Howdy My Friends,
There's a little old lady that lives on one of the many varied routes I regularly walk around Seattle. I can't figure out if she is psychic and "knows" when I'm going to be walking by, or if she is standing there for days waiting for me. I think the latter would be most impressive. Or maybe there is a third scenario: perhaps she is willing me to walk by and I am uavoidably compelled to choose that path. I dated someone like that one time.
Whatever the case, she appears magically at her upstairs window just in the nick of time, all smiles and white, fluffy hair, greeting me like I'm one of her favorite people in the world. She praises on my little dawg Bungee, and then tells me about wonderful small dogs that she has known. She repeats many, many things every time, possibly not remembering that she has told me these same stories before.
Today she pointed out the dandelions and frowned slightly as she pretended to whisper from the second floor window all the way down to me on the street. She claimed that two of her neighbors just don't take care of their dandelions and the result is her tremendous heartache at being forced to watch her own lovely yard go to hell, bursting into as many as three or four nasty yellow blossoms at once. To her it is as if someone has tossed empty Jack Daniels bottles onto her lawn.
This sweet lady is 89 years young, spry, happy, spunky, filled with the need to converse. So I happily stand below her like a six foot tall ear and listen for fifteen minutes every time she catches me striding by. Often, I am laughing not at the things she thinks I am, but at her sheer energy, her hilarious repetition and the great burst of heart and humanness that she exudes from her perch above the neighborhood.
Even on days like today, when I looked over my shoulder and saw that the sun was swiftly being obscured by heavy rain clouds approaching to drown me miles from my home, I just stood there listening. It's easy really, I need not say a thing to keep the conversation going because everything she says reminds her of something else and there she goes, rattling on in a new direction. I am enthralled by her conversational dexterity. Without taking any obvious breaths, she can go from dandelions to vinyl siding, her deceased husband, his remarkable work ethic, her daughter and adopted grandchildren, rototillers, little dogs, my obvious good fortune in life (not sure why it is obvious unless it's just that I still have all my limbs) and finally, just as I was feeling the first icy drops of rain, the impending storm. "You should get that little dog out of the rain, son!"
I looked around startled, pretending that I'd never even thought to leave that spot ever again. "Yes maam, you're right. I'd better get going."
I waved goodbye to her and continued on my walk. As I walked past the tall hedge at the border of her yard, her neighbors were bent over laughing in delight at my having been held captive for once instead of them. It was pretty funny to see them hiding there, laughing quietly at the one-sided conversation they themselves were usually ensnared in. I'm sure if you lived next door it might be inconvenient to be stopped everytime you step outside, but since I'm only there once or twice a week, hey, I'm quite happy to be her audience for a few minutes.
Actually, it's not me doing something for her, I look at it like I'm her student and she's lived a full live and is passing on some of the good parts. She's showing me what it is to live long and still be vital and passionate and truly alive. It's quite a lovely gift to offer someone - even if it gets them soaked with spring rain.
I hope you've got someone in your neighborhood to remind you how good it is to be alive.
In Friendship, Michael Tomlinson