It is strange how small things can sometimes stop you dead in your tracks. You all know I have this aching love for old people (preferably, I'd scoop them all up and take care of them... I just can't help it, a hobbling oldster on the street makes me want to weep). Where others see a failing body, I see the experience and wisdom from the many memories some call life.... You may call them wrinkles, I call them battle scars. They should be worn proudly, and the wearer should be honored. Today, I keep debating WHY it is that no one else seems to notice the generations that came before us, or gives them a second thought. While shopping for groceries I passed through the cat food section, and a tiny old lady desperately tried to reach the highest shelf searching for 'her' favorite brand. She must have been at it for a while for I could feel her getting discouraged and sad. Since she couldn't see what flavor the cardboard boxes or cans contained, she tried to tuck them closer to the edge of the shelve hoping to get lucky (though in what way I don't want to think about... the only option to SEE would have been for a can to tumble out and fall on her). Only, she couldn't even reach them properly, and kept trying to stretch to get a hold of what she could barely touch with her fingertips. People from both directions hurried by, and not one so much as glanced a her. I am sure they had friends to meet, work to do, kids to pick up.... A life to live? Their auras were dead. Trodding on like old carriage horses, so used to the blinders they couldn't have seen anything outside their small accustomed field of vision if their lives depended on it. Time stopped while I took in the whole picture, until I experienced a piercing pain that caused tears to shoot into my eyes. When I could breathe again, I gently touched her elbow and cheerfully asked if I might be of assistance. She turned towards me slowly, with an expression of shame on her little face. Shame, for crying out loud, is THAT what our society has come to?? Shame, for having attracted attention and maybe for being in the way. Shame, for some stranger having noticed her inability to fend for herself. I just stood quietly and smiled at her, waiting patiently. All of a sudden, I had all the time in the world, and to hell with the pile of laundry waiting at home. A slow smile spread hesitantly over the landscape of her wrinkles, and in a tiny voice she apologized for not being able to find the chicken & rabbit treats she was looking for. She was stunned when I began asking her questions about her kitties, while pulling out box after box looking for the right one, and pointed out a special on a different brand. Obviously she must have been wondering why I would care, but when she finally started responding happily, I could have bawled all over again. When I finally unearthed the box containing what her cats craved, she asked with a very small voice if there might be 10 can's left in it... I counted the cans out for her and placed them in her basket. Yet I couldn’t bare to leave her, so I asked if there was anything else she needed, hoping I would get to carry her basket (but afraid to ask, she was so very obviously proud). She insisted she was fine now, but worst of all, she apologized again, explaining that only because she was in so much pain from her back she couldn't hop high enough to help herself, and that she was always SUCH a bother, often having to inconvenience somebody else for her needs... Something on a very thin thread inside me snapped. I knew I had to get out fast before I lost it completely, but I gave her a tiny hug and told her sternly to NOT worry, that people in there get PAID to do just that, and no bother at all.... I barely made it through the register before my eyes flooded for real, having caught another glimpse of her tottering along the isles, checking her shopping list every few seconds. It was obvious she was proud she could still do her own shopping, but also that the task was excruciatingly painful. I so wanted to ask her if she had a ride home, but knew from previous attempts that the oldsters (and for good reason, more’s the pity) are scared stiff to accept such an offer from a stranger (I have since begun to ask anyway, and surprisingly, have NEVER been turned down). Gawds, I wanna live a few millenia ago when old folks were regarded as a treasured responsibility and could/would live out their days pampered and admired. I find I am simply too ancient for these times....... I don't remember who said 'the smallest pebble will make large ripples in time", I just know we have to start with however small a step we CAN make to bring back those times. Join me dear friends. Maybe we can only perform small favors, maybe we will only be allowed to give that 'ride' to a neighbor who knows us. But maybe, just maybe, we can make a small difference. Let’s say to hell with the funny looks, the possible suspicion, and approach someone who might need help. They were SOMEone’s granny, or grampa. Many of them are without transportation, or the means to do something special. Is it such an inconvenience to take along that lonely neighbor when we do our own shopping, or offer to take out the weekly trash for someone whose every step might hurt? Pull a few weeds for a gardener who can no longer stoop that low, but still enjoys sitting in the sun. Give the person in front of you at the checkout line a nickel if they are short paying their bill, the harried cashier a friendly smile…. Compliment a stranger, and walk a little slower through this life. But most importantly, remember those who built the foundation of our world. Remember too, we will be there ourselves one day. I, for one, will not only take the offered chances, from now on I'll go LOOKING for them. If we don't, our field of vision is just as limited as “theirs” (and you know who THEM are’. Green Blessings, and much love Sorcy, saddling the warrior steed once again 
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