You just call on me brother, if you need a hand; we all need somebody, to lean on. 

Ain’t that the truth, and I see it all over town; some are handin’ and some are leanin’. Between opportunities, I lean to the latter, but mark my words, my giving is coming.

My bolstered faith in humanity this time came via a liquor store drive-thru. With beer-drinking at a bare minimum during this hostage crisis, I decided to buy some for home just in case the need should arise at some point. 

I chose the always reasonable Libations for my 12-pack and while I’m fumbling for funds, a young gal named Taryn says, “You won’t need it; two different people today left extra and said to pay it forward.”

Young coworker Carter flashed a handful of greenbacks like he was about to make it rain in there. I thought, “What a beautiful gesture, but I hope they’re not expecting that pay-it-forward slogan to catch on. It doesn’t make any sense.”

My cockles were warmed, and lest you think beer any less important than toilet paper to many of your brothers, think about this: there are all kinds of things lying around that one might use for T.P. in a pinch. Try substituting, say, prune juice for beer and you become just an unsatisfied, still-thirsty guy who suddenly needs more toilet paper.

Another outstanding act-of-kindness came when out of the blue one Sunday morning, the ultra-generous Blaine Snyder called to say his daughter Ashton had made her superlative (I took him at his word) lasagna and they wanted to bring me some. They live near the golf course where I’d be in a couple hours – my first outing of the year – so I offered to save them a trip and pick it up. A while later, Ashton texted and said they’d not be home for pick-up, so she’d drop it off. 

She arrived just before I left for the links, and due to the extraordinary times, I secured a rain check on the usual warm hug. My homies and I walked 15 holes till almost dark, and with my sadly increased girth, those hours of rare exercise carrying heavy clubs in a brutal wind had my hips aching like I was in my third trimester.

It was truly the most tired I’ve ever been and later could barely get off the couch to the microwave, so I ate my plate of lasagna and fell into a beautiful slumber. Next day I texted father/daughter, bragging on her lasagna, and only then do I hear the voice-mail Blaine had left explaining the best way to bake the lasagna for 90 minutes. BAKE?

I was more embarrassed than angry, and later with the remainder cooked rather than raw, I knew he hadn’t exaggerated about Ashton’s delicious lasagna. Down to my last bite, I bellowed, “This is the best pandemic EVER!”

This generosity train doesn’t just travel in one direction. When, and if I really do get stimulated by Trump’s $1,200 socialism check, you just watch me share. It won’t be that lame “pay it forward” though; I think “drop a loaf” describes it best.

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