Random Acts of Kindness

I was standing in a dank subway stop just north of downtown and feeling a little downtrodden. I was wet and out of breath, having gotten caught in a sudden downpour. My hair was frizzing and my wool coat (a clearance-rack, TJ Maxx special) had begun to smell not unlike a wet dog. A guy with a boom box was sneaking sideways looks at me, and it seemed like the train would never come.

Suddenly, out of the crowd of bedraggled commuters, burst this impeccably dressed gay guy with a piping hot latte in one hand and his smart phone in the other. Unlike most people on public transit, he looked at me (not through me) and slowed his stride long enough to gush, "Ohmigod I love your coat! And your scarf matches it perfectly! You look fabulous!" And just as quickly as he had appeared, he was gone. He disappeared into (what was, by that time) a very crowded platform of commuters.

All it took was one unexpected compliment from a complete stranger to turn my day around. The train came-- I managed to snag a seat while boom box guy stayed on the platform-- and I no longer felt so frizzy or smelly. I'd always heard about the impact that random acts of kindness can have, and I've even tried to do some on occasion. But in the everyday drudgery of life, it's easy to forget how much a kind word or gesture can affect others. So, flattered and a little bewildered, I vowed to pay it forward before the warm, fuzzy feeling went away.

On my way home, I saw a neighbor toiling outside of the corner restaurant, replacing the fall flowers in the planters with evergreens, in anticipation of winter. "Looking good!" I chirped, smiling as I walked past. When she looked up and pushed her frizzy hair out of her eyes, her brows un-furrowed and a genuine smile spread across her face. I didn't stop to chat, but I did smile back. Then I pulled up the collar of my (fabulous) coat as I turned into the wind to block the rain, and I headed home.

With a Little Help...

While changing the sheets is a chore for most, in my home it's become a major undertaking. Not only is my queen-sized bed wedged in the corner of my tiny bedroom, I have two little helpers who love nothing more than fresh linens. In what can only be described as a near-Pavlovian response to the unremarkable sound of unfolding fabric, my two enormous tom cats come running into the bedroom and leap on top of a partially unfolded fitted sheet.

So I'll pick one up and dump him on the floor, but by the time I go to pick up the other, the first cat is right back up on the bed. This continues (with alternating cats) until one wanders off of the sheet and onto the mattress pad. I quickly pull the corner of the sheet with the other cat still on top of it, but the sudden movement causes him to pounce on the part that I am trying to stretch around a corner of the mattress, pawing furiously at the folds of fabric.

Once I have two corners secured, I steer my furry helpers toward the already-smoothed out part of the sheet. This allows me to finish attaching the bottom sheet, and puts them in perfect position for what comes next: the top-sheet application. By far their favorite part of the bed-making process, they crouch expectantly as I shake out the flat sheet. As soon as I snap it in the air and let it fall neatly over the mattress, they bound to the center of the bed and wait for the clean-smelling cloth to settle over them. It usually takes me a few tries to align the top sheet with the mattress, and the kitties think this is great fun.

Once the sheet is as even as it can be (with two moving blobs underneath, that is), I'll tuck the excess under the mattress at the foot of the bed, folding the sides into loose hospital corners. The unexplained movement of the mattress tends to spook Iggy, the larger of the two cats, and he'll shoot out from under the sheet and watch the corner-tucking from the doorway a safe distance away. It almost never fails, though, that he is distracted by a moving white blob in the middle of the bed. With a waggle of his haunches, he springs back onto the bed and pounces on the blob (a.k.a. Jack) and a tussle ensues, until the sheet is twisted enough to reveal one cat to the other. If I haven't completely tucked the sheet in before the blob attack, I have to repeat part two of my bed-making process, much to the delight of my fuzzies.

At this point, I usually walk away and do something else for a bit; the sheets aren't nearly as enticing when they're not moving. So once the cats lose interest, I'll sneak back in to straighten out the top sheet and put on the comforter. Since the pillows don't intrigue them, I usually have to add those finishing touches myself.

Without the ritual, without the fanfare, and without the help I get when changing the sheets, I could most likely accomplish this task in two minutes instead of twenty. And although it would be much easier without help, it wouldn't be nearly as much fun.