larry gave it to my family. So I began to listen and was seated with my food by the time the sad part came. I looked out onto 11th Street and just let the tears stream as I tried to keep eating. After a while, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I looked up to see a man standing beside me, cookie in hand. "I'm the manager here, and I saw you were crying. Is everything okay?" Although still choked up and having trouble talking, I assured him that I was fine. He moved the proffered treat toward me, shrugging as if at its inadequacy. "Well, have a cookie. And I am sure your grandfather knows that you miss him."

Thank you, all.