300 Issues

So it was one of those professionally frustrating weeks and after work I stopped at Rainbow to pick up some groceries. As always I hated the shopping experience with screaming kids running up and down the aisles, people pushing their carts in a way that won't allow you around them. I get to the check out and the young clerk says to me, "I hate people." It probably isn't a way most customer service manuals tell you to greet a customer, but she said it in such a way that I not only knew what she meant, but it was a nice shared moment with another weary human being. I left the store with a smile in the driving rain and was certainly glad I had just had my wiper blades changed just to see a little bit better.

So there I was eating a crusty turkey pot pie and talking about passion with my quien mas sabe who seems to know a thing or two about it. She's teaching me a new language and a new appreciation of my old one. In a world that makes it too easy to slip from skepticism into cynicism, she keeps reminding me it's alright to care. And I wonder if she senses the impeccable timing in her reminders. This week during a moment of distress she was the one I wanted to talk to. The sparkle of a new friendship is as nice as the feeling of comfort.

So there I was catching up on the phone with another talking about how love isn't the only thing that breaks a heart. It can also be about happiness and the loss of, and vulnerability. Sometimes the simplest of friendships are the ones you miss most and catch you by surprise. And I never would have guessed that the person sharing her thoughts and feelings would become the type of friend I could discuss such things with. It was a great conversation and completely unexpected.

So I'm not exactly expecting the Easter Bunny to pay me a visit this year. I've seemed to have fallen out of favor with those in the rabbit family. Bunnies are rather silent. Thinking back over the past year my life has been like a pistachio with no crack. The crack lies elsewhere. When you are in the middle of it, it's hard to see nothing is as irreconcilable as it may seem. Detente happens. Lost communication is a moving target. In one morning it is possible to resume relations with 40% of the people who no longer are speaking to you.

For the past nine years the same promise of renewal that spring brings has caused a wistfulness. I remember a trip long ago this time of year that seemed so perfect and proceeded to be so. Now every time I hold my lucky rock from Australia or whenever I see Sandra Bullock on screen I wonder what happened. Life can be full of wondering. Wondering why you are wandering.

It remarkably followed a frightful period of sickness when something familiar became lost and the fear was that it was gone for good. The cure came in realizing that words are just words and to use them with precision isn't always productive. I more and more see that words seldom accurately describe a feeling (or is that a thought?). People say things they don't mean and later regret they said or put down in writing. You can be good with words and still not be a good writer or speaker. You can make something sound good but still say nothing. Sometimes you need someone to say something even if they truly don't know what to say and when they don't it can color the way you look at things for a long time. Sometimes you don't have a clue to what is going on inside another and you don't believe a word they say. What is left unspoken is equally as important if not more so than what gets shared. In another lifetime a person approached me and asked why I didn't like her. Like her? I didn't even know her and was afraid to try. I hadn't said a word but my skunk eyes inaccurately portrayed my lack of words.

Growing up (the earlier stages) I remember how we would call my Dad at work and all of us kids would get a turn talking to him. He was merely in downtown St. Paul but I remember how excited all of us would get (Mom included) at our evening ritual. To share what was going on with someone who's perspective mattered most made the day complete. So I do consider myself lucky that for the past six years I have been so blessed to again have that daily experience with another. And though we don't spend much time together, my day isn't complete until our talk. The days when that call doesn't happen I feel the pot boil and the stress rise. Nothing much new is shared but the words that flow are never forgettable. Add to that my oldest and in many ways most understanding friendship with the Spunkster. The years put into that friendship add perspective and helps me appreciate where I am, though what happened long ago sometimes grips tighter than what happened yesterday. It's hard for me to see (new wiper blades needed?) but I am in a different place.

So every week for the past six years I've sat down to muse in public not knowing if the pieces ever add up to something whole and knowing long ago I ceased to have anything new to say. Yet it's always been about trying to figure out how those pieces fit together. The predictability of people doesn't mean one can ever figure out human nature. Sometimes the process is more important than the end result. It is a job to chronicle it all and in the end hopefully the words sometimes matter.