This is what it feels like parking on one of the City lots...and you pay for it!

It Is True...

...a small kindness can make all the difference in the world.

Eleven years ago, my first job in RI was for a non profit organization in Providence. I had to drive from Newport to "the city" every day (if you lived in RI, you would know that very few people venture over the bridges every day but being from NJ, that commute was a piece of cake). I had to park in a pay lot where you were supposed to leave your keys with the attendant. The less expensive lot filled quickly but being a full-time grad student and a full time, not for profit employee, I was barely able to pay even the cheapest lot. Anyway, one day it was raining, cold and miserable out. I was running into Dunkin Donuts to grab a coffee before trying to park in my usual lot. I figured the parking attendant must be cold and miserable as his post was outside, no shelter in sight, so I picked him up a coffee.

As I rolled in, spaces were tight and I was having trouble squeezing into the spot (the parking attendant - barley 18 - could tell I was struggling. In a thick Vietnamese accent, he told me to just leave it, he'd park it. Totally relieved, I handed him the coffee, he looked utterly shocked, and barely stammered a thanks as I ran for the office doors. When I came out at the end of the day, the sun was shining and it had turned into a beautiful day. I headed toward my car when I saw the parking attendant - which was odd because he usually left the keys under the floor mat since his day ended at four and mine at 5. I thought something must be wrong with my car. Shyly, he approached me and said, "Hi. My name is Cabbie. I didn't really get to thank you for the car so I wanted to be here when you got out. So, thanks." And then he took off.

That's how our friendship started. I began to realize that no matter how late I was running or how full the lots were, cabbie always had a spot for me - an easy spot to pull in and out of. If I didn't have cash on hand, he knew I was good for it and let me pay double the next day. He was interested in what I was learning at school, I was interested in how he emigrated Vietnam and landed in RI. The 2 years that I had that job, every morning started with a big smile from him and a greeting, "hello Ms. Sunshine" (his nickname for me. It was a nice way to go through the week.

After 2 years, I graduated and found a new job - a few blocks from my old job and parking lot. My new job came with a parking space so my time with Cabbie came to an end. I no longer had a reason to be on that remote part of town. He congratulated me on my new job, I wished him all the best. Flash forward 7 years to this afternoon...

...I was having a bad day. Was 15 minutes into my 90 minute commute when I realized I left my blackberry at home. I had to go back and get it. Annoying. I arrived at the office at 7 am to find my computer inoperable. Annoying. By noon, I had called the computer help line 3 times to no avail. Annoying. I decided to drive back the 90 minutes from where I came to go to tour Western, MA office and try to use the computer there. Not looking forward to driving through the rain. Annoying. On my way to my car, a truck sped by spraying me with water. Annoying.

Then, out of the distance, I heard, "Hello, Ms. Sunshine!" I looked up to find Cabbie waving frantically. He remembered me! I was touched. He rushed over. We exchanged greetings. He graduated college, was going for a job interview. I was thrilled for him. He was ecstatic that I was married and asked about "the lucky guy". His kindness and the mere fact that he remembered me wanted to make me cry.

I said, "of all the people you see come and go every day, Cabbie, you just made my day by remembering me. I really needed your positive attitude today and here you are." He looked down shyly and said, "you brought me coffee once, on the day after my sister passed away. You didn't know it but it was the kind of positive thing I needed then."

People are amazing and I am fortunate to have so many wonderful encounters with unbelievable people who keep life in perspective for me.

Memories....

Sweet Tea, Sweet Memories

This week, I have felt overwhelmed, over-worked, and woefully under appreciated. I was dealing with this feeling by wallowing in my misery. I looked for an opening in my schedule so I could take a couple of hours to go to the spa, sit in the sun, sleep past 5am....anything that would give me some down time. My calendar provided no such openings. Driving down the Mass Pike, off to another person in need of kindness, grumbling to myself, grunting at jerky drivers, snorting with disgust every time my phone rang, I did something I rarely do....I pulled across 3 lanes of traffic and found myself in the McDonald's drive-thru. I felt a little guilty -I'm a Burger King girl- as I ordered my sweet tea. Only a dollar. What a score. I had actually caught my first break of the week. The guy even remembered to put a lemon in it. It was 3 pm on Friday but the week was finally improving.

As I took my first sip - a long, greedy gulp actually, I felt a smile creep over my face. This was the real deal - real Southern Sweet Tea. It immediately took me back to 2005 - Louisiana - Hurricane Katrina. I had been sent there by my employer to help with humanitarian aid. I was sent alone and scared but knew I was doing good work at a shelter. It was long days (I worked from 9 am until 11 pm every day) and there were few restaurants open, let alone restaurants open at the hours I was available to eat.

At the end of my first shift (11pm), I was driving back to my hotel, the Gentlemen's Quarters, when I saw the bright yellow Waffle House sign. I pulled in, saddled up to the counter, ordered a grilled cheese and a sweet tea. The women behind the counter (who had gold teeth, gang tattoos, the most unruly braids I had ever seen, and neon fake nails) stared at me like I was crazy but served me the most refreshing iced tea I had ever had. I watched as they took thick slices of bread, held them over a spinning wheel of melted butter, slapped it down on the griddle. Next, 2 thick slices of American cheese were placed directly on the hot griddle until they melted to a bubbly perfection. As one woman scooped the cheese onto the grilled bread, the other filled my glass with more fresh brewed sweet tea. Comfort food at its best. When the bill came, it was $8 - I left a $20 and went off to catch some sleep.

Morning came too soon. I headed to the check-in area which had advertised a "morning special" which I assumed was food. Wrong. It was sexual in nature. Oops.

So it was back to the Waffle House for me where the same 2 women were working, still looking at me like I was insane. I had an english muffin, hot coffee with real cream, and a grilled english muffin which enjoyed the same butter bath my grilled cheese had the night before. My bill came, $4 - I left a $10. That night, the routine began - at 11 pm, I pulled into the Waffle House and ordered the same meal. The next morning, my same breakfast. Always the same women there.

By the third day, I asked, "don't you two ever get to go home?". They retorted, "don't you know you're the only white person in here at all sorts of odd hours?". I explained I was an aid worker and we got to chatting. Over tall glasses of sweet tea, they would tell me how they were sisters, Nadine and Jadine, how they worked nights (10pm - 8 am) as their Mom watched their kids so that they could be home when their kids came home from school and keep an eye on them. It was important that they cooked dinner for their kids every night and had dinner around the table. They would tell me how they saw too many kids slip away because their Mamas didn't keep an eye on them. They wold joke that they would catch up on sleep when they were old and gray.

They had lost people to the Hurricane. I explained how I worked with kids in shelters, tried to help complete aid forms, that I missed my dog and my nieces.......a friendship was forged. After about a week, they told me I could stop tipping them insanely, they liked me and had "put the word out" not to mess with the white chick. I explained that I appreciated that but I wasn't tipping them out of fear, I was tipping them because no matter what I ordered, I was getting a flat rate for food so I would rather pass it on to them...I wasn't there to make money. Always, fresh, cool pitchers of sweet tea full of lemons sat amongst us as we talked the night away. They laughed as I begged for a real southern sweet tea recipe - I had tried to duplicate it and just came up with a cloudy mess of tea.

Then I received word that I was to fly home. On my last night, I told Nadine and Jadine I would be flying out the next day. They made me promise to come in the nex morning before I left so we could say "proper" good-byes. I showed up bright and early. We took pictures. Cried a little. Hugged. As I was waving my final good-bye, the ladies tucked a gift bag in my hand and wished me safe travels.

Once I was settled on the plane, reliving all my Katrina memories, I remembered the bag. I opened it and found a note that said, "You gave us so much and we had nothing of value to give so we put this together. Thanks for showing us that not all white ladies are bitches. We miss ya already." In the bag was a Waffle House mug for coffee, a tall Waffle House glass (perfect for sweet tea), a long handled spoon a box of tea bags (a brand I had never heard of before) and the recipe for real southern sweet tea. The secret is in the brand of tea bag (which they had enclosed) and a pinch of...something else I won't tell.

I started to tear up. Nadine and Jadine thought they had nothing of value to give but they gave me comfort, friendship, protection and a recipe I searched my whole life for. All things I value tremendously.

So back to current day, while I cruise down the Mass Pike, sipping my McDonalds sweet tea, I am reminded of that time of my life and can't help but put aside my grumpiness and just appreciate all my good fortunes.

Who knew sweet tea could be so important?

NJesque

I have long considered myself a New Englander at heart - after all, I summered on Cape Cod for 30+ years. Being my cocky, slightly clueless self, I thought I knew everything there was to know about New England (a real New Englander would of course disagree). I knew New England was fabulous so moving there wouldn't feel like I was leaving my home (NJ) behind but rather, like I was moving to my home state, away from my home state (so to say).

I knew where to get the best lobster rolls (both Connecticut style and New England style on a top split hot dog bun), all the best beach locations, where to get a fantastic mudslide (outdoors, overlooking the ocean, while live music played in the dunes above), I knew I could find a drive-thru Dunkin Donuts on every corner (literally), new England was the home of coffee milk (yes, same as chocolate but with coffee syrup - I know, heaven in a bottle), dells lemonade, root beer and orange soda at every fountain machine, amazing Chinese food (not NJ style where fried rice is still white and has peas and carrots tossed in)...all of this, New England had to offer. However, I quickly learned that the great Northeast, lacked some items I considered essential and were in abundance in NJ...

...Bagel Shops - or even just a good bagel. Ask a New Englander where to get a good bagel on Sunday morning after church and you will be pointed towards the nearest Dunkin Donuts (no doubt within sight no matter where you are). Yes, that puffy round pice of bread passes for a bagel here and is only edible if you toast it and slather it with butter.

...Pizza - Dominos is considered the neighborhood pizza joint. (My NJ friends, do I really need to explain how disappointing this is?!!?!)

...Delis - ask where to get a good Italian grinder and you will be directed towards Subway or d'Angelos. Yikes.

...Lunch Meat - you want a quarter pound of cheese? a half pound of this sliced turkey for your weeks linch - they'll tell you to go to the Stop & Shop deli counter. Pure insanity. I don't think my mom EVER visited a grocery store "deli" counter while living in NJ.

...Macaroni Salad - New Englanders float over cooked elbow pasta in mayo and shredded carrots. Eeewwww.

But, by far, the BIGGEST disappointment in New England...NO REAL DINERS. When I moved here for graduate school, one of the first think I asked other students was, "where's the cheap, tons-of-food, open all night, diner. People looked at me like I was nuts and suggested IHOP or Bickfords. So. Not. A. Diner.

For the last 11 years, I have searched far and wide throughout New England for a diner. you know, I want a diner with slightly grumpy service, mildly cool tap water served in gold tinted small glasses, mounds of food, fries with gravy, plastic, greasy menus with pictures of everything from pot roast dinners to grilled cheese with bacon.

People have suggested various haunts but trust me, I've been down a lot of rabbit holes and these did not pan out. Last Saturday night, Abraham (formerly Alexander) and I stumbled upon a diner in MA that we thought looked promising. As we pulled in the lot, I had my doubts but as we opened the half smudged glass/half metal door and were promptly ignored by the hostess as she flirted with the Greek looking bus boy behind the food counter, my hope rose.

As she finally plucked 2 large plastic menus off a stack next to an old cash register and sat us at an old, torn, red booth with a mini juke box - a smile started to creep over my my face and I began to allow myself to believe that this could be it. This could be my NJesque diner. The big question remained though...did they have my ultimate NJ diner feast? A gyro with shaved meat in a large warm pita, slathered in tzatziki sauce served with piping hot fries??? As I scoured the menu (yes, it had pictures), Abraham declare he had found his favorite NJ diner choice - a hot open faced turkey sandwich with gravy, mashed potatoes, veggie of the day, and soup or salad. Happy for him but I was growing frantic looking for my gyro and then, there it was - under "Greek Favorites".

When the food arrived, you could have told me I was back in NJ at the nautilus diner and I would have believed you. The food was the real deal and I couldn't have been happier if Abraham had taken me to a swanky 5 star restaurant.

The Route 9 diner is a hike from our house. It isn't on the way to anywhere. But I will go back and I will go back often. I will b the NJ transplant in the booth, flipping through the juke box, eating a gyro and fries with gravy (drinking a root beer) with a smile plastered on my face. Come say hi.