johnpalmer

So... I was out jogging on Saturday, just for exercise. As usual for when I'm visiting my beloved Pat (

kightp), my jogging took me towards a park near her house.

I spotted a balloon by the side of the path, and I picked it up, chuckling happily at the idea I had.

I recall hearing that balloons are dangerous to animals... they're a choking hazard.

That would be enough for me to pick up a stray ballon anyway, but I realized that, if I gave her a balloon that I'd picked up to protect the animals, it'd be even more neat... she's often said that she admires my concern for living things.

(Herm. Just to avoid misunderstandings, this isn't a fanatical concern; for example, I eat meat, without thinking too hard about whether the animal was treated humanely. However, when I have a chance to make some small difference in the life of an animal, or, in many cases, for a plant, I'll do so. This has become a bit more pronounced since I became a wiccan.)

Anyway; I was chuckling at the wonderful aptness; balloons are sometimes given in lieu of flowers, and so, here I had a traditional Valentine's gift to give to her. (I'd given her a card, but we didn't do any gifts other than the kind that happen behind closed doors (at least, metaphorical closed doors).)

Well, I wish I had a wonderful 'turning point' phrase to explain how this ties into the title... "wonderful aptness" isn't quite a "minor miracle", is it?

It was when I continued along the curving path that I nearly boggled at what I saw. Apparently, there was some kind of celebration at the park. There were dozens of popped baloons and a few un-popped ones all over a central area to the park!

It started off as a joke; I could give her the biggest, best 'balloon bouquet' that she'd ever had, probably.

As I started picking up balloons soaked with cold rainwater - not freezing, but uncomfortable - I realized I had a bit further to go. It wasn't just a joke, because I realized I needed to finish this job.

It was actual 'work', and uncomfortable... but if I stopped because I had enough for a 'balloon bouquet', I'd be leaving too many little dangerous sheets of latex hanging around to choke some unsuspecting critter.

Eventually, it was too many balloons to hold; I looked over at a trash can and knew someone had thrown away a plastic bag in it (statistical certainty)... and with a "Subway" sandwich bag in hand, I soon had 'my' balloons contained so I wouldn't keep dropping them.

Well, finally, I had every single blasted balloon that I could see picked up and in that bag, along with the original, still-blown-up balloon in my one hand.

And... well... that's not exactly the miracle. Not even if you add in the fact that someone, puzzled, asked me what I was carrying, and I explained briefly ("Oh, some folks left all these in the park, and they'll choke animals; I had nothing better to do, so I picked 'em up"). I hope I brightened his day... and who knows, maybe it'll make him appreciate how neat it can be to decide you have 'nothing better to do' than some tiny service that makes the world just a tiny bit better a place.

But overriding all of this was a deep, and certain, realization that this little tangible expression of 'me-ness' would have meaning to someone. Even if she thought collecting balloons to protect animals was stupid (and she doesn't), she'd still be happy to know that I did so, and would appreciate the balloons as tangible sign of that.

In short, I knew that I was loved for myself, with a certainty that I'm not sure I've ever felt.

Putting that, on top of everything else, makes for a very satisfactory miracle, in my opinion.