Thursday, September 25, 2014

Certainty

A food line wraps around a patio. Busy season at the fish shack by the falls. An arm wraps around a book. My arm. My book. I hear a voice in my left ear. "What are you reading?" a woman asks. A memoir about a woman adopted as a child, an infant, really, by a family, a woman, really, who wanted her own children, really. (The word really eases the explanation.) The author is British, I tell her. She's well known, I say, and pass the book to the curious, kind woman wondering about a book wrapped in an arm in a line for fish. Others have a hand circling a pint (I should too, I think). Curious, kind woman points to titles listed inside the book. "I've read this and this. And this one was very good," she says. I know only the one back wrapped in my arm. The author and I have a thing in common, I say. Both of us were adopted by women who really really really wanted their own children. The woman's husband (he has a pint) looks me in the eyes. His appear moist. She really said that? You really know that? Yes, she did. Yes, I do. People who really really really want their own children should probably not adopt, I say. He appears worried. It's all right, I tell him. I graduated from therapy, I say, and glance at a menu posted on the patio. I would really like to order something different this time I tell curious, kind woman and worried husband. You? We'll get what we always get, bay scallop tacos. Really? Me too. They're the best. 

Friday, August 8, 2014

3 Encounters

#1 Homer sits down next to me on a couch. There are many other couches to choose from. He asks me questions about the book in my hands, the beliefs in my head. Are you a skeptic, he asks. You're as pretty as Christine, one of our important speakers, he says. I smile with the compliment's energy behind it. Don't get too excited, he says.
#2 Believer drives the taxi taking us home. His was chosen for us. While driving, he shares his story of long journeys to and from places near and far. He speaks English and French. I speak French (sort of) too, I say. I visited west Africa (one country only and not the one where he was born), I say. Excited, he asks me to marry him.
#3 Ed looks at a vintage photo of an old hotel. I approach and point. That's me there, I say. Kidding, of course because I'm too young to be in the picture. He is not. He worked there then. Decades ago this photo captured him (maybe, it's hard to see faces) carrying food and drink on a tray to Ben (or friends of Ben at the sin city establishment named for a pink bird). Don't look at the tray they told him. Excited, he says he didn't. Good man Ed.

No Particular Order Day

Work day. Doctor day. Swollen wrist day. Read book chapter day. Have food and drinks with girlfriend day. Be on Twitter day. Wear jeans day. Walk down avenue day. See river bluffs day. Parallel park day. Talk to man on street day. Ask advice day. Play with black lab day. Tease woman afraid of spiders day. Wear green with orange trim clogs day. Sip latte and eat almond croissant day. Feed dogs at 5AM day. Nap until 7AM day. Stretch to sky and toes day. Sit alone and write in notebook day. Drive car to work day. Take socks off day. Put hair in ponytail day. Practice chicken neck stretch day. Eat soft tacos day. Stop and say hello to cafe Jeff day. Listen to stories day. Tell stories day. Look at pictures of Shanghai day. Remember to charge phone day. Brush teeth day before coffee day. Rub pug belly day. Greet 14-week-old golden doodle day. Get compliment from ice cream shop server day. Answer phone call about fire disaster day. Say goodbye to nice person day. Say hello to nice person day. Check blood pressure day. Promise to follow-up and check-in day. See into the distance day. Wonder what is falling from grape leaves day. Put on face powder day. Look up word "spiffy" and decide not to use it day. Explain why I have two mobile phones day. Nearly walk down alley behind grocery store day. Forgot to sing out loud day. Really had to pee day. Saying "...and you, too" when people wish me well day. Make effort day. See golden light reflected on cotton ball clouds day. Push crosswalk button twice day. Roll down windows and let stray hair blow around day. Count garage sale signs (five) day. Time to go home and rest day.