Life’s winds tossed me hard this week. I’ve dealt with self-righteous colleagues, unreasonable clients and uncooperative kin. Pressure at work, down-time minimal, and ….
Sunday morning, maybe 7. I was basking Caribou’s patio sun when another lawyer walked by. Randi is mid-40’s, reasonably smart, and if she ever learned how to smile, attractive.
“Mind if I sit down?” she asked mid-descent.
“No, “ I lied.
For twenty plus minutes she railed on everything and everyone in her life, (not necessarily excluding her husband).
“Don’t you ever get depressed?” she asked.
“No.”
“Ever?”
“Well,” I backed off…”I get flat, but it passes.”
She did another ten minutes or so, periodically reaffirming herself by reminding me of her “big house and nice practice.”
“I’m sure you have a lot to be thankful for,” said I.
“Who gives a flying f#&!” (thought I).
“Yeah,” she sighed, “…But sometimes I feel I have nobody…”
• My immediate thought was “Gee, I wonder if she’s
hitting on me?’ My even more immediate reaction:
1, Pray she’s not… 2, Use humor…and 3, RUN!
Took a deep breath and tested my wit:
“You know,” if I had your house, your practice— I’d still be married.”
Then, not quite knowing where I was going: “…Just brainstorming here… but if you ever want to leave your husband there’s someone you should meet…”
“I’m not leaving him,” said Randi, (taking the bait).
“Just as well, SHE’S married too.”
By the time my friend caught on I was standing:
“Gotta go…too muggy out here.” I said, entering the coffee shop to hide.
I used to be like her…mid-40s and reasonably smart….but for the most part, I’ve always smiled, and clearly for the most part I’ve gauged things half full, not plain empty. My dad would say she’s crying with a loaf of bread under each arm.
Today it’s a rare moment that I’m not grateful; it is a rare day that I don’t count my blessings. The little things, the intangibles…matter most.
In 2010 my troubles are only problems and my problems are only life.
And true pleasure abounds.
Like breakfast with the boys this morning…which gave me the smile to trudge final hours of trial.
Or the voice mail from Fenton, retrieved exiting court:
“B, call me! ___________ wants to friend me on Facebook. Let’s see how we can aggravate him.”
Stuart’s, of course, was the first call returned. Our plan quickly hatched, he quietly listened in as I dialed the victim. Alas, voice mail! Disconnecting _________, I referenced getting older.
“I don’t think we have to worry about that, B,” said Stuart. “We’re 60 years old and still making phony phone calls!”
An epiphany.
As we both laughed, Stu looked for a second number; we weren’t quite done.
Driving out I-90, grinning, my heart was light. I saw the smiles of Les, Himmel, Walt, Kraut and Stuart all reflecting back on me…from a glass half full.
My sun roof open, I was basking in the shoreway’s sun, and I couldn’t wait for the rest of the day.