On Tuesday of this week Tyler and I were able to spend a few hours with two friends we have not seen in about ten years. They arrived via cruise ship on a return trip to Canada, where they have lived for many years. We met in the morning and since we had lunch reservations at a restaurant in North Beach, we decided to take a cab (yes, there are actual taxis that line up at cruise terminals) we decided to go on to North Beach. Tyler asked if anyone would like coffee and I quickly voted yes. He led us to Caffe Trieste. I was grateful that there was an available table inside. The sky was overcast, and the weather was chilly and a little damp.
We sat in that small cafe and talked for at least two hours, probably longer. At one point a guitarist and mandolin player took their places in a corner, and played at just the right level so they could be heard while still allowing ample space for the conversations around them. This appears to be a time honored and well honed tradition at this cafe that just celebrated its 70th year.
I began to feel uncomfortable about our taking up a table for so long. People were lining up at the counter, but it was pointed out to me that most were getting their coffee to go; there were still vacant tables in the cafe. We continued our conversations. Being able to linger over coffee and conversation is a gift of retirement. The week before I went with Tyler to listen to a friend's band. There we also lingered at a table with a friend. I had not spoken with her in over a year.
When a woman I once attended church with retired a few years ago, she named retirement as her time of "refreshment". For me, I think it is a time of reconnecting. Not only with friends, but with those parts of me that have slowly been buried over the years. I want to reclaim my spirit of exploration, both the world around me, and the world within. In order to do this, I need to accept that my balance is not what it was, my hearing is not what it once was, and my hands often do not do what I want them to. I am learning to ask them nicely, and yes, that does help. At times I simply must claim the right to not move as quickly or efficiently as I once did. This is true of writing as well.
The Gospels tell us that Jesus knew that his physical time on earth was limited. So, what did he do? He walked and considered wild flowers and vineyards and workers. He lingered at tables and talked. He touched those who yearned to be touched. He refused to be rushed. He prayed that he could do what needed to be done.
This tells me that the practice of connection and reconnection is a worthy endeavor, and I will dare to say that it is a holy one. That is just how sacred this life that we all share is.
"Sometimes by chance I am the first one back from Communion and I watch as they [his sons] approach, wading gracefully through the shivered colors of the sun streaming through the windows. Time stutters and reverses and it is always yesterday and today. Maybe the greatest miracle is memory. Think about that this morning, quietly, as you watch the world flitter and tremble and beam."
Brian Doyle, One Long River of Song
image: One of my favorite photographs. I etitled it, "Family"
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