Considering

 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"

   

A Change of View

I woke yesterday morning from a dream where I was driving through a small desert town. I am glancing at my map, and it tells me I need to be on West Winn. I am on East Winn and there  is no West Winn in sight. I turn around and stop at a local, kind of run down bar. I am stopping there not to get a drink (In my waking life I no longer drink and it seems I no longer drink even in my dreams!) but to ask for directions. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer game, and the first half was just coming to a close. Suddenly, the bar patrons began to change seats. I looked at the screen, and everyone on the screen was changing not only seats but were actually walking across the field and finding new seats on the other side of the small stadium.   

I spoke to a woman who also was just walking in. She introduced herself as the owner and, in contrast to the patrons and myself,she was professionally dressed in a red suit and matching heels. She said her name was Anna Baek, which she pronounced "Beck" (not sure when I learned the spelling). I mentioned how surprised I was to witness the seat changes, and asked if this happens in the big stadiums. She replied not so much anymore, but definitely in the smaller ones.

After people settled in once more, I asked for directions. I was assured by several people, including Anna Baek, that if I continued on East Winn I would eventually come to West Winn. I spoke aloud that I was a little skeptical. I then laughed and said okay, I would try again. There was something about the town, the simple, slightly run-down bar, and the people who also looked to be slightly run-down that I liked. I felt an inherent goodness all around me. I was tempted to stay overnight, maybe even longer. I woke before I made my decision, but I did wake with a smile on my face.    

This dream of changing sides reminds me of a wonderful story that I recently discovered in a sweet and generous book of essays entitled One Long River of Song written by Brian Doyle. In his essay entitled "The Hawk", he tells the story of a man who one summer took up residence on his former small town football field. Doyle wrote that the man, called Hawk, had been a terrific player in high school, showing an ability to wait, yes, like a hawk, until the perfect moment to strike. The name took hold. Hawk went on to play in college and then on to a career Doyle describes as being located in "the nether reaches of the professional ranks, where a man might get paid a hundred bucks a game plus bonuses for touchdowns and sacks". Hawk's career dwindled even more, and one summer he returned to his home field to stay awhile. The town actually let him do so. In turn he kept the field and surrounding area picked up and clean. People would drop by with cookies and sandwiches to see how he was doing. One woman left him coffee every morning. He told Doyle that sometimes he would sit on the visitor's bench, something he had never done before. One day a reporter came to get Hawk's opinion on what she called the "collapse of the social contract". He told her about the cookies and sandwiches. He then told her of the time when a woman stopped by with two infants. She let him hold one "that weighed about half of nothing". He and the young mother talked about football. He then asked the reporter the question, "What could be better than standing on a football field, holding a brand-new human being the size of a coffee cup? You know what I mean? Everything else is sort of a footnote."  

In a nation so polarized, I find comfort in the idea of periodically changing our viewpoints to get at least a glimpse of what the other side is seeing. Sometimes people cross mountains to do that. Sometimes, we simply get up from our comfortable seat to offer help to someone who is having trouble reading the map.