Blessed Are...

I don't know what struck me to post the note this morning about my brother. It was one I had forgotten about, until I chanced to see it among old notes. But perhaps it wasn't chance at all.

I heard the shoveling this afternoon, the shovel on the walk, clearing the snow from last night. I admit I am not too diligent about clearing mom's walks. It is a rental house, and I am only here in evenings. And on weekends like now, it seems I am more interested in sitting with mom than disturbing her by going out. But I heard the shoveling outside our door.

It was the man from down the street. I've heard his name before, but I have forgotten it. Every week he comes by on Friday mornings, after the garbage truck has passed, and moves the garbage cans from the street into the back yard. He does this for my mom -- and for everyone else on the block. He isn't like everyone else. I think my brother would have said he "is just a little slow", but he always has a smile on his face, like my brother did.

He shoveled the drive, the front porch steps, and the walks. Then he proceeded to the next neighbor. He looked happy.

I don't know what would please him. I suspect money doesn't matter that much to him, although the neighbors did come around at Christmas and ask for a donation for enclosing in a card for him.

I think I'll ask some neighbors about where he lives, his parents, and perhaps, what they might think he'd like. I'd like to buy him something, just because he is such a nice man. And I'll find out his name, again, and I won't forget it.