GMG’s Commenter – In – Chief Dave Moore recently sent packets of postcards and other memorabilia of his home in South Korea to several GMG regular contributors. We met Sunday morning to compare and trade our bounty and to thank Dave long distance for his thoughtfulness.
From L, Marty,Paul M,EJ, Donna, Joey, Sista Felicia, Barry, Nichole, Alicia C.
Spread The GMG Love By Sharing With These Buttons:
Related
Published by Marty Luster
I'm Marty Luster, a retired attorney and politician. In 2010 my wife, mother-in-law, dog and I relocated from Central NY to Gloucester. I hope my photographs and poetry(?) reflect my love for this place and her people.
My picture-poem posts can be seen at http://matchedpairs.wordpress.com and selected black and white images can be found at http://slicesoflifeimages.wordpress.com
View all posts by Marty Luster
GMG’s Commenter – In – Chief Dave Moore recently sent packets of postcards and other memorabilia of his home in South Korea to several GMG regular contributors. We met Sunday morning to compare and trade our bounty and to thank Dave long distance for his thoughtfulness.
Good Morning Gloucester 
That is great photo, that Dave
LikeLike
Donna thanks you the podcast really cheered me up and everyone was having a good time that’s what I remember from back that way! You are a riot along with the reat of the team…
God Bless: :Dave & Kim:-)
“The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. –Pierre Corneille
LikeLike
A fun morning! Thanks for the kind comments, the post cards, the won, and giving us another reason to gather on a Sunday morning, Dave!
LikeLike
Nichole,
It’s the Teachers that – help us with life whether it be in the subjects – or someone to listen to the childrens concerns, they were always there just when you needed thems most…What you said about the children really is true and the projects classroom keep up the great work…for our future the children of today! The impact even almost 60 year’s later come June next year
The manner of giving is worth more than the gift. –Pierre Corneille
🙂 Dave & Kim:-)
LikeLike
Thank You Dave!
LikeLike
The family and traditions you do are – the corner piece and you alway know your food lessons and keeping up with items that make cooking fun and easy – Mom’s are alway there and their is the special bond of those who brought you into this world – a very special bond indeed! And that’s part of the circle that can never be broken!
God Bless and thank you! 🙂 Dave & Kim 🙂
“Surround yourself with positive people and influences that help you fly – not those that give you reasons to stay on the ground!”
DJ Vanas
LikeLike
Oh Dave ~ how nice ~ I always enjoy your thoughtful posts ~ a man of thoughtful deeds as well ~
LikeLike
Thank you Mary your wisdom and comments are very nice and bring a smile – this is one special one – I wanted to share with you and GMG a little long but worth it shows compassion and the simple things in lfie the gesture of kindness one person can make a difference!
Please enjoy! 🙂 Dave & Kim:-)
Kent Nerburn
Author
The Cab Ride I’ll Never Forget!
Posted: 05/03/12 10:55 AM ET
Read more
There was a time in my life twenty years ago when I was driving a cab for a living. It was a cowboy’s life, a gambler’s life, a life for someone who wanted no boss, constant movement and the thrill of a dice roll every time a new passenger got into the cab.
What I didn’t count on when I took the job was that it was also a ministry. Because I drove the night shift, my cab became a rolling confessional. Passengers would climb in, sit behind me in total anonymity and tell me of their lives.
We were like strangers on a train, the passengers and I, hurtling through the night, revealing intimacies we would never have dreamed of sharing during the brighter light of day. I encountered people whose lives amazed me, ennobled me, made me laugh and made me weep. And none of those lives touched me more than that of a woman I picked up late on a warm August night.
I was responding to a call from a small brick fourplex in a quiet part of town. I assumed I was being sent to pick up some partiers, or someone who had just had a fight with a lover, or someone going off to an early shift at some factory for the industrial part of town.
When I arrived at the address, the building was dark except for a single light in a ground-floor window. Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a short minute, and then drive away. Too many bad possibilities awaited a driver who went up to a darkened building at 2:30 in the morning.
But I had seen too many people trapped in a life of poverty who depended on the cab as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation had a real whiff of danger, I always went to the door to find the passenger. It might, I reasoned, be someone who needs my assistance. Would I not want a driver to do the same if my mother or father had called for a cab?
So I walked to the door and knocked.
“Just a minute,” answered a frail and elderly voice. I could hear the sound of something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman somewhere in her 80s stood before me. She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like you might see in a costume shop or a Goodwill store or in a 1940s movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The sound had been her dragging it across the floor.
The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks, or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.
“Would you carry my bag out to the car?” she said. “I’d like a few moments alone. Then if you could come back and help me, I’m not very strong?”
I took the suitcase to the cab, and then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm, and we walked slowly toward the curb. She kept thanking me for my kindness.
“It’s nothing,” I told her. “I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated.” “Oh, you’re such a good boy,” she said. Her praise and appreciation were almost embarrassing. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, then asked, “Could you drive through downtown?” “It’s not the shortest way,” I answered. “Oh, I don’t mind,” she said. “I’m in no hurry. I’m on my way to a hospice.” I looked in the rearview mirror. Her eyes were glistening. “I don’t have any family left,” she continued. “The doctor says I should go there. He says I don’t have very long.” I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. “What route would you like me to go?” I asked.
For the next two hours we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they had first been married. She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl. Sometimes she would have me slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, “I’m tired. Let’s go now.”
We drove in silence to the address she had given me. It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. Without waiting for me, they opened the door and began assisting the woman. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her; perhaps she had phoned them right before we left. I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase up to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair.
“How much do I owe you?” she asked, reaching into her purse.
“Nothing,” I said.
“You have to make a living,” she answered.
“There are other passengers,” I responded.
Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held on to me tightly. “You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,” she said. “Thank you.” There was nothing more to say. I squeezed her hand once, then walked out into the dim morning light. Behind me, I could hear the door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I did not pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the remainder of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away? What if I had been in a foul mood and had refused to engage the woman in conversation? How many other moments like that had I missed or failed to grasp?
We are so conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware. When that woman hugged me and said that I had brought her a moment of joy, it was possible to believe that I had been placed on earth for the sole purpose of providing her with that last ride.
I do not think that I have ever done anything in my life that was any more important. From Make Me an Instrument of Your Peace: Living in the Spirit of the Prayer of St. Francis by Kent Nerburn. Published by HarperOne.
LikeLike
Thank you Dave for sending this story ~
LikeLike
Dave thank you for all your comments. I find myself checking out posts to see what Dave had to Say…
Thank you for rewarding us and our subscribers with some very witty and informative comment
Manny
LikeLike
Thank You Manuel very special folks that way – 🙂 Dave
LikeLike
Lovely post. It is so nice to see interaction with the GMG group and Dave Moore so far away. Dave, I , too, enjoy your comments as much as the blog posts. Great podcast, guys! Can we see a couple of the postcards from Korea?
LikeLike
It was a great morning, and nice to have Dave there in the middle of it with us.
LikeLike
Was that like thespirits having flown back to the cape and I felt it best thing that happened to me all week! Like I said before a special place run with special people! Thanks 🙂 Dave:-) & KIm:-)
LikeLike