The push

Today I'd like to tell you a story about war, and about the things we do to save other people. I know most of us are sick to death of hearing about war right now, but today -- March 10 -- is an important holiday in our family, in part because of a different war that happened a long time ago.

You see, on this day in 1967, four very young men got into two very fast planes to complete a dangerous wartime mission: a bombing run of an enemy steel mill in North Vietnam. But someone tipped off the North Vietnamese that they were coming, and as a result both their planes were heavily shot up with anti-aircraft fire. Both were leaking a lot of fuel. One of the pilots, Earl Aman, soon realized that he wouldn't have enough fuel to get back to base, and that he and his weapons system officer (aka the GIB, or "guy in back") would have to eject over enemy territory.

This state of affairs didn't sit well with the pilot of the other plane, a guy named Bob Pardo. Bob's plane was leaking fuel too, but not as much as Earl's. And Bob refused to leave anyone behind. He thought fast and came up with a crazy idea.

"Don't eject just yet," he told Earl. "I'm going to try to push you."

The F-4 Phantoms they were flying were originally Navy jets, so they had tailhooks to help them land on aircraft carriers. And after trying unsuccessfully to push Earl's Phantom using the drag chute in back, Bob had Earl lower the plane's tailhook. He flew up carefully behind the plane and just kissed his windscreen against the heavy tailhook, and somehow, even with turbulence and slipping and a windscreen that kept cracking every time they came in contact, managed to push the other plane far enough that they made it to Laotian airspace -- closer to safety. With barely two minutes of flying time left, all four men ejected from their planes.

One of those men had his back damaged by the ejection seat, and his parachute got caught in the trees as he came down, so he was in a lot of pain. But there was no time to rest, because once he got free and was on the ground, he heard the shouts of some local villagers looking for him. They shot at him a few times, which suggested to him that they weren't friendly, so he started running (as well as he could with a damaged back). He ran for a long time, but eventually his strength gave out. He leaned up against a tree, gasping for breath, and wondered how bad it would be if they caught him and put him in a POW camp.

And then a thought came vividly to his mind. He thought of his new son, who had just been born three months earlier. He thought, If I'm killed or captured, I'll never get to see my little boy. He'll have to grow up without a father. And so, leaning against a tree in the middle of the Laotian wilderness, he prayed. He prayed for help and strength and the ability to evade the unfriendly people who were looking for him. He prayed to be able to see his son. And somehow, he found the strength to keep running. Not long after that, he and the other pilots were picked up by rescue helicopters and brought safely back to base.

Now, why do I tell you this story? Two reasons. First, our family celebrates what we call "Pardo's Pushday" because if Bob Pardo hadn't decided to give that other plane a push, there's a good likelihood we wouldn't be a family. See, Earl Aman's "guy in back," the man who leaned against a tree and prayed for strength, who had never seen his new son, was my father-in-law. The little boy whom he'd never seen was my husband, the intrepid Captain Midnight. And if Dad hadn't been rescued, he certainly would have been either imprisoned or killed. My husband would have grown up without a father. He would never have had a younger brother. Had the circumstances of our lives changed only a little, CM and I might never have met and married.

Here's the other, more important reason. Most of us aren't going to use our incredible flying skills to push a damaged plane out of enemy airspace. But the things we do -- the little pushes of encouragement we give people -- ripple outward in space and time and touch others in ways we couldn't possibly imagine. Because Bob Pardo saved those three men, they and their families would go on to influence so many other lives in so many countries. Likewise, because one of us puts a jar of peanut butter or a few cans of tuna into a Little Free Pantry, someone else might be able to make ends meet until payday comes and won't be kicked out for non-payment of rent. Because one of us donates money to a charitable organization dedicated to helping refugees, a family fleeing Ukraine or Somalia will have a hot meal and a place to sleep tonight. Most of us will never really understand the full impact of the small things we do to help push people to safety -- but it's important to do those things, to send love and help out into the dark, with the faith that they will make a difference for good in the world.

So, happy Pardo's Pushday. It’s traditional to have a donut (whatever flavor you like best) and toast Bob Pardo with it.

(Thanks for the push, Bob.)

When it's time for the talk about Santa

 

Sooner or later your kid will ask about Santa Claus, and it's better to plan how you'll respond before that day comes.

Reaching out

OR years, my mom had this recurring desire to start a charity. Not just any old kind, but something specific.

"I'd love to match up families with each other," she'd say. "Then one family could help the other one get through tough times, kind of the way an extended family does. I just think it would work."

Mom would have been thrilled to discover that someone else had the same idea -- and, further, acted on that idea and started a charitable organization. Family-to-Family provides the link through which one family can help another get through tough times. If you have enough for your needs and a little left over, I urge you to contribute. Should you decide to participate, you can choose to help a struggling family, a veteran, a Holocaust survivor or a refugee family get through the pandemic. There's more information at the website.

It's what Kari Sue would do! After all the kind and selfless things people did for her and her family, she would have been so excited to help someone else. I only wish I'd discovered this place a long time ago and could have shared the news with her before she died.

Mr. Pollak

Can you remember a certain person from your past who entered your life and forever changed it for the better?

My mother did. His name was Mr. Pollak.

There are a couple of things you need to know about Karin, my mom. She was accidentally dropped on her head as an infant (no, really), and for many years she was convinced that this incident had caused some kind of brain damage, because she couldn't learn to read. While all the kids around her were working their way through "See Jane run. Run, Jane, run," little Karin was just trying to figure out how the marks on paper were connected to the words people were saying, and failing miserably. As she struggled through early grade school, still trying and failing to understand the mechanics of reading, she became more and more certain she was too dumb to learn anything. And her fourth-grade teacher didn't help matters; she too was convinced Karin was stupid, and actually told Karin's parents not to expect very much from their daughter, as she simply didn't have the mental capacity to succeed in school. By the end of fourth grade, after having been mocked and neglected in class all year, Karin had actually lost ground in her education.

Then came fifth grade. That year, Karin got a teacher who was brand new to her school, a young man who was friendly and kind and played the guitar. His name was Mr. Pollak, and it didn't take him very long to notice that Karin was struggling. One day, early in the school year, he asked her to stay after class. I imagine Karin was terrified. But this time, she wasn't put through another round of being told she was stupid, of having her textbooks taken away and given to another child, as she had in fourth grade.

"Karin," said Mr. Pollak. "You can't read, can you." It was a statement, not a question.

Karin burst into tears. Not only was she stupid, she'd been found out -- and by the teacher she liked the most. But Mr. Pollak insisted that Karin wasn't stupid, and that she could learn to read. In fact, he would teach her himself.

And for many after-school sessions running, that's just what he did. The standard reading method being taught in mid-1950s California wasn't working for Karin, so Mr. Pollak chose other methods. Since phonics made no sense to her, he taught her different word attack skills, how to recognize short, recurring words first, and how to move straight to sight reading (some 95% of adult reading is sight reading, not phonetic -- we only use phonic attack skills to conquer unfamiliar words).

By the time Karin finished fifth grade, she was reading at grade level -- and it's not an overstatement to say that finally learning to read changed the course of her life. Not only could she read capably, but when one of her younger sisters also showed signs of struggle with reading comprehension, Karin created a "play school" over the summer and taught her little sister the same word attack skills Mr. Pollak had taught her. It was the first time Karin realized she was good at teaching.

It would still take a good part of the next decade for Karin to realize that she really was intelligent and capable -- but by then she'd graduated from high school and made it into college, where she developed a passion for history and geography. She went on to teach high school history, geography and general music, then got married and had a family of children who all learned to love reading. (We were the kids who were constantly trying to check out our own weights in books at the local library.) Later, when her husband died and Karin went back to teaching school, she certified to teach special education. For the rest of her working life, she specialized in teaching kids who struggled just as she had in school -- kids with learning disabilities, kids whose teachers were convinced they were nothing but trouble, but also kids who just needed the right kind of nurturing to learn and improve. I'm convinced Karin was such an effective teacher in part because she empathized so strongly with her kids. (I remember she told me that one of the first kids who came to her for one-on-one reading assistance had dyslexia and struggled to sound out every word. "At first I had to sit behind her every time she read out loud," Mom said, "because I'd start remembering just what it was like to struggle so hard and still not understand and feel stupid, and I'd tear up. I didn't want to have to explain to this girl why I was crying.")

Mom also developed a personal, lifelong passion for reading. Her love of history led her to discover all kinds of first-person histories and historical novels, but she also loved children's literature -- whether it was the classic books she hadn't been able to read in childhood, the more recent Newbery Medal winners, or the hugely popular Harry Potter series, she'd gladly devour them all. Diabetes ravaged her eyes, but Mom had surgeries to fix the damage and carried on reading with the help of large-print books and audiobooks. She was a member of a local book club that met once a month for spirited discussion, and although near the end of her life she was often ill and homebound, she rarely missed a meeting. (This month the group is reading a book Mom loved and recommended: Before We Were Yours, a historical novel by Lisa Wingate.)

Last year, after decades of reflection and gratitude, Mom decided that if Mr. Pollak were still alive, she would write to thank him. We searched online and found someone with the right name, who was about the right age, living in another state, and Mom wrote a letter thanking him profusely and letting him know how the course of her life was changed by his efforts. But then she never sent it. I'm not sure if she was worried she might have the wrong Mr. Pollak, or that this letter out of the blue might seem too forward or too gushy, or if she simply got cold feet, but the letter was still there, dated late 2019, atop her writing desk when she died last month.

My sister and I read the letter and, after getting a bit verklempt over it, decided we'd send it to Mr. Pollak anyway. We weren't sure whether he would remember Karin from so many years ago, or even whether it was the right Mr. Pollak, but we sent it off with a little note indicating that Karin had passed away, but had always wanted Mr. Pollak to know how he'd changed her life for good.

About a week later, a handwritten letter arrived in Mom's mailbox. Turns out it was the right Mr. Pollak. After I opened and read it, it took me a while to stop sniffling and transcribe the letter so the rest of my siblings could read it. I haven't gotten his permission, so I hope he'll forgive me for sharing this transcription:

Dear Ms. [Soozcat],

I fear that I might not be able to fully express my gratitude to you for forwarding your mother's letter to me. The effect was like standing beneath a waterfall of sunshine.

I want to express my heartfelt sympathy to you upon the untimely loss of your mother. I hope that you have the support of many loving people who will nurture you during this time of grief and mourning.

Perhaps it was because it was my first year of teaching (age 21) that I have a clear memory of a number of students in that class, Karin among them. Now, at age 87, after a 40 year career in the profession, much of the time is spent looking into the rear view mirror of memory. You can't imagine how gratifying it is to know that I was of some help to your mother. Whatever it is that I may have contributed, it is your mother who deserves the credit for all that she has accomplished during her lifetime for it was she who did the hard work that made the many gifts she bestowed during the years she was on this Earth. Please take comfort in knowing that she did indeed leave the world a better place than it was when she entered it.

Thank you for your very thoughtful gift. My prayers go out to you and your family.

All the best,
Ken Pollak

Thank you, Mr. Pollak. You might not believe your contribution was significant, but it meant the world to Mom and to everyone who learned from her. And like her, you have left the world a better place than it was when you entered it.

Happy blogiversary! Plus an awesome Halloween giveaway!

N this day 10 years ago, I opened a Blogger account, chose a goofy blog name, doodled a Cheshire cat avatar on the back of a tithing donation slip, and immediately began to ponder, "Great. What to write, what to write... I know! I'll answer the question I've handily put into everyone's mind: what the heck's a laundry faerie?"

Over the last decade, Confessions of a Laundry Faerie has become my de facto home online; while I've been blogging in some form or other since the late '90s, this seems to be the place I've stuck to for the long haul. And as long as Blogger chooses not to turn out the lights on me, I'll probably go on another 10 years.

So, what gift do you give a blogger for a 10-year blogiversary? Tin? Aluminum? Diamonds? BZZZT WRONG. Answer: you don't! Instead I give something away to you, because that's the way we roll around here.

Halloween is coming, and I'm in the mood to make some handmade origami cards with a Halloween theme. If you'd like a chance to be gifted a set of faerie-made Halloween cards, send me a comment with your mailing address (fear not, comment moderation is on, so your address won't be published) and if I pick your info by random drawing, all manner of origami goodness shall be bestowed upon you!

Aren't blogiversaries nifty? I think so.

Yet another Pay It Forward update

OU who have waited patiently during this latest round of Pay It Forward may be relieved to know that today I sent off the final box. (Or you may be too worn out with waiting to care. If so, my humblest apologies.) In any case, if you don't already have a box of your very own, you should receive one within two or three days.

Now for a lot of wild laundry-doing and last-minute packing ere I run off to Noo Yawk Sitty tomorrow. Yes, of course the camera is coming along. Keep rooting for Julie (root root!).

Train of thought

(Pay it Forward update: two boxes down, one to go...)

Tonight Miss V was busy listening to a whole raft of songs online, trying to decide which one she would select for a free download. She gives most songs all of three seconds' listening time to pull her in, so if she doesn't already know them, they must be instantly catchy to the teenage ear to pique her interest. As she went frantically scrolling through the list, I caught the strains of something I knew I'd never heard before, but which nonetheless had the seeds of familiarity -- and which somehow managed to be compelling in the course of three seconds. "Wait, what was that?" I asked.

"That" turned out to be the song "This Ain't Goodbye" by Train, off the band's latest album, Save Me, San Francisco.

I don't know what it is exactly, but ever since 1998 I've been serendipitously bumping into Train songs on the radio and loving them instantly -- often without realizing that they were all songs by the same band. Pat Monahan manages to write songs with hooks that seem tailor-made to hit the auditory sweet spot in my brain. I learn the lyrics, I sing along with gusto while running errands in the car, I've bought some MP3s of stand-out songs.

And yet I don't have a single Train album in my music collection.

It's not because of file sharing -- although I'm more likely to purchase individual songs than full albums these days, I still buy a fair share of CDs from bands I like. It's not because I consider Train a guilty pleasure, either. De gustibus non est disputandum, especially when it comes to music -- I don't care whether or not others like what I enjoy. And whether the songs are fully orchestrated studio versions or stripped-down live performances, I appreciate both iterations. I just can't seem to bring myself to buy an album for some reason, even though I know I'd love the music.

So why do I apparently struggle so hard against embracing something I enjoy?

I'm not really sure. Maybe it's the same reason I resisted watching the Firefly series (and before that, Babylon 5) despite the fervid praise of many friends. It's related to my reluctance to buy a cell phone and join the 21st century. It may be the same reason I often merely think about running off to play in Seattle, rather than actually doing it... or the same reason I take forever to get out the door, even though I know I have errands to run... the same reason I often take a very long time to make new friends. For about a decade now, I've been highly cautious around things that appeal strongly to me; this nervousness makes me resist or put off doing things I really like. It's a paradoxical sense of wariness, even fear, upon encountering a potential source of pleasure -- almost as though my brain is saying, "It's too good. Check for traps." Which is nonsense, I know... but the human brain, especially mine, is far from being wholly rational. I'm just not sure how it got started. More to the point, I'd like to conquer it, because it's keeping me separated from so many opportunities.

For now, I've put Train on my want list. (Christmas and my birthday are coming up, you know.) On my mental to-do list, however, there is now a new question: What, exactly, are you afraid of?

School daze

V's first day at school. And, whaddyaknow, she left her lunchbox in the fridge this morning. She's going to come home ravenous, I think. But I suspect she won't leave it behind again tomorrow.

Mmmm, lunch.

I hope it's a good day for her, despite lack of lunch. Junior high was a difficult time for me, and I know that although it isn't precisely the same experience for her, she has her own day-to-day struggles.

Now watch her come home and try to convince me that because she languished without lunch today, I should buy her a manga. FAT CHANCE, KID.

Also: Pay It Forward recipients, I am being really slow. My sincerest apologies. I hope to have all boxes in the mail and on their way to you by the end of the week.

Paying it forward

Well, Miss V has returned... which means much of my time is spent ferrying her here and there. Nonetheless, there's a hidden silver lining because it means I am picking up goodies to complete the current Pay It Forward dealie. (If you're new to this blog, I have two speeds: Slow and Reverse.) Productivity through necessity, woot!

ETA: One package down, two to go!

Stuff! And... uh... things!

I hear today is the birthday of one James Lileks, blogger extraordinaire, whose prose is by turns hilarious and touching. If you don't already read The Bleat on a regular basis,
WHAT THE SAM HILL IS WRONG WITH YOU?*ehem* perhaps you ought to rectify that post haste.

Go on. I'll wait.



Yeah, yeah, you can thank me later.

Ugh. Lots to do today, very little desire to do it. I sorta slapped together the booth for the last Seattle Square appearance, and it showed, so it's time to get the lead out and determine some way to get things looking a bit more professional. Also, some Pay It Forward boxes need to go their merry way, so if you're languishing in the Slough of Despond wondering where your goodies are, fear not.

IT IS TIME!

♫ Nants ingonyama bagithi Baba
Sithi uhm ingonyama ♫

No, no, no, it's not time for that.

Instead it's time once again for

PAY! IT! FORWARD!

Yes, our thrilling home game, where the first three lucky bloggers who add a comment to this post (and privately provide me with a mailing address) shall receive a little box of goodies from the Laundry Faerie* herself! Tremble with glee and caper with delight at the very thought! Then pass the goodness on to more lucky folks, and let the Circle of Life gift-giving fun continue on.

So, whaddya waitin' for? Get crackin', peeps!

ETA: all three slots filled for this round. Thanks, all!

* The Laundry Faerie hereby promises not to send anyone a box of clean folded socks. Just FYI.

Another Pay It Forward update

ell, as of tonight a couple more packages should be (finally) wending their way toward their destinations. I'm sorry that it took quite a bit longer than I expected... but I hope you enjoy!

Pay It Forward update

O the lovely ladies who are still waiting patiently for their Pay It Forward parcels: I have not forgotten you! I will send you goodies! Just trying to come up with fun stuff to send you from the Crossroads of the West--preferably stuff that won't melt in the 90-plus-degree temperatures we've been "enjoying" here--as I will probably be in Utah for at least another week and a half. So please hold tight and do not despair.

Finishing up

One Pay It Forward packet away, two more to go. (If you're among the two who don't get your packets in the next few days, I crave your pardon and hope you will be patient with me. Goodies are on their way, I assure you.)

I'm also just back from the store, filling the gas tank and picking up some noshes of various sorts for the trip. While there I was reminded that a perfectly ripe nectarine produces one of the most gloriously seductive smells in the world. Scents to be cherished like the thought of heaven, as Wallace Stevens might have put it.

The season of sweet wabbitty love continues apace, it seems; the wild rabbits continue to chase each other across the front lawn in the dusk, and occasionally grow mildly alarmed by our presence. Most of the time, though, they ignore us. They have more interesting things in mind.

I'm a little nervous about driving from here to Utah. This will be the first time I've driven solo for such a long distance, plus I'll be carrying precious cargo. As always, your prayers and good thoughts would be most appreciated.

Attention, Pay It Forward participants!

IMPORTANT: I will need a mailing address of some kind to be able to send out your Pay It Forward parcel. Please respond to this entry with some sort of contact information, whether it's your mailing address or an email where I can contact you to get a mailing address. (I've turned on comment moderation for privacy's sake; none of your information will be made public.)

Thanks very much for participating! Hoping to come up with fun things for your parcels.

ETA: all addresses received, so I've turned comment moderation off again. Go nuts, I guess...

Blessings from a Church Lady

A small first class mail parcel arrived today.

Miss V, who loves to open packages -- ANY packages, even if they're not expressly addressed to her -- begged me to let her open this one. So I acquiesced.

Here's what she found inside:
The lovely and talented Ms K., aka The Church Lady, had sent me a parcel full of goodies! It included a lovely personal note from Ms. K, five splendiferous blogging-related postcards from Simply Smooches, and a Fuzzy Fingers duster cloth (my keyboard is in desperate need of some TLC... I think I heard cheering coming from beneath the CAPS LOCK key, but I can't be sure). Thanks so very much, Church Lady!

Now to Pay It Forward. Here's how it works:

The first three people to leave a comment on this post will be my Pay It Forward recipients. You have to be an actual person, not a spambot, and you must have a blog so I can read your postings and learn enough about you to make an informed choice about what to send you. When you receive your package from me, post pictures on your blog of what you received, just as I have done -- then copy and paste this text and wait for three comments on your blog... and the game continues on. Ask me if you have any questions.

This isn't one of those games where we try to outdo each other with spending -- inexpensive but well-chosen and thoughtful little gifts are best.

Sound interesting? Cool! Please post a comment if you'd like to be in on this.

(Thanks again, Church Lady!)

NOTE: This round of Pay It Forward is now closed. BUT! Fear not, for we shall play another round in the very near future. Watch this blog for details.