How does this work? What makes it tick? How can I put it back together? Why did I take it apart?And why do I have all these left over parts? Oh well, I'll just throw those away.
OK, maybe it didn't work quite like that. But the tale of the foot napkin was borne from that same sense of discovery. My good friend Bill Heerman was traveling to work one day. He had taken MARTA - the people mover in downtown Atlanta. He parked at the station, driving from his home, and rode MARTA to the Southern Company headquarters at Ivan Allen Plaza.
However on this particular morning, it was raining quite heavily in Atlanta. So much so, that as Bill approached the office, he was faced with what was normally a downtown road in Atlanta - but today it was a small river, as rain water rushed down the avenue. His only choices were to go home, or face the rainwaters and make the final mad dash to the safety and drier conditions of his office.
Summoning his courage, he dashed at first opportunity across the street to the office, never hesitating, until he was safely inside the doors. He ventured from there to his cubicle and took off his rain jacket, set down his satchel and assessed the damage.
Not bad he thought to himself, the only problem were his shoes and socks and the bottom third of his pants - pretty much anything knee-down was soaked. After traveling the elevator and walking to his cubicle, they were still oozing water. Fortunately, there was a heater nearby so he removed his shoes and set them on top to dry. His socks were soaking wet, so he placed them there as well. Barefoot at his desk in a Fortune 500 office, pants rolled up to his knees, Bill set to work - just like any day ... just barefoot.
Unfortunately, this was the holiday season, so the departmental Christmas lunch was approaching. Pressed for time, Bill checked his shoes and socks. The shoes were less wet, still damp, but water wasn't oozing from them at this point. His socks, however, were still sopping wet.
Quickly his brain raced with options, finally settling on wearing the shoes and finding some socks - somewhere ... in about 10 minutes. As he searched for solutions, he remembered he had a bag with athletic clothes for his trip to the gym. Searching through, however he found no socks, just a random white T-shirt. Desperate for a solution, he quickly realized a white T shirt could pass for white socks. Right? It's better than no socks at all, right?
Grabbing scissors from his desk, he quickly cut the T shirt into two squares, big enough to wrap around his feet and disguise themselves as socks. Quickly wrapping each one around his feet and tucking them into his shoes, Bill was ready for the luncheon. No one would know the better.
Later that day, on a telephone call - that started out work-related - we discussed his morning
It's one of my favorite memories of Bill. What started out as a work conversation, turned into about 10 minutes of uninterrupted laughter. My sides and cheeks hurt from laughing so much. I cherish that memory now that he's gone.
Bill reminded me of the power and healing effects of laughter. The need to stop every now and then and relax. Take a breath. Visit with a friend. Talk to a family member. Life will be there when you return to it. Honestly, it never goes away. Life goes on and we all play a part - however grand or small.
But it's those moments of absolute joy, unquenchable laughter. Those are the moments that season our lives. We all become so caught up in the day-to-day grind. Finishing this project, so we can move onto the next. One day blurs into two, then it's a week, a month - half the year has gone by. You have to learn to savor the moment. Because before long, they will be gone.
Bill was taken from us too soon. Cancer took its toll on yet another person. But I learned from Bill to cherish the moments, savor each day and what it brings. Don't get so caught up in the forest that you can't appreciate the trees. Every tree, every moment is beautiful in it's own respect. But how often do we miss it because we're too worried about what's around the corner.
Thank you, Bill ... for that moment. I'll always cherish it.
Napkin, anyone?
