The Ride

I remember the long-ago ride so clearly.

Jonni, my mom's friend and co-leader of our little hometown playgroup, picked us up and drove my mother and I to a little bakery in Hackensack. Because of that fact, I was able to have my birthday cake in time for my birthday party during an era when car breakdowns couldn't be mitigated financially and could prove fatal to any sort of celebration.

Jonni at our Halloween party, early 80s.

For some reason, I've remembered that ride my entire life - and it probably happened when I was under 6 years old. At the time, the bakery was a traditional Northern New Jersey Italian-American shop. It no longer exists. The neighborhood is different now. The closest bakery these days is Peruvian and wonderful. Most of the storefronts of my memory simply aren't there anymore physically - and I probably can't name a one. But anytime I get near the neighborhood, I remember the car ride with Jonni.

Maybe I recall the ride so deeply because my mother cried softly once she had the cake in hand, filled with the relief of knowing she didn't have to disappoint her child. She wanted me to have my birthday cake so badly. She always wanted everything to be perfect for me.

Maybe I remember the ride because Jonni was always endlessly interesting, chatting away about things my parents didn't really know much about. Later, Jonni would come into my school to present about her time in the Peace Corps in South Africa. Her stories were entrancing - including one about surviving a snake bite that I'll never entirely shake.

Even later than that, Jonni was a substitute teacher at my high school. She was a band parent. She was on the world's tiniest board of education. And most of all she was a fighter for her kids, for her town. for everyone who needed anything in her community. Jonni's example of service and her exciting stories were big reasons why I ultimately became interested in non-profit work and made it my career. Jonni made selflessness attractive, she made service feel priceless.

In her last years, I found myself overjoyed when Jonni would text me here and there to thank me for helping a mutual friend in a situation she knew wasn't always easy. Those texts meant the world to me, especially knowing she was typing them balding from cancer treatment but still wearing her famously bright uplifting clothing. Her personal difficulties weren't stopping points for her in sharing warmth and gratitude with others.

We all gathered at my friends' house to say goodbye to their late mom, Jonni, awhile back. Jonni's remains had been made into earth-enriching soil, her son (another close friend), each of her children - some of my very first friends, all - living out Jonni's legacy in one way or another that in observing could make one's heart sing, even in a sad time at a memorial service. Wonderful people.

In a twist I didn't think about until after it happened, I'd reached out to Jonni's youngest daughter last week - an oft-times partner in crime when it came to being grown-up helpers. We've seen some stuff together over time. I contacted her because I needed to hire a ride to the airport this week. I thought maybe she'd know of a reliable family member or service.

Her answer came back, "I'll take you." And she wouldn't take money for the trip either, she'd have me know. I'd never even considered that she could personally take me given her own work. But she is the sort of friend who makes the time somehow when it counts. Just like her mom. Apples and trees.

Weirdly, I was driving my own car when it dawned on me following: the importance of the rides. - two rides separated by about 45 years, from two wonderful women who truly put "it takes a village" into action.

I was at Walgreens the other night checking out and told the woman working the counter "You're always so nice, thank you." Because she truly is someone who makes your day better through the smallest interactions. She beamed teary-eyed in that moment And I thought, "Why don't more of us do that more often? Take an extra second to appreciate and vocalize our gratitude? Why don't <<I>> say something small but important more frequently? It doesn't take much to make another human feel needed, wanted, important and loved.

It doesn't take much. Sometimes, all it takes is offering a much-needed free ride. Really, no matter how blessed we are with longevity, the ride is always short. When we don't charge one another for gas money, we make the trip that much sweeter.

In memory of my family's dear friend, Jonni, and in honor of her brood of good people who do her proud - each in their own unique way - every day.