Monday, March 23, 2009
Saying Goodbye
As my students at Lingua Espresso know, I will be leaving my post at the end of March 2009. As a result, this blog is now "going static." On the bright side, if you liked Rants, Raves, and General Writings, you can look for my new blog, Dixie Cup Combo, debuting in the next month or so :-)
Monday, March 9, 2009
The Light Side, the Dark Side, and the . . . Fish Side
Hello to all my Lingua Espresso students on this fine Monday in March :-) Today's blog is a copy of a newsletter article I did for my OTHER job as a massage therapist. It's a funny piece of writing about our three goldfish, which are a kind of mascot for us. A mascot is a living symbol representing a group of people, often a sports team and their fans. Mascots are often animals: for example Louisiana State University's mascot is Mike the Tiger. Sometimes, though, mascots can be personalized aspects of nature; for example, my high school mascot was the cyclone (also sometimes known as a whirlwind or a tornado). And finally, mascots can be a type of human with a particular job or characteristic (for example, the Nebraska Cornhuskers).
............................................................................
Most everyone knows that Massage Envy Northgate is more than just a group of talented, highly-trained therapists with killer forearms. More than a team of bright-eyed front sales-staff with perky phone voices. More even than the strong blonde spirit of entrepreneurship that guides all our doings. Yes, there is more. Three more to be exact. Three tiny gold spirits of aquatic tranquility. And their names are . . . well, no one is quite sure what their names are.
No one knows obviously, what their little fishy mothers called them, or if they even called them anything. Perhaps they simply resisted eating them and let them swim their own way to a new life. When I began my own research into whether or not they had corporate identities, I only knew them privately as Peter, Paul, and Mary. For those of you too young to know, Peter, Paul and Mary were a famous 1960s folk music group who gave us such favorites as their own take on Bob Dylan’s “Blowin’ in the Wind,” “Puff the Magic Dragon,” and my personal favorite, “If I Had a Hammer.” And sometimes when I visit the couples’ room, I quietly sing them a variant of the latter, as in
Oh, if I had a hammer,
I’d hammer in the morning,
I’d hammer in the evening,
All over this land . . .
And then I’d hammer that blasted shelf back into the wall in Room 6, cause I’m anal, and it drives me crazzzeeeee . . . .
Not surprisingly though, I found at least two other people who had names for them. Nikki calls them Caesar, Brutus, and John, and gave me a somewhat Shakespearean explanation of the one that rules, the one that stabs the others in the back, and the one that hides in the water plants “like a little saint.” Interesting, eh? However, Michelle seems to love them most, and knows them by size: Shamu (L), Jasper (M), and Grape Ape (S). As Michelle often works an early morning shift, she comes in, checks their water, turns the lights on for them as they have been in the dark all night, and tries to make sure that no one is over-feeding them.
Most people, however, just call them “the fish.” Jo said that if she had to name them, Larry, Moe and Curly might be okay. And Pat suggested we call them Jack, perhaps collectively and looking at Jack when she said it. “But what if they are little girl fish, not little boy fish?” asked Charles. “What’s the difference?” said Pat, still looking at Jack. “Jack would be fine for a little girl.” (I laughed; I couldn’t help myself, Jack.)
I did find a few people who weren’t fish fans. Janis asked if they were dead when I brought them up, and Kasey admitted to hating fish because “they always die” when she gets them, and Sam threw one in the toilet the other day without warning her, and she screamed her head off.
But fish, if you ever get to read a copy of this, overall we love you, though it might not seem so when a couple of us are heard bargaining over “who has to be on the fish side this time.” And even when some people forget to add water to your fountain and you have to swim sideways, please forgive them their sins. For you are not only tiny gold spirits of aquatic tranquility, you are the only mascots we have. Except that gigantic horrifying Christmas Elf, but we won’t go into that.
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Dial-a-Trade
As everyone knows, the US has been suffering a terrible economic down-turn since the Fall of 2008. Many people have lost jobs and many more have been forced to cut back on spending in order to pay for the necessities of life such as food, shelter, and various medical costs. However, saving money on things we need is made easier in America by the existence of many Internet resources. Ebay.com and Half.com, for example, are two places one can go to purchase a variety of used and new items from individuals, not big stores. And there is also Freecycle.org, a Yahoo-based group where everything is FREE and listed under the tags "offered" (you want to give an item away) and "wanted" (you want to know if anyone has this sitting around the house not using it and wants to give it away).
Yet while my Japanese students at Lingua Espresso might know about such modern discount ways of getting useful things, I was thinking that they might want to know more about the pre-Internet ways of getting things cheap (or even for free). I grew up in a semi-rural area of Arkansas known as "the River Valley," due to the fact that these are the towns that lie along the big Arkansas River that divides the state of Arkansas diagonally. Growing up in that area, long before the Internet, one of our biggest ways of advertising goods and services was the radio. And the most popular radio program for doing this in our area was called "River Valley Dial-a-Trade."
The River Valley Dial-a-Trade was first named in the days of rotary phones, or phones that you had to "dial" (old phones had no buttons to push). And the way this program worked was that people would call into the radio station and describe in their own words what items that they wanted to sell or give away for free. But before I go any further in explaining Dial-a-Trade, I want to give you a small lesson on Southern American vocabulary, as these are facts you might not know:
Reckon: this is a verb that means "think" or "guess"
Fixing to: this means "getting ready to" and is generally only used in the American South; other Americans will look at you strangely if you use this.
Hunt: this is a verb that using means to follow an animal and kill it. In the South, however, it often just means "to try to find" or "to look for."
Carry: this is a verb that generally means to pick up something non-human in your arms and transport it. However, in the South the object can be human and the verb can mean simply "take" as in "Can you carry me to the airport?" One last meaning when you add the word "on" is to "act upset": "She carried on for hours when we took away her cellphone."
Holler: this is a verb that means "to scream" or "to yell loudly." It may also just mean "to call" as in "Pick up the phone and holler at me if you need me to carry you to the airport."
Fussing: this means "to express unhappiness about something," as in "They were fussing and fighting and carrying on for hours."
So now back to Dial-a-Trade. I hated the program when I was a child. It reminded me that I lived in an extremely rural area when I wanted to be able to go out and see the world and possibly live in a place with LOTS of bookstores and not hogs and chickens. But now I occasionally like to remember the ads on Dial-a-Trade because they make me laugh and make me nostalgic. For example:
"Yeah, I'm over here in Dover, and I reckon I have about 3 big rolls of chicken wire that've been sitting against the barn for a while now. I'm fixing to give them away 'cause my wife's been fussing at me about them, so holler at me if your interested. My number is 479-123-4567. Oh, and if you've been hunting for a good dog, we also have a litter of little black pups. Their mother is a black lab, but we don't know who their daddy was. Feel free to carry your kids on down to take a look. Thanks."
Interesting, yes? I hope you've enjoyed this, as all Americans would call it, "trip down memory lane."
Yet while my Japanese students at Lingua Espresso might know about such modern discount ways of getting useful things, I was thinking that they might want to know more about the pre-Internet ways of getting things cheap (or even for free). I grew up in a semi-rural area of Arkansas known as "the River Valley," due to the fact that these are the towns that lie along the big Arkansas River that divides the state of Arkansas diagonally. Growing up in that area, long before the Internet, one of our biggest ways of advertising goods and services was the radio. And the most popular radio program for doing this in our area was called "River Valley Dial-a-Trade."
The River Valley Dial-a-Trade was first named in the days of rotary phones, or phones that you had to "dial" (old phones had no buttons to push). And the way this program worked was that people would call into the radio station and describe in their own words what items that they wanted to sell or give away for free. But before I go any further in explaining Dial-a-Trade, I want to give you a small lesson on Southern American vocabulary, as these are facts you might not know:
Reckon: this is a verb that means "think" or "guess"
Fixing to: this means "getting ready to" and is generally only used in the American South; other Americans will look at you strangely if you use this.
Hunt: this is a verb that using means to follow an animal and kill it. In the South, however, it often just means "to try to find" or "to look for."
Carry: this is a verb that generally means to pick up something non-human in your arms and transport it. However, in the South the object can be human and the verb can mean simply "take" as in "Can you carry me to the airport?" One last meaning when you add the word "on" is to "act upset": "She carried on for hours when we took away her cellphone."
Holler: this is a verb that means "to scream" or "to yell loudly." It may also just mean "to call" as in "Pick up the phone and holler at me if you need me to carry you to the airport."
Fussing: this means "to express unhappiness about something," as in "They were fussing and fighting and carrying on for hours."
So now back to Dial-a-Trade. I hated the program when I was a child. It reminded me that I lived in an extremely rural area when I wanted to be able to go out and see the world and possibly live in a place with LOTS of bookstores and not hogs and chickens. But now I occasionally like to remember the ads on Dial-a-Trade because they make me laugh and make me nostalgic. For example:
"Yeah, I'm over here in Dover, and I reckon I have about 3 big rolls of chicken wire that've been sitting against the barn for a while now. I'm fixing to give them away 'cause my wife's been fussing at me about them, so holler at me if your interested. My number is 479-123-4567. Oh, and if you've been hunting for a good dog, we also have a litter of little black pups. Their mother is a black lab, but we don't know who their daddy was. Feel free to carry your kids on down to take a look. Thanks."
Interesting, yes? I hope you've enjoyed this, as all Americans would call it, "trip down memory lane."
Thursday, February 12, 2009
The Long Way Home
Two years ago, late in December, I drove the 2700 hundred-odd miles from Little Rock to Seattle. It was an amazing trip. I'll never forget the snowy passes at Albuquerque, the baked red of Sacramento, or the lush dampness of Oregon. And all in five days: it was like surreal cinema. However, as I tell my students at Lingua Espresso, Little Rock is a long, long way from Seattle, too far to drive and too expensive to fly often. So my trip back three weeks ago was the first one since December 2006.
Probably the most fun I had--the most enjoyable time--was with my oldest friend, Amber Denise Jones, nee Carter. First, seeing her lovely old home and then, going out to her mother's to ride horses. We had her youngest daughter Rory (6) with us, and we spent most of a day meeting horses, petting horses, working horses, and riding horses. Several people were in and out: her mother, Mary Ann; her Uncle Billy; the farrier, who trimmed hooves; Doc, the big yellow lab; and assorted barn cats. We took a lot of pictures, and originally, I was going to do a blog for my students about horses and all sorts of words you only encounter in a horse barn (e.g. curry, buck, comb, bit, saddle, reins, crop, bareback, canter, trot, gallop, break, etc.) However, just before we left, I was looking at the pictures hanging in the barn office, and one of them stopped me right in my tracks.
It was an old newspaper photo of Amber, taken sometime in her early teens. Her hair was still long and thick, and hanging loose around her shoulders. Even in the photo, I could imagine the green glint to her hazel eyes under the heavy dark brows. Her gaze was somewhat somber and intent, away from the camera, and down toward the horse she was riding. And she looked to be wearing shorts over a bathing suit, which is probably right, since she spent a LOT of time in those days helping her mother teach swimming lessons at the family pool. And I turned and almost blinked at the Amber standing next to me, the Amber of 25 years later.
Not that there is anything wrong with Amber now. She's a pretty woman, more slender and defined and self-assured than the young teen in the photo, which is true of most of us. Her hair is probably still thick, but she's worn it super-short for a long while now, and she's let it go the color it now wants, which is gray. She smiles a lot more now, and I do too, so that makes me happy. And she's a mother now, with an oldest daughter just shy of the age she herself was in that old photograph.
And yet I got a gut-wrenching sense of love and loss when I looked at that photo. For all the things that we were and wished and wanted and all that we gained and lost and became. A bittersweet feeling. Just like going back to a place that you left long ago for some very good reasons, and having the dual feeling of wanting to both embrace it and blot it out. My friend, like all of us, is still who she was, and yet different. Time happens to us, moment by moment. And for some reason, I really wished for a moment to go back and lie down in the sun next to that olive-skinned girl with the thick dark brows, the tender heart and the sharp tongue. To drive down a mountain road in that low-slung orange datsun that used to spit the center of the steering wheel out into her lap at the least provocation. But that girl lives only in my memory. As the old song says, "you can always go home, but you can never go back."
It was Amber who finally talked me into Facebook. I'm incredibly cautious about the word "friends," that people seem to toss around so loosely. So far, I've been contacted by a lot of people who want to be my "friends." Some of them are complete strangers, and I can't figure that one out. Some went to high school with me, but as I didn't really talk to them then, and they didn't give a crap about me then, I can't see how we are suddenly friends now. I'm not trying to be mean or saying it can't happen, I'm saying it doesn't happen just because we were once in the same place at the same time. And I get "friend" requests from all kinds of people who went to the same schools, worked at the same companies, or are maybe even "friends" of someone I happen to know. Does that make them my friends? Call me old-fashioned, but I don't think so.
Amber has been my friend since we were twelve years old and first met over a basketball in gym. Since she thought she wanted to be nun and I thought I wanted to be a poet. Since we first held on for dear life to Thunder and War Cloud. Since she ran lines with me in junior high school basketball. Since we rolled our eyes at each other in Madame Freeman's French class. Since we were smart and unique and loving and not at all popular. And even when years have gone by without a visit or even much of a conversation, when we do come back together, it's like we never left. Just because she isn't a constant physical presence in my life has never made her less important to me. Some things go beyond time. I call that "friendship." I also call it love.
The long and winding road,
That leads to your door,
Will never disappear.
I've seen that road before . . .
It always leads me here . . .
Lead me to your door. (The Beatles)
NOTE: The posted picture here is Amber at around age 17.
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Learn to Write Right Now!
On January 17th, I will begin teaching the third term of Writing to Communicate in English for Lingua Espresso. In this course, I teach Japanese students how to create the smallest unit of English writing (the paragraph) and how to put these units together to form the most common informative kind of English writing known as the essay. We learn a lot, and we practice a little writing each week. The class goal is to produce a complete, edited essay. I proof-read and edit each piece of student writing and explain to each student why I made the changes. All of my students so far have found it a very helpful and challenging class, and I enjoy it because I think that learning to communicate in writing is as important as learning to communicate in speech. For more information on me and my course, please go to the Lingua Espresso website.
I've been a writer since I was little. My mother framed my first second-grade poem, a rather awful piece called "Happiness Is," and I've been writing ever since. I wrote a lot for myself in my journal, then in the eighth grade, when I was fourteen, I won the school essay contest on the topic "Why I Love My Country." I was very proud of that award, especially since my picture was in the paper of the little town in Arkansas that I grew up in. And after that, I never stopped writing.
I had two specialties: the essay and the poem. The essay has been my most practical form of communication. While I loved poetry, and have continued to write it for myself for several years, I never wanted to be a professional poet. The essay, on the other hand, changed my life. For one thing, I became an English major and came to excel in the essay format. From there, I found I could change my world, in both small and large ways.
Once you can write a two-page essay, you can write a five-page essay. Then a twenty-five page report, then a 110-page masters' thesis, etc. When I graduated with my PhD, I wrote a 300-page dissertation, and later wrote a novel just as long. The point is, once you start, you can write anything, of any type or length. And what can you do with that writing? Many things.
For example, I recently wrote a review of a massage conference I attended for publication in my work newsletter. Because I can write, I was able to share information with many massage therapists who could not afford to actually take the class. I also wrote a letter to the city government complaining about their poor response to a recent snowstorm. So because I can write, I can help change dangerous road conditions that hurt citizens and their vehicles. And finally, I am writing a short romance novel about an American woman and a Japanese man who form a beautiful relationship together. Why? Well, to entertain readers and to gain income for myself. This is what Americans call a win-win situation: everyone gets something they want and everyone is happy, all because I can write.
I am pleased to say that I have had a lifetime of wonderful compliments on my writing, and always enjoy teaching the skill to others. So if you are interested, please check out my upcoming writing class at Lingua Espresso. I hope to see you there!
I've been a writer since I was little. My mother framed my first second-grade poem, a rather awful piece called "Happiness Is," and I've been writing ever since. I wrote a lot for myself in my journal, then in the eighth grade, when I was fourteen, I won the school essay contest on the topic "Why I Love My Country." I was very proud of that award, especially since my picture was in the paper of the little town in Arkansas that I grew up in. And after that, I never stopped writing.
I had two specialties: the essay and the poem. The essay has been my most practical form of communication. While I loved poetry, and have continued to write it for myself for several years, I never wanted to be a professional poet. The essay, on the other hand, changed my life. For one thing, I became an English major and came to excel in the essay format. From there, I found I could change my world, in both small and large ways.
Once you can write a two-page essay, you can write a five-page essay. Then a twenty-five page report, then a 110-page masters' thesis, etc. When I graduated with my PhD, I wrote a 300-page dissertation, and later wrote a novel just as long. The point is, once you start, you can write anything, of any type or length. And what can you do with that writing? Many things.
For example, I recently wrote a review of a massage conference I attended for publication in my work newsletter. Because I can write, I was able to share information with many massage therapists who could not afford to actually take the class. I also wrote a letter to the city government complaining about their poor response to a recent snowstorm. So because I can write, I can help change dangerous road conditions that hurt citizens and their vehicles. And finally, I am writing a short romance novel about an American woman and a Japanese man who form a beautiful relationship together. Why? Well, to entertain readers and to gain income for myself. This is what Americans call a win-win situation: everyone gets something they want and everyone is happy, all because I can write.
I am pleased to say that I have had a lifetime of wonderful compliments on my writing, and always enjoy teaching the skill to others. So if you are interested, please check out my upcoming writing class at Lingua Espresso. I hope to see you there!
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Can You Say "Merry Christmas"?
Here we are, just a few days away from Christmas, America's biggest holiday. At Lingua Espresso, we are planning to host a free public event, a Pronunciation Master Class, on Saturday, December 21st, 10:30 am JST. I will be the designated teacher for the event, and I am really looking forward to it! For more details about the event in Japanese, click here.
Also, a few weeks ago, I sent a Christmas greeting to my current students that I'd like to republish here for everyone interested in Christmas as a modern American holiday:
Dear Students,
Christmas is coming up soon, and I wanted to sent holiday greetings to all of you. I know that Christmas is not the biggest holiday in Japan, but in America, it's the biggest holiday of the year, particularly for children. Children wait all year for Christmas and daydream about the wonderful candy and toys and time off from school.
Christmas is a hard holiday to explain. Formally, it is a religious holiday, the celebration of the birth of Christ, and so, Christianity. So things such as nativity scenes, and stars on the top of trees, and angels singing are all part of the Christian tradition. Some things, like yule logs are even older than Christianity: these were parts of Pagan celebrations that became part of Christmas as Christianity swept over Europe. And many things, like Santa Claus and his reindeer (including Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer), are either modern inventions or a mixture of Pagan or Christian traditions with a modern "twist."
Many Americans feel that Christmas has become too commercial and too focused on "things" such as gifts instead of love, which is the true meaning of Christmas. I believe this is true, but I also believe that some of the color and glitter and gifts are part of what make it magical for children. And also, most Americans just can't resist being just a little bit happier at Christmas. At Christmas, it seems like most people are kinder and more open-hearted. You might say that Christmas brings out the children in all of us.
Some of my happiest Christmas memories include:
1. The television claymation version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
2. Christmas Carols.
3. My first Easy-Bake Oven (they still make them for little girls).
So to all of you and your families in this month of December, may you be blessed with the love that is Christmas, and have a Happy, Happy New Year!
Lynna
Also, a few weeks ago, I sent a Christmas greeting to my current students that I'd like to republish here for everyone interested in Christmas as a modern American holiday:
Dear Students,
Christmas is coming up soon, and I wanted to sent holiday greetings to all of you. I know that Christmas is not the biggest holiday in Japan, but in America, it's the biggest holiday of the year, particularly for children. Children wait all year for Christmas and daydream about the wonderful candy and toys and time off from school.
Christmas is a hard holiday to explain. Formally, it is a religious holiday, the celebration of the birth of Christ, and so, Christianity. So things such as nativity scenes, and stars on the top of trees, and angels singing are all part of the Christian tradition. Some things, like yule logs are even older than Christianity: these were parts of Pagan celebrations that became part of Christmas as Christianity swept over Europe. And many things, like Santa Claus and his reindeer (including Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer), are either modern inventions or a mixture of Pagan or Christian traditions with a modern "twist."
Many Americans feel that Christmas has become too commercial and too focused on "things" such as gifts instead of love, which is the true meaning of Christmas. I believe this is true, but I also believe that some of the color and glitter and gifts are part of what make it magical for children. And also, most Americans just can't resist being just a little bit happier at Christmas. At Christmas, it seems like most people are kinder and more open-hearted. You might say that Christmas brings out the children in all of us.
Some of my happiest Christmas memories include:
1. The television claymation version of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.
2. Christmas Carols.
3. My first Easy-Bake Oven (they still make them for little girls).
So to all of you and your families in this month of December, may you be blessed with the love that is Christmas, and have a Happy, Happy New Year!
Lynna
Friday, September 26, 2008
Beautiful
Two random things to know about me: first, I've been a Gordon Lightfoot fan since I was old enough to sing along to the radio (my father used to put us to sleep whistling "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald.") Second, I love the word "beautiful."
There is one thing about living in a place like Seattle; it's an amazing place for music and just about every singer who ever was and is or will be popular comes through here on a regular basis. So I guess I have to give Seattle its props, because if not for it, I'd have been living in Little Rock and not here, where my lifelong dream of hearing Gordon Lightfoot live came true.
After a short marriage and a move to Seattle, my husband left, only a few months after I had gone back to school. I was stuck in a strange place and under a lot of stress. I had no idea if I'd have enough money to survive. And so when I saw the concert announcement, I fought with myself over whether I should "waste" money on something "frivolous." But I bought two tickets anyway, and I'll always be glad I did.
I asked another older coworker if she wanted to come along, and we headed north to Tulalip Casino that night. I was terribly excited . . . people always ask me, including some of my students at Lingua Espresso, if I've met Bill Clinton since I'm from Arkansas. Of course I have, and who cares? Arkansas is a small state and Bill Clinton is a politician. Gordon Lightfoot, on the other hand, is a poet. We had drinks (me a few, her MANY) and then went out to find our seats, just chairs set out on the grassy ground in front of the outdoor stage. We were randomly seated next to two guys about my age who were as excited as I was (and who looked sorry for me having to shush my drunken coworker on one side and listen to the music on the other). If only those who write about "eyes shining with happiness" could have seen mine that night, listening to "If You Could Read My Mind," and "Carefree Highway," and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," and "Beautiful" as the moon rose over the mountains. That last one is a special favorite:
At times I just don't know
How you could be anything but beautiful
I think that I was made for you
And you were made for me
And I know that I won't ever change
We've been friends, through rain or shine
For such a long, long time
Laughing eyes and smiling face
It seems so lucky just to have the right
Of telling you with all my might
You're beautiful tonight.
At some point during the concert, I reached out impulsively and took the hand of the guy next to me. He squeezed back and put his arm around me. Not too tight, nothing inappropriate. We just reveled in the music like little kids and held hands and sang along softly, and to each other at the song's end:
Well, I must say it means so much to me
To be the one
Who's telling you . . .
I'm telling you . . .
That you're beautiful.
It was a beautiful blessing to be able to share that song with someone that night. I think he was a gift from the universe, personally. I call both men and women beautiful, because beautiful is not just a physical thing. There have been many people who have passed through my life who are truly beautiful, and I tell them so now, not being as shy as when I was younger. Each of my rare close friends has been beautiful in so many ways.
I never saw that guy again, and I didn't intend to, so I wasn't sad. He was there for that night. I never saw the coworker again, either. When I was younger, I would have gotten so upset over her drunken antics that it would have ruined the experience, but I let it go in favor of drinking in the bigger picture. The bigger picture was, is, and will always be . . . beautiful.
There is one thing about living in a place like Seattle; it's an amazing place for music and just about every singer who ever was and is or will be popular comes through here on a regular basis. So I guess I have to give Seattle its props, because if not for it, I'd have been living in Little Rock and not here, where my lifelong dream of hearing Gordon Lightfoot live came true.
After a short marriage and a move to Seattle, my husband left, only a few months after I had gone back to school. I was stuck in a strange place and under a lot of stress. I had no idea if I'd have enough money to survive. And so when I saw the concert announcement, I fought with myself over whether I should "waste" money on something "frivolous." But I bought two tickets anyway, and I'll always be glad I did.
I asked another older coworker if she wanted to come along, and we headed north to Tulalip Casino that night. I was terribly excited . . . people always ask me, including some of my students at Lingua Espresso, if I've met Bill Clinton since I'm from Arkansas. Of course I have, and who cares? Arkansas is a small state and Bill Clinton is a politician. Gordon Lightfoot, on the other hand, is a poet. We had drinks (me a few, her MANY) and then went out to find our seats, just chairs set out on the grassy ground in front of the outdoor stage. We were randomly seated next to two guys about my age who were as excited as I was (and who looked sorry for me having to shush my drunken coworker on one side and listen to the music on the other). If only those who write about "eyes shining with happiness" could have seen mine that night, listening to "If You Could Read My Mind," and "Carefree Highway," and "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald," and "Beautiful" as the moon rose over the mountains. That last one is a special favorite:
At times I just don't know
How you could be anything but beautiful
I think that I was made for you
And you were made for me
And I know that I won't ever change
We've been friends, through rain or shine
For such a long, long time
Laughing eyes and smiling face
It seems so lucky just to have the right
Of telling you with all my might
You're beautiful tonight.
At some point during the concert, I reached out impulsively and took the hand of the guy next to me. He squeezed back and put his arm around me. Not too tight, nothing inappropriate. We just reveled in the music like little kids and held hands and sang along softly, and to each other at the song's end:
Well, I must say it means so much to me
To be the one
Who's telling you . . .
I'm telling you . . .
That you're beautiful.
It was a beautiful blessing to be able to share that song with someone that night. I think he was a gift from the universe, personally. I call both men and women beautiful, because beautiful is not just a physical thing. There have been many people who have passed through my life who are truly beautiful, and I tell them so now, not being as shy as when I was younger. Each of my rare close friends has been beautiful in so many ways.
I never saw that guy again, and I didn't intend to, so I wasn't sad. He was there for that night. I never saw the coworker again, either. When I was younger, I would have gotten so upset over her drunken antics that it would have ruined the experience, but I let it go in favor of drinking in the bigger picture. The bigger picture was, is, and will always be . . . beautiful.
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