....the Whole World Smiles with You

It didn’t rain on my run today.
This summer in Portland, a lack of precipitation is worthy of comment.
I received a record number of smiles and waves today.
No doubt my early morning regulars were as happy as I was to see the moon unobscured by rain
Without the distraction of puddle hopping and raindrop wiping, my mind was free to ponder.
I thought about the joy I get from those pre-dawn smiles.
I thought about an email I got that said “Life’s too short to be unhappy.”
And I thought maybe, at the end of the day, as we gaze at our navels,
we’d be happier if we counted the smiles we generate rather than the wrongs and slights others inflict upon us.

While Standing Outside the Public Storage Facility

I spoke with a white woman, about aged 60, from Oklahoma.
She was an army brat and spent some of her childhood in Ocala.
She said back then the town was divided, white and black.
Blacks lived on the other side of the railroad tracks and they were not allowed in the white section of town.
There was a billboard by the tracks that said “N------ keep out, go home.”
She said her uncle owned a hardware store and once a black man came in to buy something and the whole time he was talking to her uncle he looked at this feet and called him “sir.” And when he entered the store a second time a woman was in the store and the black man walked clear around all the shelves to avoid going near her.

I spoke to a black man, about aged 25, from Ocala.
He has never been out of Florida, only once to go to Atlanta.
He was married a year ago but they couldn’t go on a honeymoon because he was under house arrest. But he is off that now so they and their 9 daughters will go to Sea World.
He said 6 of the girls are his biologically and the others are his step daughters.
The youngest three are 3; the oldest is 11.
He said his father is 55 but looks 45.
I said maybe he should learn his father’s secret.
He said he knows his father’s secret and doesn’t want anything to do with it.
His father spent many years in jail.
He said he has never used a computer – doesn’t know how.
He asked me for advice so his marriage can last as long as mine.

Joy Like a Fountain

On Sunday morning we had brunch at Scrambles.
On Sunday afternoon we had lunch (lupper?) at Saigon II.

Scrambles and Saigon II do not feature haute cuisine.

But because we brunched with Lissa and Mitch at Scrambles
And then dined with Paul, Linda and Lisa at Saigon II

Sharing smiles and laughter of these long missed friends
Seasoned our food perfectly.

What Became of the Monk?

Today I washed the Fisher Price Circus Wagon.
I had to scour the plastic parts vigorously and with soft scrub to remove nearly 50 years of dirt.
I had to be really gentle with the wooden parts, they are covered in colored paper. If I scrubbed too hard, the animals would lose their clothes and faces.
As my fingers pruned up I wondered which animal Beatrix will like the best and whether she will find the clown as
creepy as Ryan and I did (and still do!).

Smiling Slumbers

By evening, the fog rolls out to sea and the pale setting sun warms the city for the time in over a week. After work we walk toward the water. He loves the harbor with the yachts, tugs, ferries and fishing boats. He buys two slices, declares them tasteless (nothing is as good as real NYC pizza, preferably from Pugslies in the Bronx) and we continue our trek. As we draw nearer we walk faster until he stops abruptly in front of Mexicali Blues with its racks of merchandise lining the sidewalk. His eyes are on a tiny red hooded sweater knitted in Peru with colorful farm animals dancing around the front and back.

I make the purchase since he can't go in with the pizza.

All night a little red hooded Beatrix romps through my dreams.

City by the Bay

The fog horn vibrates as we eat our lunch with the NY Times
I am working the crossword
He is reading the business section
It is a rare treat, both working in the same city and having time to eat lunch together.
The fog horn sounds again we look up and smile
remembering another ocean and long ago fog drenched days.

The Paths Not Chosen

“On July first I'll celebrate 30 years here; I think that is quite an accomplishment,”
she announces to anyone listening as she grabs her smokes and heads out back.

I think that if I had to
work at the same job
at the same company
living in the same town
for 30 years

I’d want to kill myself with something faster acting than nicotine.