Until a matter of days ago I didn’t
even know Lilly; hadn’t met her. I may have seen her working in the background
of a retail store where she is employed. She is a supremely attractive young
lady of great charm and warmth; one of those people you just know is good
inside and out. Among the things I now know about her: like me she is tied to
the State of Maine, and looks upon the north coast of Oregon where she now
works with a similar love. She was adopted along with her brother as a small
child and until recently had never connected with her birth parents. She is a
serious, committed and dedicated employee highly valued by friends of mine for
and with whom she works. I knew immediately that if I had the power I would
adopt (or steal her away) as a granddaughter forthwith. All within the space of
a few minutes time and reinforced by that inner voice which whispers a
confirmation of “first” impressions’
Because I am at heart a writer and
storyteller, I confess to seeing (or thinking I am seeing) more in the people,
places and events around me than might meet the casual traveler. (If this is
only a dream, I hope never to awaken, for it is a source of unmitigated
pleasure.) Sometimes I even allow myself to believe it is a communicative
attribute – that we leave something behind as we “celebrate” brief encounters
as we travel and connect meaningfully and thoughtfully when confronted by such
fleeting “gifts” of chance.
There comes to mind an experience I had when
returning to one of my favorite haunts in Cannon Beach after an absence of
several years. I am fascinated by the art of glass-blowing, and when I have the
chance, I pay a visit to ICEFIRE GLASSWORKS. It was late in
the day, but I hoped for a few minutes of happy gazing from the viewer’s
booth. The time ended all too soon, and
as I headed for the closing door, the owner held me back. “You’re welcome to
stay; we are just closing for the public.” I must have looked up questioningly.
The two people behind the desk explained: “We remember you from your last
visit. You made us all feel good.” I tried to explain that I hadn’t been there
in two years. “Could be”, they agreed, “but we haven’t forgotten; you bring
something special with you.” I hope what
they were detecting is my love for people and my interest in what makes them
tick. But maybe they were just imagining something.
As
we traveled westward through the incomparably- beautiful Columbia River Gorge
several days ago, we stopped for an evening meal at Pietro’s in Hood River – another favorite way-marker – we
staked out a booth amid a Saturday night crowd that filled the popular
establishment. Returning from an exploration of the salad bar I found that my
thoughtful family had changed my seat to a more comfortable chair. My reaction
was immediate as I changed back to the wall-side original selection with the
words “This will not do at all; I can’t see the people!” I’m sure that to my
loved ones it seemed just another confirmation of my growing eccentricities,
but for me it was an important teaching/learning moment. As I travel, food is
somewhere down the list when it comes to the magic of everyday adventure. What
I noted that evening on the banks of the mighty Columbia were the families
enjoying one another; families of many colors and ethnic trajectory. Except for
one blonde –haired teen-ager (whom I was quick to forgive) I did not see a
single person texting or even holding an electronic device. The diners were too
busy talking, looking at each other and having fun; there was a lot of “love”
going on. My heart was nourished more by what I was seeing than by one of the best
pizzas anywhere around.
As my family moved toward departure, I scooted
over to the nearest booth where an extended family of ten were laughing and
sharing a meal honoring octogenarian grand –parents. I asked them if they were
seeing what I was seeing. That began a conversation which spanned their three
generations
and
a total stranger from another. A two-or-three-year-old grand-daughter with curly
hair attached herself to me like an old friend and chattered away while her
mother and I shared family genealogy and thoughts on the importance of family.
We found much to talk about and she seemed genuinely sorry that I had to leave.
But there is another side to this
attachment to the people “of everyday” we meet by chance.
When
still westbound, I suddenly departed at an off-ramp from I-84 along the Columbia
River Gorge. We didn’t really “need” fuel, I had never stopped there before and
it would slow our journey. The young girl who came to pump gas, (in Oregon you
don’t get to do-it-yourself,) had the same kind of friendly glow and
“sweetness” as Lilly, but I sensed immediately a deep darkness not quite hidden
behind her friendly spirit. She was most certainly underweight and most of her front
teeth were so damaged as to need a lot of repair work. I thought about her all
week and couldn’t ignore a deep sadness each time I recalled that very brief
encounter. One week later to the day when returning homeward our car insisted
on getting off at that same unaccustomed exit. The young girl was not on duty,
but working my way through some close-mouthed co-workers to the manager who
took pity on me, I learned Jennifer’s sad story, left a note to let her know I
was not going to forget her and began making plans.
As I finish this overlong column,
tired and glad to be home, I am listening to Louis Armstrong singing “Oh What a Wonderful World” and
formulating an email of thanksgiving to Lillie for touching my heart in such a
beautiful way, and a letter of hope to another sweet, girl-of-promise named
“Jen”.
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