The Baker, The Neighbour and the Taxi Driver

The Baker, The Neighbour and the Taxi Driver a story of being grateful Paula Laurel Jackson

The Baker, the Neighbor and the Taxi Driver

Wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.

Kahlil Gibran

I woke up this morning with such a feeling of gratitude from the happenings of the previous evening. It all happened because I had not slept at all the previous night and carried the fatigue throughout my body during the entire the day. I returned home that evening, feeling heavy, hardly able to keep my burning eyes closed, and famished.

Before I could take off my jacket, I was already in the kitchen thinking about what I could make as quickly as possible. As I started to make my dinner I realised that I had promised the shop owner around the corner to bring by some cookies that evening. I promised, and hate to break promises. I knew that the owner would be away for a week, and so I had no choice but to leave the house again.

In my state of mind, which clearly was not quite with me, I closed the door. Closing the door would normally not pose any problem, however, I had closed the door and left the keys hanging inside of the door lock. Inside of my flat!

I wanted to scream, yell at myself and hit myself over the head. But, I managed to hold myself back. I took a few deep breaths and thought about what to do. I headed downstairs and ran into the baker from the bakery next door. He noticed at once that my face was not its usually cherry-­‐self, as he described it, and asked what was up. I shared my experience and he immediately offered to help! Next to him, was a taxi driver who had overheard the conversation. He equally mentioned that he could try to help; and so, the three of us went upstairs and attempted to open my door.

I was able to get a second key, as my friend kept one for such happening. However, since my key was still in the inside lock, there was no way of budging it.

On such occasions, one would normally call what in Germany is refereed to as Copyright 2012 Paula Laurel Jackson

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“Schlusseldienst”, kind of like emergency key people. The thing is that or a 10 second operation, they could charge as much as 300 Euros, plus extra costs for nocturnal-­‐ fees, and travel, and this and that. Neither the baker nor the taxi driver was able to allow this to happen.

And so, they got to it as I mentally imagined the door flinging open and us all rejoicing at the grand success!

The two men, shook and pulled, wiggled and whammed at the door, and nothing budged.

One hour.

They kicked, and hammered, pondered and cursed. Nothing budged.

Two hours.

They dripped with sweat, peeling off what layers they were wearing on the cool evening. The sweat had soaked all the way through.

They huffed and puffed. Nothing happened.

I continued to do my part by continuing to visualise the door flinging open.

Nothing happened.

A neighbour finally came down, wondering what was going on and offered to assist by bringing tools, credit cards, x-­‐rays (yes!) and hammers!

Nothing worked!

After 3 hours of an intense fitness workout, the baker had to leave. I cannot begin to express how emotionally fatigued I was at this point.

As the baker realised that he had to leave the scene, he looked nearly more upset than I was. I do not know who extended their arms out first, but we hugged each other goodbye-­‐and the baker wished me luck. Anyone watching us would have thought that this was a drama scene out of a movie.

Copyright 2012 -­Paula Laurel Jackson

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The neighbour was by this time, now completely dishevelled and had to leave as well.

The taxi driver exclaimed that he was determined. He added that he could not possibly leave until he had won this challenge. It really had become a personal challenge for him and the expression on his face and exertion from his body revealed his intention.

30 minutes later, completely out of breath and nearly in tears, the taxi driver gave me a pitiful look and said that there was no way to open the door. I had long stopped the visualisation process and was also nearly in tears. This whole ordeal had become such a huge challenge for us all.

As the taxi driver gathered all of the tools we had accumulated in silence, I helplessly took the x-­‐ray paper and tried to copy what I saw the men doing, listless, and defeated. Perhaps I did this just for a last attempt to say that we all really all tried every possible thing!

And with that, the door flung open!

Yes, flung open!

It literally flung open, and better yet-­‐ I have absolutely no inkling what-­‐so-­‐ever as to how I did it!

I was in such a state of confusion, that I simply stood in front of the open door. And then there was dead silence for a few moments-­‐ until I heard a scream! The taxi driver screamed out loud as if we had just won the football game of a lifetime!. He ran up to me, grabbed me and hugged me! And we rejoiced in our victory, with cheer and laughter.

He spent the following 15 minutes examining the door and wondering how in heavens name I managed to do it. We could for the life of us, just not figure it out! I told him that we should not underestimate the power of the mind, and he shook his head in agreement!

After he left, and all was over, I closed the door and just stood there in front of the door in silence and in wonder. And then I started to sob. And then I began to cry. And then I started to bawl!!

Tears of amazement relief fell off of my cheeks; amazement from the realisation that Copyright 2012 Paula Laurel Jackson

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during the previous four hours, I had been visualising exactly that, which had occurred. And then massive tears of gratitude followed the tear-­‐stream. I was so grateful for all of the help that I had received that evening! It was so special, and with each hug that I shared with the baker, my neighbour and the taxi driver-­‐I knew and felt that all is good. And then I bawled tears of ….well, just a release of overwhelming positive feelings, which I simply could not hold back!.

Gratitude is the memory of the heart.

Probverb

Copyright 2012 -­Paula Laurel Jackson

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