One of our kids found some hummus in the back of the fridge. It had clearly passed from edible to science experiment, and she tossed it. The other day she found a bag of split peas that had an expiration date from last summer. She wanted to throw them away but I stopped her. Those dates can be pretty conservative when it comes to dried goods. I cooked them up for soup and they were delish.
A friend's daughter sent me a private message. I didn't know her well but had written her a bunch of letters when she was going through a rough patch a few years back.
"I came across one of those letters and realized I never thanked you for reaching out. It was kind of you."
Which was nice to hear.
Last week someone who reads moats wrote me too.
"Even though I open your emails every day I never respond, and I thought it was time to express my gratitude." How about that. His words sat like verbal flowers on my lap.
Apologies don't seem to expire either. A woman I haven't seen in a dozen years wrote to say she was sorry that my efforts to help with an event were not well received. It felt as if she untangled a tiny knot in my past.
One of the more dramatic apologies I was ever given was from a woman we had known in Florida. She was pretty hard on us, writing to John's boss and spreading rumors. Ten years later we lived in California and she showed up. She called to tell me she lived down the street. It happened that she had experienced a brush with death, and came back feeling like Scrooge on Christmas morning.
"I'm sorry I was so mean to you. I was kind of a mess."
When John came home from work I tossed him a question.
"Who is the last person you would want to move across the street?"
Without missing a beat he named her. The funny thing is, the amends had not expired. It was warm and nourishing.
