Vermeil 2

About three weeks ago I was at the TJ's near work again, and Kelsey happened to ring me up. As I approached his cash register, I saw that he looked up and seemed to recognize me. He even smiled. Not a fake smile, the kind you flash to be polite, but like he was happy to see a familiar face.

The kindergartener in me took over. Remember kindergarten? If you liked someone and  you wanted them to be your friend (heck, in your mind you may already be friends), you just talked to them. There was no embarrassment or self-consciousness, or fear of "coming on too strong", or being misread as coming on to them. You felt, you did.

And the following discourse was a pure exchange as such. We almost simultaneously brought up Oxtails, the local produce market now defunct. I got to say the phrase I'd been rehearsing in my head, "Hey... there's life after Oxtails!" I expressed regret that the market was no longer. Kelsey was in accord.

That was the best scenario, however brief. Better than I could have imagined. No awkwardness. No lingering too long. Just two strangers having a common thread, no ulterior motives, no wants or needs from the other but an adulterated moment of innocent connection, goodwill, and a semblance of kinship.

These moments are few and far between.

And that was the last time I saw Kelsey. I've been back a couple of times since, and no sight of Kelsey. He may not work there anymore. Who knows?

Wherever he is, I hope he is well.

Quote 273

Thank you, neighbor
for your smile
when I didn't know I needed it

- Mike McGee

Vignette 30

Last night RJ and I walked by a restaurant that called itself a "Mexican bistro".

RJ pointed at the sign and I knew exactly what he was conveying. I replied:

That's like saying there is such a thing as a French cantina.

To which RJ chuckled.

It is not easy to make RJ chuckle. To me it's like winning a prize.

Quote 272

They tried to bury us.
They didn't know we were seeds.

- Mexican proverb (originally by Greek poet Dinos Christianopoulos)

Sway

Finally watched Her, the 2013 film which examines a relationship between a human and an OS ("not just an Operating System, a Consciousness!")

I liked that it didn't question whether or not A.I. could have feelings. That has been long debated, since the dawn of the genre sci-fi. I liked that it shed light on what constitutes love, the physical vs. the intellectual and emotional. When is love real?

I liked the rawness of loneliness, all-encompassing, unapologetic. A way of life.

I liked that labels didn't seem important, that characters weren't boxed in. The profundity of our ever-inquisitive minds and how we find comfort in connecting, how nothing is in simple terms: love, happiness, our very existence.

I stepped away feeling lonelier and sadder than ever. And I loved it.

I'd spent days battling bronchitis with a side of sinus infection. I'd been heavily medicated just to be able to sleep through (most of) the night. Been feeling zombie-esque in every way, flat-lining and rotten inside. Depression had been hitting hard: the usual feeling of pointlessness. The weekend came and went and I felt I had done absolutely nothing. I didn't even take any remedies for the depression. I just let it seethe.

Having seen this film validated the absurdity of life for me. All these notions that life has to be certain way. Bullshit. I know nothing about nothing.

When one feels shitty somehow sex will surface as a life-affirming tool. And it worked very well this evening.

I realized that I didn't even feel confident in sex anymore. I had lost the art of seduction. I felt clumsy, out of practice, uncertain about every move. Am I hurting him? Does this even feel comfortable, let alone erotic?

But it was hot and all out, nothing held back. And it was the most freeing in a long time.

It is good to accept I know nothing about nothing. Thinking I had some aspects of life figured out was but an illusion.

To think that we take something as natural as breathing for granted... it has been humbling.

Beautiful music in Her, too. The kind that is ethereal and transporting. Transforming, even.

Not much has happened. Yet so much has happened. Life has changed.

I'd say the paradigm has shifted but... What paradigm?

Five stars.

Glimmer

RJ subscribes to the New York Times Sunday paper. He has been for years. I don't read the paper. The only section I ask him to save for me is Styles.

I enjoy reading the occasional interview (if it's someone I care about), opinions on women's issues (a 60-yo author finds power in allowing herself to ditch the coloring bottle and go gray; why Victoria's Secret's pinup supermodel approach is no longer relevant with today's shifting cultural norms...), the advice column (the humor and candor), Modern Love (often clever and insightful), and, last but not least, wedding announcements. They are not just announcements, but love stories with anecdotes.

I love weddings. Even in my darkest of jaded days, when I deemed myself unlucky in romance, seeing two people in love and on a journey together moved me to tears. And I was never too bitter to be celebratory.

Even since I have been gainfully employed at my current job, I've let my reading slide. Today, on Labor Day, the first Monday in September, I am just catching up on last October and November. Simply ridiculous.

Earlier today, as I sat down to read in an attempt to make a small headway in that exponentially ever-growing pile, I questioned, "Do I need to read these old wedding announcements? Or should I just recycle?"

But I did read them. And every detail delighted me (the grooms wore Christian Louboutin! She learned to say her vows in Polish so her to-be-in-laws could understand...) rimmed my eyes with tears as well as made me chuckle. Sometimes simultaneously. (Yes, I did chuckle out loud with the Louboutin bit when it was reported that they had changed shoes, again, for that evening.)

I did not regret reading the segment. It was not a silly, sappy waste of time. On the contrary, unbeknownst to me, my soul needed it.

Twilight

One day I was rinsing my sinus at the kitchen sink, as I do every morning, when I noticed a darting speck on the shiny surface. Why, it's an ant.

The ant is surrounded by droplets of various sizes, desperately feeling its way out of the danger zone. It is a mission nearly impossible.

I felt sorry for the creature then. Then it hit me: I have empathy... for an ant?! How Buddhist of me! Except, of course, I am not Buddhist. As a child I would have flushed it down the drain, without a second thought, with pleasure. But at this moment I pictured myself as the ant. What terror it must be to be in this precarious terrain with seemingly no way out, and what unspeakable suffering it would be to drown in this massive darkness. What a horrible way it would be to die!

Watching the ant struggle to crawl to safety moved me. It had so much drive, determination, and energy. I tried my darndest to avoid having water flow near it. But a little splash was inevitable. Even without me, though, there was enough wetness around to drown a hundred ants effortlessly.

I took my mind off it a bit. If it was going to fall to its death, I was certainly not going to enjoy witnessing it. (I pondered extending a finger as a rescue attempt, but I'd probably kill it in the process. That would be worse.)

Before I knew it, the ant was on the vertical rise. I couldn't believe it, it was moving so swiftly. Imagine this wall that was equivalent to five hundred times it's length... Could a human climb a 200-floor building with such ease? Certainly not!

The ant escaped. Poof. It was like the whole thing had never happened.

I was incredulous and relieved. I marveled at the will power of the tiny life form to survive. Instincts are just programmed in us. The fittest get to live. If anyone doubted Darwin, here you go.

If there was more empathy and kindness in the world, imagine...