The week has been full of humidity, work and now, after 3 days of full-on cloud, the sun is finally making an appearance. Welcome sight it is, especially since the forecast on the train lobby screens said 5 more days of either scattered or isolated showers. But if I cast a brief look back at the week, it’s not the rain per se I recall, but a panoply of random acts and scenes that paint on the canvas our global, local village.
I think first of the Iraqi man I met at my station who’s been in America 20 days. He’s looking hard for a job and needed to understand the schedule. I wondered what he must think of the country to which he’s come, glad that Friday’s surprise gum graft gave me a chance to recover and extend a small welcome.
Yesterday it was Russians, downtown, two cars full, pouring out with friendly waves and multiple maps asking what street they were on—not surprising since many roads aren’t signed and sometimes you drive just hoping for the best (or a U-turn sign.) At least I had my phone with me, not that it would have helped, but I’d I left it in the office Tuesday when it was 96 degrees, muggy, we had 4 dinner guests arriving and the Beverly bridge froze in the UP position, Internet sketchy thus stranding me on the train incommunicado. When I got to my stop 20 minutes late with the public phone ripped out, a kind person lent me hers to call for a ride that, by a miracle had already been dispatched. I hoped the Russians made it.
Finally in all this mix is a moment that has stayed with me all week. Tuesday a man emerged from the train, very heavy crowd, using his walking stick to feel the platform’s warning line of smooth to bump to guide his way. Just as I wondered: will anyone lend him an arm? Should it be me? Somebody did, and without fanfare took the blind man’s arm in his as though it was the most natural thing in the world. The moment captured our mutual vulnerability and need, and I had the burning tears to prove it. On, and on went the week: Wednesday’s bluebirds nesting in the garden, the soggy dog, the new novel which might be a good read, and medical meetings to fix what else ails me. Where did the week go? Where are we going next?
June will end this weekend and her sister July will be waiting to come upon us with a fury. We’ll catapult into the Fourth dismayed at those who dare to call it midsummer. Despite the looming unsettled weather, I harbor hope for moments of porch sitting, planting annuals and mad weeding in the overgrown garden. I need to breathe from the potpourri of the week, and I bet you do, too.