two seconds

Received another thank you note from Precious Granddaughter. I laughed when I read her words that she bets I’m tired of getting them. Au contraire, mon coeur. Just knowing that she felt thanks was marvelous. That she actually wrote a note by hand and put a stamp on the envelope and then got it to the post office speaks more than volumes about her caring nature.

Don’t misunderstand, I love when a thank you comes by text message, or email, but there’s something so ultra special about real mail, snail mail, call it what you will, the physical tangible kind of mail, the kind you can hold to your cheek, and smile, and say a prayer for the sender, put in a memory book, and years from now take it out and still feel the love that went into the sending.
Which is why I buy and send birthday cards. Unfortunately I learned many years ago that sending a birthday card to grandchildren means I better put a check in the envelope. At least when it’s cashed I’ll know they got it; otherwise I’ll wonder if it was received, or lays mouldering in some letter carrier’s garage.

And am I a caring person who realizes the power of those two little words? Not nearly often enough. Case in point. Was in DeSoto last week, to retrieve the Constitution Week poster at the library. Walking back to my car, remembered a July conversation at City Hall reception desk, and so dropped in just to say howdy to the wonderful woman who works at that post. Nope, no other reason, it’s just simply I know that sometimes even a job you love can be thankless, especially when it seems nobody realizes, much less cares, what you do.

With her smile in my mind, followed an elderly gentleman accompanied by a young woman (well, to me she was young) out the door. Realizing they were taking up the whole sidewalk, and that perhaps I might be in a hurry, the young woman said something like, “Daddy, let the lady by.” But I did not rush along. Instead, I walked next to them, and, seeing the logo on the ball cap he wore, asked the man, “Are you a Vet?” “Yes, ma’am!” he loudly proudly declared. And then he stopped and dug into his pocket, came out with his wallet, and showed me his VA card. “Thank you for your service!” I said. His answering smile was brilliant, but the look in his daughter’s eyes was priceless.
So how long does it take to say “thank you”? Maybe a second? If you’re Southern and drawl “thank y’all” then make it three. But no matter how long it takes, it’s worth the doing. It's the little things that count.

Of course, saying thank you isn’t the whole story. There’s a “you’re welcome” somewhere in the mix, an acknowledgement of something done and well received.

And so, to make a long story even longer, here’s the real reason for this discourse on what’s wrong (or right) with the world.

Dear sweet neighbor, whose grass I’ve been cutting every week for two months, you’re welcome. Even though you’ve never actually thanked me, you’re welcome. (Of course I realize that saying ”thank you” would mean you’d have to remove that cellular growth from your ear for two seconds. I wonder that your children ever get your attention.) But perhaps the reason you don’t say thank you is that you are not actually grateful for my service? Perhaps you look at the weed-less expanse of freshly clipped lawn and think to yourself, “damn that busybody neighbor, wish she’d just leave it, I need an excuse to get outside and away from the kids and work on my tan.” Call it second guessing, but, with that in mind, dear sweet neighbor, I will not be cutting your grass anymore.

And now, before the opportunity passes by, I'll take two seconds to go to facebook and post a big thank you to hubby for doing his own dishes two nights this week. Because it's the little things that count.