In the mode of Jonathan Carroll

Several weeks ago, I was having dinner with a friend who was just about to ship out to Thailand for a several year stint with the Peace Corps. It was a somewhat cold evening and I had an early morning, and after dinner and dessert, she left in a cab to her hotel, and I walked downstairs into the subway.

At the front of the the subway car, an older woman was inexplicably dressed, in layers of mismatched pieces, too clean to be homeless, sorting through plastic grocery bags tied to her cart. She had a small dog with her, who was bundled up in a bit of a blanket and a harness. She was looking for something in her groceries, shuffling past packages of Lean Cuisine until she found two bottles of an upscale iced tea, and began to carefully read the labels, looking for something on the lists of ingredients.

We got off at the same station, and it turned out that she was waiting for the same bus. She asked another passenger if it had already come, and was pleased that it had not yet. While we waited she told me about the schedule, and that the driver on this bus was much nicer than some others, who wouldn't always wait for you to come out of the subway station when it was cold like tonight.

The driver pulled up in a bus smaller than I'm used to, with only twenty-six seats on it. While the woman held her dog, he lifted her cart into the bus, and we settled down to wait a few minutes until it was time to leave. She started to look through her groceries again, and pulled out the two iced teas. "I was shopping at the Safeway at Church street, and I brought you some tea. This one is called Courage, and the other one is Strength, but you don't need that one, because you're already so big and strong." They began to catch up, and she talked about her shopping, and her new OCD medication. He reminded her to make sure that she was drinking enough water with it, and she said she was, and liked this much better than she'd liked her old medication. They were obviously old friends, and they visited as we wound up the hill, him talking about the fruit trees that have been in his yard longer than he's owned the house, and how his tenants would harvest the fruit and give him a box when he stops by, and she oohed and ahed about how much she loves avocados. "I'll bring you a box next time."

When we get to her stop, he lifts her cart to the sidewalk, and she totters off, clutching her dog and smiling gently. As we make our way down the hill to mine, we talk about my friend going to Thailand, and admire the view of the Bay from the top of the hill.

On Mourning

ozarque has an excellent article that wraps up the discussion she's been having about mourning, and I am reminded that not all mourning is of death. It's a very good article.