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Have the courage to follow your Heart and you will fulfill your dreams. Peter Orwell 5/9/2007
Started this discussion Sep. 9, 2007
What the hell was that all about
Tagged: manipulation, championship, osteopathic
Added a post Aug. 13, 2007
Posted on June 6th, 2008 at 9:14pm —
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Clement Rhein commented on the blog post Big Mind: A Zen approach to unsticking the wheel 7 hours ago 
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I loved this house thatched very homely, up in the staircase to heaven...
THE CAB RIDE
Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living. For all these years, one
particular call stays with me every single day.
When I arrived at 2:30 a.m., 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 minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation so unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door.
This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself. So I walked to the door and knocked.
'Just a minute,' answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me.
She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940's movie. By her side was a small nylon suitcase. 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 took the suitcase to the cab, 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.
When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, 'Could you drive through downtown?'
'It's not the shortest way,' I answered quickly.
'Oh, I don't mind,' she said. 'I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to hospice.'
I looked in the rearview mirror. Though not looking directly back, I could see her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. I quietly reached over and shut off the meter.
'I don't have any family left,' she continued. 'The doctor says I don't have very long.'
'What route would you like me to take?' 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 were newlyweds.
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'd ask me to 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. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. It was obvious they must have been expecting her.
I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase 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 onto me tightly. 'You gave an old woman a little moment of joy,' she said. 'Thank you. '
I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light.
Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life.
I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly, lost in thought. For the rest 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?
On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life than I did that night. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.
With regards to a picture I simply haven't come to terms with such things yet......but I will think about it.
I like the wise words. Any advice on january's with regards to "waking up"?!?! Not my strong point I am afraid!
Hope you are well.
f
Regards,
I am interested in Osteopath. I know a few locally. The weather here is a bit chilly now. In Feb. warm sunshine again!
I'm just getting in touch to get a rough date together about getting tunics. If it helps, I'm free Monday or Thursday after college next week. Could do a Friday afternoon too actually.
I'll try to look online to see if they have a website, to see about stock, sizes etc.
Cheers
Roger
By the way, Kevin mentioned that you might be going to Clapham to get clinic coats at some point. I would like to come along for the adventure if I may. Give us a head's up as to when you might be off, or call on 07947 321 275 if you can.
Cheers
Roger
I might have to kick something just for release of course. any idea what i can kick?
hint : it's posterior, inferior to the vertebral collumn and has 3 massives muscle
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