Be Prepared

Today I saw more people walking around with smudges on their foreheads than I ever have on an Ash Wednesday. At first this surprised me since we’re in Los Angeles, but then it kind of made sense.

This tradition has always resonated with me -- at least, as much as it can for a non-participant. It’s a public declaration of brokenness, introducing a period of sacrifice and mindfulness that, in the Christian tradition, leads to a day that celebrates resurrection and the hope of redemption. Such a wonderful rhythm, symbolically echoing nature’s transformation from winter.

Speaking of which, I smelled Spring the other day. I was walking out of the library when I was stopped by a passing breeze that carried the unmistakable odor of flowers and pollen. The sun’s been out for a few days, but much of the ground is still saturated from the weeks of rain, and I think this drying process is bringing out the new life. The smell grew stronger as I drove home, and I caught it again tonight walking back from Barnes & Noble.

I’ve been spending extended periods of time there, reading through everything that Bill Bryson has ever written. I read A Walk in the Woods a while back, fell in love with his voice and perspective, and decided to move through each of his books as quickly as possible. So I sit on the third-floor patio for hours at a time, reading about his travels and his brilliant comparisons of America and Europe and his witty little observations that I always find so enjoyable as a reader and so inspiring as a writer.

There’s an older man who, I’m quite sure, lives in the café there. I haven’t learned his name yet, so we’ll call him Howie. Howie likes to stare at people until he thinks of an icebreaker, then walk up to them and start a conversation. “Conversation” might not actually be the right word, since he does all the talking. I have heard his views on education policy in California several times, and he loves talking about how easy it would be to fix the nation’s economy if only President Obama would call and ask his opinion. Every once in a while he asks a question, walks away as soon as the other person starts talking, makes a frequently accurate guess about a stranger’s astrological sign, then walks back to the first person and introduces a new topic. Howie always wears a heavy plaid scarf, sometimes over a jacket and jeans or, like the other day when it was quite warm, over a t-shirt and shorts. He’s started to recognize me. The first time we talked he guessed correctly that I was a Taurus and suggested that my skepticism of such things is terribly dangerous and foolish. At that part he had his hand on my shoulder and, I’m pretty sure, tears in his eyes.

I enjoy writing stories, making up characters and fabricating scenarios, but so often I am amazed by how much more interesting real people are.

Two nights ago I was walking up Gardner, on my way home for dinner and Jeopardy! I came up behind a Hispanic lady and her young son. They were counting together as they walked, her reciting a number and him repeating excitedly. “Uno…” “Uno!” “Dos..” “Dos!” “Tres…” “Tres!” “One…” “One!” “Two…” “Two!” “Three…” “Three!”

They reached ten in Spanish, then ten in English, and then she started randomly picking numbers and waiting for him to give the counterpart in the other language. “Three?” “Tres!” “Ocho?” “Eight!” “Seis?” “Seven!” “No, seis.” “Six!”

Her patience and his enthusiasm were thrilling to watch, so I slowed to their pace and observed until they turned into their building. I wanted to say something to encourage her, or thank her, but then they were inside and I kept walking because I couldn’t miss Jeopardy!

About parents…I haven’t been able to stop thinking about my dad the last week or so. Every little thing carries the potential to remind me of him, bringing memories and thoughts and regrets and so much. Right after he died, I remember people who had experienced something similar talking about how it gets easier with time, how the pain becomes less intense and eventually you’re able to move on. I want to ask them why this hasn’t happened yet…why a simple memory or off-hand reference can still bring the same crippling sadness. Tonight I indulged the emotion by reading the eulogies we read at his funeral, then watching the slideshow we played there, and I feel like that may have settled some of the thoughts for now.

I think part of all this is due to the semi-permanent state of transition I’m in. There is so much unknown about my next steps, and that combined with all of the free time for writing and wondering has created a space where these sorts of memories and reflections seem unavoidable. I find myself playing out the kind of conversations we would have if he were here, about California and Howie and the lady with her counting son and what I should do next if I don’t get into the graduate school in Oregon. I have so many questions about the future, and I realize how fortunate I am to have friends and family to talk to, but I would give anything to hear his thoughts right now.

I’m sorry. I am not looking for sympathy or attention. I felt like writing something of an update on here, and it seemed inevitable that it would go in that direction. To end on a lighter note, here’s another walking story:

On my way home tonight, there was a man across the street who had clearly had one or two or ten too many drinks and was having some difficulty maneuvering the sidewalk. At the intersection with Waring he didn’t even hesitate before stepping into the street, forcing a passing car to slam on the brakes. The drunk pedestrian leaned one hand on the hood of the car, used his other hand to point at the driver, then began to sing. At first his words were slurred and indistinguishable, but by the time he was yelling the chorus I realized it was “Be Prepared,” the song from The Lion King sung by Scar and the hyenas. He made it through two verses and two choruses, even the transitional banter, changing his voice for each character, all the while leaning on the hood and pointing at the driver, until he stopped quite suddenly and kept walking up the street. The driver spotted me and we looked at each other for a second, as if to make sure someone else had seen that, then slowly moved on.

Goodnight. Remember love.