(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

 All night it was snowing.

 The earth became white.

 I had to record it

 And reached for my camera.

 To the balcony bound

 I left my apartment

 And looked in the distance,

 Saw something moving.

 I continued to stare

 And saw with amazement -

 Pleased, but so breathless;

 It was you - my late husband.

 You breathed your last breath

 Such a long time ago.

 It's been years since I've seen you

 I've so much to tell you.

 Trying to see clearly,

 I peered through the lens,

 But saw only trees

 Where last I had seen you.

 "Don't go away now!

 Continue to stay there.

 I'm so all alone here'

 I want conversation.

 Back in my condo

 I hoped I could dial you,

 And asked for your number.

 "Not listed", she said.

 Email was useless;

 You had no computer.

 Bewildered, I stood there

 Feeling forsaken.

 Some paper I reached for

 To write you a letter,

 But tears began falling,

 As I had no address.

 Back in the open

 Still holding the paper,

 I watched the wind take it,

 And let my dreams go.

(Written by a former resident of Shanghai)

We hadn’t had this much bad weather in Portland since 1968.  Snow and ice covered the roads.  Traffic and walking were so difficult that schools were closed for almost two weeks.  Streetcars and buses were canceled.  All activity slowed down.

            My children had planned a three-day family reunion over this Christmas holiday, but we got together only three hours.  Two of my children and their families arrived on the 23^rd – my son from China and my daughter from Austin, but another daughter and her family were delayed and arriver from New Jersey on the 25^th.  We had a very happy reunion in spite of the short time. 

            On those snowy days my son took my arm everywhere we went.  It was as if I had a disability, and I felt uncomfortable but didn’t reject his filial piety.

            The snowy weather finally improved, all of my children and their families returned to their homes, and I took up my usual life again.

            The first day on the way to class, I met Jean, my neighbor, at the streetcar stop.  In greeting each other, I asked what she had done during the bad weather.  She said that she went to church every day to help feed the homeless.  I was surprised that she’d been able to get there although I knew it was good that she did.    

            Over 80 years old, she is a Catholic volunteer in a Catholic Church and had been making sandwiches and distributing lunch to 130 to 150 people.  On those terrible days, she thought only about the needs of others and didn’t consider her own safety. 

            Perhaps she was thanked by some of the homeless, but she was just happy to be of service.  She continues to give and never expects a reward.

            Volunteers are not concerned about one’s faith; they serve everyone with love.  There are lots of volunteers working hard in obscurity in every field.

            I’ve learned about those good examples and their desire to help others, and will try to distribute a little love by being a volunteer just like them.