The Simple Things Contest: Entries

Mary-Jo's Submission

Mon, 09 May 2011 16:34:59 -0500

Margaret and I were best friends since we were 3 and 4 years old. She was the little girl down the street, and I loved her - still do. It is her mom, Jean Hahn, who did “Simple Things” to enrich my life. Jean kept a cabinet in her kitchen full of wonderful things for baking - flour and sugars and chocolate chips and food coloring and baking soda AND baking powder…. and to me it was a cabinet of treasures. One of my big joys was knowing that Jean would let us bake anything - and we did, and we always used chocolate chips whenever possible - pancakes, cookies, muffins - anything. And Jean was always there to help us out with a big comfy smile, as we messed up her kitchen and left trails of flour all over, and enjoyed our warm creations with a glass of milk. She was a special person in my young life, and I have to say - I know realize why I have that treasure of a cabinet in MY OWN kitchen - and yes, I have both baking soda AND baking powder, and ALWAYS a stash of chocolate chips… just in case some of the kids want to bake something fantastic.

Thank you, Jean - you are one special person in my life still - and a very special part of my childhood memories.

Audrey's Submission

Thu, 05 May 2011 00:27:10 -0500

My mom is famous for her pies - at least in our family. She makes them for almost every holiday, and I always look forward to digging into my favorites: cherry, apple and pumpkin.

I remember when we lived in New York, she made somewhat of a business out of it, selling homemade and delicious pies to our local apple farm. We’d head over there every week, when she’d drop off her orders. My mom would always let us pick out some flavored honey sticks at the front counter, and I would look over all of the different kinds of freshly picked apples, fruits and vegetables. I absolutely loved it.

I hope that one day I’ll be able to make a pie as tasty as one my mother makes. Until then, I’ll keep enjoying hers at each chance I get.

WINNER: Mary's Submission: The People's Bridge

Wed, 04 May 2011 22:40:00 -0500

At some time or another we all hit troubled waters. It is during these times our souls are tested to grow beyond what we thought were our limits.

Often times, we don’t get to where we need to go without the love and support of someone, or many. I’m certain we all need a “people bridge” to get us over those troubled waters. We all need to take turns being the people bridge for one another in times of suffering and need.

For my husband Dave and I, our troubled waters began with the diagnosis of unexplained infertility. We were grateful to have found each other and looked forward to having a family together. After a year of trying unsuccessfully, we sought help from a fertility specialist who seemed hopeful that we could conceive with some help from specialized treatments (IUI’s, IVF’s)…

Sixteen treatments, five years, two miscarriages and one ectopic pregnancy later, we were emotionally, physically, soulfully and financially drained. We didn’t recognize each other anymore. We went from happily in love, fun people, to a zone of anger & disappointment. Why were we being punished?

Going to the birthday of a friend or relative’s child was hard (although we always did, so as not to disappoint the children). I think most people go through trials in some manner that is signature to them, but you have to keep cheering yourself on and hope that others will when you can’t. Thankfully, Dave and I had a big support group with family and friends, who unfortunately had to take this journey also. It made them worry, cry, get angry for us and than cheer us on when we were ready to get back on our feet for another round.

There were some who could not handle the gloom that at times overtook us; it was too much to be around. Some people even made very rude and hurtful comments. We tried to keep our hardship to ourselves, but people who really knew us could tell what it was doing. They were the ones who saw us through with gentle nudges, pep talks, wisdom chats, etc.

Dave and I got our inner resolve back and we saved up enough money to pursue adoption. Our hearts were happy, hopeful, and dreaming of finally becoming parents. Our hearts long cherished dream was buzzing anew.

Well, we wish we could say it worked out, but after two years and a few birth mothers later, that wasn’t the case. Two were scandalous about the process and made it a practice of scamming vulnerable, desperate people like ourselves. One simply changed her mind and decided she wanted to raise the baby. Once again, we started to become hollow people enveloped in vanishing dreams, broken hearts, and perhaps bad luck or bad karma…

Then, something magical happened. Instead of disappointment and pain taking us down again, my husband and I began to look at each other through new eyes. Instead of letting this horrible time break us apart, we were in awe of each other. It’s like we we’d been through trenches of war together and survived. We were never so happy to see ”us” again. We beheld others on a new level as well. We are both in “helping people” professions. Our experience deepened our hearts for others even more. We became better listeners, better partners, better friends and better family. We celebrated the relationships that developed through these hard times. Those who stood by us could never know how much they shine.

We have this amazing circle of true hearted people who really care, who would always show up for us when we were deflated. We learned that the Circle of Love, the Circle of Life and the Circle of Light can foster and grow. That’s what all our suffering gave birth to. We now hope that people who suffer the world-over will remember that WE are the miracles that can show up for people in need. WE can surround each other in this Circle of Love Light and Life, and in doing so, help new miracles to be born everyday. We are commited more than ever to helping others. We made peace with our situation and basically surrendered to it…

Now, lo and behold, as surrendering would have it, out of the blue, we met a wonderful young women, who was willing to affordably donate her eggs to me. It turned out to be a very positive experience for all. My husband says I can never keep a secret…and he’s right. I do want to shout it out from the rooftops that we have a “bun in the oven”…in part due to the miracle of people who strengthened us with their prayers, good thoughts, hugs, laughs and wise words. It hasn’t been an easy journey, but what we’ve learned is worth sharing.

Jim's Submission

Tue, 26 Apr 2011 16:04:21 -0500

When I was young in the 1950’s and early 60’s there was a bakery in the greater Los Angeles area that did neighborhood marketing. The company was Helm’s Bakery and they had trucks that would drive up and down the residential streets each day offering baked good for sale from the back of the truck. The driver would sound a little whistle announcing the arrival of fresh bread, pies, cakes, cookies and doughnuts. At the sound of that whistle, the kids in the neighborhood would rush to find their mom’s in hope of getting a treat. The truck was a yellow panel truck (the size of a standard pick up with a camper shell on it) and when the rear doors opened they released the most amazing smells from the many wooden drawers filled with bakery delights.

Over time the trucks began to show up less often until finally in 1969 we were all saddened when the trucks stopped coming around altogether. The company went out of business. The iconic main building in Los Angeles lived on though and was re-purposed as a shopping complex. And those mustard yellow trucks with their “toot-toot” live on in the memories of many a Southern California child.

WINNER: Jessica's Submission

Tue, 12 Apr 2011 13:30:00 -0500

I grew up in Springfield, Illinois back in the late 1980’s (when things were seemingly safer). The school days dragged and then came the one hour of homework. It seemed back then since the WWW hadn’t came around yet, that all the kids, including myself, would emerge at he same time from their houses to all go play in the field where there was no houses built. I am not telling a story about one person but rather about all 10 sets of parents from the block. It was almost as if an unwritten understanding went between them all. When the last one arrived home from working their long day they would honk the horn and we all knew it was time to go in.

We always hoped that someone’s parent wouldn’t notice that they were last and no honk would ever come. It always did. One late Wednesday night, the last parent decided that I guess we looked as if we were having too much fun and I remember looking over along with everyone else and waiting for the honk. On that night, a most perfect night, maybe he just didn’t want to go inside yet himself. He went and sat on the porch watching us and laughing as he did. Imagine 10 or so kids just looking at him as if to ask, where is the honk? After a few minutes we realized he was giving us extra time…the extra time needed to finish the simple game of tag we had going on. Nothing special, just a simple running game. To be able to finally finish one meant so much.

It wasn’t until I was older that I had realized that my neighborhood were true believers in the phrase ‘it takes a village’. They were my village. All of the parents watched out for each other’s kids. All the kids respected each other’s parents. As I said this was when things seemed safer. While it might not have been, on that block it was. We all have grown up and moved apart and I am sure all had kids of our own. I only wish that I could find my way back to that block with all the kids that grew up there. Then, maybe us “village kids” could be the horn honking parents and I could be the one that goes to sit on the porch…and lets them finish their game of tag.

Amy Kuney's Submission

Fri, 08 Apr 2011 13:11:34 -0500

My parents have been working as missionaries in Honduras for the past 12 years now and while it’s a noble cause, it’s left me feeling a bit ‘motherless’. I mean… I have a mother but I can’t call her in the middle of the night when I think I have the flu, or expect chocolate from her on Easter. It was around the time I left college that Lynn Lasher adopted me as her 4th. I could go on and on, listing the countless things she has done for me, how she made it possible for me to release a full length album and tour with one of my favorite performers… how she put me through dance classes, how she’s taken care of me, welcomed me into her home time after time… but one (simple) thing stands out to me. While spending last 4th of July at the Lasher house, I casually mentioned how much I enjoyed sparklers as a kid. To this Lynn instructed us to pile in the car where she proceeded to drive (over an hour) outside of Houston looking for a firecracker stand.While firecrackers are becoming more and more illegal, it was no easy feat but Lynn refused to turn around until we found a stand. Later that night we laughed and carved our initials into the air with our 4th of July sparklers. It was a simple gesture but it made me feel like someone’s kid again… and that was the best feeling in the world.

Dodie's Submission

Thu, 31 Mar 2011 12:32:12 -0500

My memory is of feeling that I really didn’t have much purpose to my life, and then I discovered USA Cares and began volunteering on Operation Lap Wrap. I now work part-time for the organization and I look forward to coming to work because I really believe in their mission to help Post 9/11 veterans and their families. Seeing the good that they do puts new meaning to my life. I have had many jobs, but I have never worked with or for people like the staff at USA Cares. They truly live up to their mission of giving “a hand up not a hand out”!

WINNER: Leah's Submission

Wed, 30 Mar 2011 13:06:00 -0500

When I think of simple, I think of summer. I met her while balancing on the cusp between a carefree summer and a changing fall, and she left in the same fashion. Our friendship was like a summer breeze: the kind that allows kites to playfully hover over our heads, that tousles our hair to just the right degree of messiness, that touches our skin for a brief moment, but assures the lasting memories of its warmth.

I was introduced to the new girl in seventh grade history class. Like typical preteens, my friends and I gossiped and giggled and completely overlooked the unfamiliar face at the desk next to mine. But when we were assigned our first project of the school year, the new face immediately turned to me and we became partners. We got an A+ on the project, a sure sign that our ‘partnership’ wouldn’t end with a silly story about Alexander Hamilton.

Macie had moved from California to live with her dad. She used the craziest slang and told stories about herself that were much too eccentric for a twelve-year-old. Even as she would share them, I knew they were only half true, but I always let her think that I believed every word. We would spend our days singing karaoke and writing songs in my basement or riding our bikes and going on adventures in our neighborhood. Macie was simply fearless. She still is. She pushed me to let go of my insecurities and fears and reminded me how nothing really had to be that complicated. Her life wasn’t perfect, but she did what she had to do without a single complaint. With Macie, everything was simple as we snatched every bit of the fragments that remained of our childhoods.

Macie and I were practically glued at the hip for those two years before she moved back to California. I think of her often and remember the foolishness, the boldness, and the belief that we could someday touch the sky. I recall the times when obstacles were petty particles of dirt on the windows through which we could see or feel or even grab our goals. We could do anything.

To the roller blading, the school night sleepovers, the exchange of funny notes and drawings while we scurried past each other in the halls; to the stories, the escapades, the sudden ‘I AM AWESOME’ or ‘LEAH IS AWESOME’ outbursts; to the songs, the summers, and to seeing you again someday. To the simple things.

To PFC Morales, please be safe in Okinawa. I love you and I couldn’t be more proud.

Thom's Submission

Mon, 28 Mar 2011 13:44:11 -0500

In the interest of full disclosure I am tied-in to this cause and campaign and so I will not be considered for any gift card prizes. I’m simply writing because I believe in this cause and those who give so much on behalf of all of us… and because the concept…the notion that you can reach out to people and encourage them to encourage others to use this forum is something special. We DO touch each others lives everyday…sometimes for the worse, but mostly, we rise to the occasion of our “everydays” and we make lives better for people we know and love…and total strangers too.

I would need a thousand letters to give those who matter most their due. For me, family is beyond special in this regard. They are with me in my best moments, and they have picked me up from the ground and dusted me off in the worst of times. I’m talking flat on my ass moments when I thought concrete had become an extension of it. I have a few friends like that too., but I’ve spent most of my life in the entertainment industry…and I’m still in it…and sadly, the transient nature of “industry friendships” is a reality. This letter does not apply to them, but they do inspire me to continue being the best mentor and friend I can be to others…and so I guess I am oddly enough, grateful for the “transient friends too.

This letter is supposed to be about a particular recollection, or maybe a few. Okay, so I changed it up a little. The important thing is telling “the world” that people who touch your lives for the better matters to you. Tell them, show them, reciprocate. Share your letters with others by sharing this forum with others. Encourage them to donate and honor. Goodness trumps nasty and cynical and negative everytime. My simple things are my everything. I am a shell without them. I’ll bet you feel that way too.

Hayden's Submission

Sat, 26 Mar 2011 16:56:38 -0500

After a long, hard year of school: science projects, practices, rehearsals, games, school plays, and finals…it was finally here - summer! Only, it wasn’t official until we had our annual summer pie fight. It was something my mom cooked up so that we could get our “payback” on her for “making” us go to school all year. When we flung open the backdoor and threw our backpacks down, we were welcomed with a row of pies on the kitchen counter…covered with whip cream. Each had a single letter on it that, in total, spelled out summer. We would throw on our bathing suits, hop in the car, and drive to my grandparents house; they had a big back yard and the most inviting blue swimming pool you could imagine. My brother, sister, and I would line up on one side of the lawn with my mom on the other side. 1…2…3… GO! We charged and whip cream flew. I remember the sounds of the high-pitched screams and the laughter. We were covered head to toe with whip cream and flecks of the freshly-cut grass. When it was all said and done, we would all canon ball into the pool and settle in for the summer. It is such a happy memory for me; and a tradition I hope to pass along to my children. I want to thank my mom for giving me a million happy memories just like this one.

James' Submission

Mon, 21 Mar 2011 13:03:36 -0500

Once upon a time, I told a girl she was beautiful. I had not done so before (I thought at first I perhaps should not, for she was a celebrity and I the man in the street) but I gradually came to see that sometimes people passed her by. She was sweet and kind, and sometimes easily hurt. They chased on after the next sensation and dismissed the one who came before; for though she was thought a princess and privileged, her life was not always so gilded as it seemed - and life, life can be cruel!

I told her she was beautiful though I couldn’t see her face, for I did it from afar and never saw her smile. I know it pleased her, and I’m glad I did it. I remember it so clear, even after all these years. I treasure her replies, and the memories, they bring tears…

Karen's Submission

Fri, 18 Mar 2011 13:37:13 -0500

The year was 1974 when my youngest daughter started dance class. The receptionist at dance called my name to give me a receipt and another woman also stood up because it turned out we had the same last name. We laughed and chatted and that started a relationship that would last to this day.

The woman with the same last name eventually moved to a small town in New Jersey and my husand and I and our two children followed a year later. At the time of our move we were expecting our third child, a girl, born in November. The day of her birth was quite emotional — our darling baby was born with Down Syndrome. In true fashion my friend was there to take care of the children and to hold our house and family together. She became the baby’s godmother. Believe me there could not have been a better choice. She cried with me the day the special education bus came to pick our daughter up for preschool for the first time, she attended every school event, dance recital, took pictures before every dance our daughter attended and was there for every surgery our daughter needed.

Because we lived right across the street from each other we saw each other every day, worked on PTA projects together and even got part time jobs at the same store making it possible to drive back and forth together. My life, however, was always more hectic and complicated than my friends but she was always there to help when finances were bad, or I needed a ride because of no car or I was sad because of struggles my youngest daughter was experiencing or just because I needed a cup of tea and someone to listen.

I always said my friend was the closest thing you would find to a saint living here on this earth. Unfortunately, though, even the people who only do good at some point in time are given something to deal with. My friend does not always remember day to day things now but always enjoys reminiscing the many days in our past.

It has been 37 years, my friend and I still live across the street from each other but now I make the tea and give her a ride. We don’t see each other every day but she is taken very good care of by her husband, who is also our dear friend of 37 years.

My friend has been a treasure to our family. She only knows kindness. She has been a wonderful influence on me and I hope she feels my appreciation when we embrace.

Theresa Quintanilla's Submission

Tue, 15 Mar 2011 13:52:00 -0500

When I was in the fifth grade (10 years old?), we lived in a quiet neighborhood where all the houses on the block had backyard fences, and most had dogs. My particular tomboy mischief was to go the length of the block over the fences greeting the dogs along the way. Not a single dog was unfriendly or annoyed to see me coming over the fence. Later, I realized that the dog owners would let me take their dogs out for a walk around the neighboring block on a summer evening. So I would go to the front door with a leash and say “Can I take your dog for a walk?” I never asked for any money. It was a pleasure being out with the dog.

And yes, we had our own dog, but he was elderly and fonder of my dad than me. Hmm, maybe my retirement plan should be to provide free dog walking for elderly people in my neighborhood.

Lynn's Submission: Remembering Mom O

Fri, 11 Mar 2011 14:53:00 -0600

I grew up in a small town, on a little street with a park at one end and an Indian cemetery at the other. There were a lot of kids on the street, all roughly the same age, and we spent our summer days barefooted at the park, playing Capture the Flag and Four Square, staying out until someone’s father whistled us home. One evening, after the ice cream man had come and gone, we were all gathered in my neighbor David’s yard plotting the evening’s activities when his grandmother, Mom O, drove up. Without so much of the blink of an eye, she surveyed the crowd, reached into her purse and gave each of us, and there must have been ten, all Coppertoned and sunburned in spite of it, a dollar. In disbelief, we hopped on our bikes and rode to the TG&Y, all racing to be the one who got there first. I remember my treasure included a red ball and a not inconsequential amount of dill pickle gum… It was a simple thing. It wasn’t tectonic or epic. But it was also a spontaneous act of incredible generosity, given playfully and lovingly, an acknowledgment of the essential worth of children and the value of their innocent, unfettered childhoods. I often think of Mom O, even now, 50 years later.