This morning I read in a day-old paper how a poverty assistance center in Plano won't have enough toys and food for their annual toys-and-food festival. I am in the third week of a solid, ebullient heaven-has-no-idle-hands work month, and did not have time to hit a toy place, buy the requisite toys, and stop by the place on my way to the office. As my wife had Friday off, I pointed out the article to her, and asked if she might help out.
As I drove to my office from my morning meeting over in Dallas, I thought about paramecia, and in particular how each one is in some ways of looking at things millenia old, much more than each of us is in some ways of looking at things also millenia old. I thought about the life-sustaining part of evolution, and how a single-cell critter could develop cilia and a sure hand at self-replicating. I got one of those "TV-screen" like microscope ensembles at a Goodwill last year. Maybe I need to set it up.
As I reached Garland, I began to realize that I tell myself my heart is in the right place all too often, but never let that heart really pump very much blood. I realized that each year I intend to get lots of toys for deprived tots, but each year I exhibit an un-Sea-Biscuit-like inability to actually fit things into my schedule and win the big race to help. It's not enough that my Decembers are always busy for some reason--I'm always in trial or other major developments near the holidays. It's not enough to say "I wish I can", but instead I wish to say "I think I can" and then "I did".
Just as my reflection was hitting home, I noticed that the Coldwell Banker realty office near our offices said "Official Toys for Tots Collection Center". I am not one for palpable signs or vivid stigmata, but I saw this as some sort of Deeply Religious Suggestion by an Intelligence, at least as far as those can arise in mini-malls by the Philly cheese steak place.
I went for lunch to a pizza buffet, and then went into the Big Lots next door. I love dollar stores in general, and Big Lots in particular. Twelve different colors of play dough-like stuff was 3 dollars. A Mr. Potato Head in swimwear was a dollar fifty. A bunch of off-brand lincoln logs in a huge can was six dollars. Metal airplanes, rockin' cars? A pittance.
I soon had a huge bag of toys, all for a reasonable price. I may have mentioned in this journal before that I am triceratops, but the toys all were exactly what I would have wanted at 8 years ago, when even a video game like Pong seemed like wild science fiction. I could have played with anything there.
I took them over to the checkout, and then the guy behind the realty counter took them away.
My wife later said that she, too, had hit the stores to help the poverty pantry place. She's much better at getting things like this done than I am, but I was glad I did my lesser task.
Two anonymous commenters have complimented my post "notes on Guppy philosophy" from back in November. I must google up how it is "rising to the top". I guess downtrodden guppies garner generous gracious attention. I have read seen the zeitgeist in my cheap French binoculars and it is a shimmering, swimming cull of a fish.
I work tomorrow and have so many things to do outside of work. But I'm not doing badly, and that's goodly.