O.P.’s

One Monday evening, back in the fall of 1998, after a supper of Gram’s spaghetti with crockpot meat sauce (the kind with the spicy Italian sausage) and Italian bread with lots of butter, we were still sitting around the table. Whatever led him (probably a few Coors Lights at the Roma Club) my grandfather starts talking about O.P.’s. He went on about how back when he was in the Navy, working on the radios, he loved to smoke O.P.’s. I’m sure he bought his own too, but they always taste better when they’re someone else’s. It’s my opinion that my grandfather had a knack for surprising (and amusing) us at the dinner table with his banter. But in particular, this glimpse into what my grandfather may have been like as a young buck really stuck with me.

It’s a tiny memory, but those are the best kind.

I love OP’s.
I’m the go-to-guy when people I know want to get rid of share stuff.

They think, “There’s so much life left in this puzzle that’s only missing one piece. Sarah and her kids would probably still have fun with it…or the kids can use it for confetti…or maybe Sarah will construct a wind chime out of it. She’s so clever.”

I love the fruits of my neighbor’s garden.

I love wearing other people’s clothes. I love when my kids get to wear other people’s clothes.
I love used books.
I love leftovers.
Bulk pick-up is one of my favorite days of the year.
I am known to make art from trash.
Second-hand toys are more fun.
I even love painting portraits of other people’s memories.

I’ve been thinking on this a lot lately. I am what I am thanks to other people.
What’s my take away here?
Community.
People need other people.

How about you? What do you get from other people that you really appreciate?