Matthew Lyle Landsman

It takes a lot of drops in the bucket that makes up a child…some days you’ll make a splash, and others will be just average days…resulting in tiny ripples.

So don’t cloud the bucket with harsh words and poor examples. Don’t muddy the waters with untruths and unclear signs. Don’t taint the bucket with anger and cruelty. Don’t turn the bucket to ice by ignoring or shutting out the child.

Priorities need to have a young one at the top of the list… And remember that drops you contribute will be reflected for the duration…Make it sweet rain and morning dew, ocean’s spray and a tear or two.

Celebrate the slowly filling vessel and the waves and splashes that result. There is but one chance to rightly fill the bucket that is a child, please be kind and purposeful…and you shall be remembered well…as the well from which such sweet waters were drawn…

Dedicated to dedicated teachers such as my friends Pam and Jiggs and Jennifer Marie…

Matthew L Landsman

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Every moment counts…so never overlook a parking lot penny.  I think perhaps I could have easily been one, but you took the time to stop, reach down…and put me in your pocket. I have been getting polished there ever since.  I remember well the moment you took me into your life with a simple kind gesture.  It was also the moment I took you into my heart for the duration.

A parking lot penny might be a smile from a stranger, or a smile you give away. A parking lot penny might lie there tarnished and abandoned.  We all know it is bad luck to pick up a penny that isn’t face-up. Well, I believe a tails-up penny is akin to a phone with caller ID.  I may not be looking forward to a call from that number.  I might not have felt like being bothered…stopping and bending down to rescue a mere cent from the roadway when I have a pocket full of dollars and silver…but I know a few of those calls from unknown areas codes have been to inform me of news that ranged from births to cancer discovered, of marriages planned to death impending.  Pick up that tired old facedown penny.  I myself have been face down in the dirt, metaphorically speaking, and I have been the number on your caller ID…all I needed was to hear a kind hello, a voice to acknowledge I still exist and am worthy of a moment spent and a place there in your pocket.

A tails-up penny can be a movie or TV show your sweetie would like to watch but you aren’t real keen on.  Pick up his or her penny. It will be noted, and you just might enjoy it because you’re watching it with a loved one. A small gesture on your part to retrieve that parking lot penny might mean the world to a special someone.  Once your pocket is well lined with their pennies, you might have won their heart.  Little things really do add up to bigger things.  I know what it did to me when others passed by, leaving my pennies lying there. I also know what reaching down to pick up a few pennies have done for others and for me.

I have met old veterans of every war since WWI. After over 60 years away from the battlefields, ships, and planes, these old guys are still haunted by the sights, sounds, and smells of places they’ve been. These friends are the most treasured parking lot pennies of all.  NEVER step over and past one of these.  Once their hearts and voices are stilled, those stories and generations will vanish for good. Pick up the pennies they lay out for you. Thank them for what they have done and put that penny in your shirt pocket over your heart…then shake their hand.

I’m not wealthy. Some days even the mere penny collection means more to me than I care to admit.  But I am proud to tell you that in my heart’s pocket, I’ve a collection of moments…of times when souls have picked up my pennies, and a moment for each of the pennies I’ve taken in.  After a while, little gestures add up to genuine care. That care builds to compassion and compassion to love…and love makes us worthy.

After a while, when I note my parking lot is free of the pennies I’ve left waiting there, I am aware of the moments I was worthy…of a smile, or a hello at the end of the line, of sharing good news with, or of being a “sought-after shoulder” when the news was troubled. I am aware of the journeys I have been on in pockets here and there…I asked for nothing in return. A collection of parking lot pennies is far more valuable than just the copper cents that might add to a dollar. They add up to character, to listening to the minute details a child might share with boundless enthusiasm…over a caterpillar, or a fish on a line.  Most of my life was parking lot pennies.  The first fifteen years or so were all mere pennies to most of the souls older than I…yet I still recall those who listened to and collected me, one penny at a time.

My collection of parking lot pennies are the letters I treasure, the hugs that linger on, the laughter that leads to happy tears. They are the tears shared together that are eventually replaced by laughter when pennies are counted again in the moments we reminisce.  My pennies are the songs that remind me of you and the lines from movies we watched together.

A parking lot penny is the joy of looking at a grade school teacher’s faded photograph and knowing that her love put your penny into her pocket…and helped make you the person you are today. If you find her, remind her of that penny and that you still recall the moment she knelt down to touch your cheek and took an extra moment to make the concept clear…and at the same time deemed you valuable and worth a moment of her divided time.

In my heart and memory, I have stacks and jars of the pennies I’ve collected. They don’t add up to much to a passerby, but to me, and the folks that left them out to be picked up, they are, a penny at a time; the world.  They give value to life itself.  So too are the pennies I’ve left out for you to find…I knew you’d pick them up eventually. Life is good in your warm pocket…and it is good to have yours in mine.

Thanks for reading my thoughts today…and by the way…You just picked up one of my parking lot pennies. Spend it well, as did I…Matthew L Landsman

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I used to have songbirds outside of my home. They were fat, seemingly
cheerful…did their uplifting chirping and singing…for whatever
reasons…It was a prosperous time for the songbirds…They reproduced,
pulled worms from the ground, ate millions of bugs, and raised my
spirits on a daily basis…especially after a long winter spent without
them.

When times were good, it rained quite a bit, there were plenty
of bugs for the birds to eat, worms came to the top of the turf and
garden…The birds flourished, the bugs were devoured, the soil was
aerated and the world around me was filled with joyous sounds.

One of
neighbors noticed that along with the songbirds came some less favored
starlings, less favored this, less favored that. But there were but a
few here and there…and still less favored by some…
As time went by,
the rains dwindled, the bugs dissipated, the worms went further into the
soil, and the songbirds were suddenly too plentiful…too dense to be
supported by the land.

I loved the songs, the witnessing of creation
of life, the young birds pleading their hungry cases from nests hidden
away among the branches…Sensing their plight, I watered my lawn and
trees, asked friends to help out with providing a birdhouse here, a
pound of seed there. To water the lawn if I were away, or feed the
songbirds if I ran out of seed. We all cared about the birds, and our
spirits were elated and lifted by their joyful noise. In a word, I loved
the birds…as did a lot of neighbors and friends…we pooled our resources
to see to the tending of the songbirds and all they brought to our
world…

But SOME of the folks nearby, and a lot from not so nearby
noticed the use of water, the use of seeds, the noise and bustle. And
they saw too, the starlings, the hungry squirrels, the bugs, the bumpy
ground from a population of worms doing what worms do…They saw some good
folks doing what they could to help the songbirds survive…And soon ALL
they saw was the starlings, the squirrels, the lumps in the lawns, the
bugs and webs around their porch lights…and soon even, no, especially,
the songbirds became the plight of the land. A burden and a thing closer
to beasts than blessings…Even though they were vital, vivacious and a
part of the larger cycle of life. They were deemed bad, because feeding
them might feed the starlings, the squirrels; bring out bugs and bumps…

So
my songbirds were left without water, without a mantle of green leaves
and worm filled ground…The songs ceased, the nests were left exposed,
the flowers withered, the squirrels dug out hidden stashes, the
starlings ravaged the crop and hive…and the air grew silent, the ground
left lumpy and dry…and the songbirds vanished after they suffered…

But
the annoyed souls celebrated and were proud…as the bugs were scarce,
the starlings struggled…and the waters sat behind dams and
reservoirs…just in case of emergency…And the chosen few reveled in the
silence…had flowers delivered, and vacationed in places where green was
plentiful, and birds sang from boughs overhead…that tended to annoy
them, but at least the starlings and squirrels weren’t still being
accidentally fed…

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