About five hundred words. On Caring Saturday October 4/2014----supportive, around six p.m. I have dubbed myself poet of the food court. Its in the supermarket where I shop for groceries. I confess to having a weakness for their new Montreal cheddar cheese bagel, toasted with cream cheese and blended coffee to go with it. Restaurants are not the kind of place where its comfortable to hang and take up space with just a coffee. Anyway, there always something I need to pick up. I always take a lined pad from the dollar store with me in case I get an idea for a song or a story, or to just journal. The food court has been drastically transformed into a fully fledged light lunch and light supper place now. Theres a Noodle Bar, an upscale Bakery, Designer Pizza, no dead space, more ideas coming! New cleaning people to and I wonder as a slender, almost gaunt man is bending down from his well above average height over the empty tables, wiping them clean with a spray bottle of something and a cloth. Under fifty, his dyed dark hair doesnt hide the fact that he is closer to fifty than to thirty. He is quite a bit taller than six foot four, probably six foot seven or more. His features are slavic, --an immigrant, Im thinking. So, whats his story? Why is he doing menial labour for which he must be grossly overqualified. What is story, I wonder. Thats the thing, isnt it! Everyone has a story. The inner response comes swiftly. But, who wants to hear ? Does anybody care? Do they notice that Im around, do they miss me, or will they miss me if Im not. then it dawns on me. An interesting thought or observation. Ive never seen this man before, and of course I can empathize, vicariously experience that he is humbling himself, but then, no honest labour should be thought of as humbling, or demeaning. Even the richest and wisest among us understand that we all serve. My bagel is finished. Must be careful not to become addicted. What if they dont have them when I want one! When I was younger I was always looking for answers, always trying to change things. Im more comfortable with questions now. Indeed, I have already been rewarded on this bittersweet autumn day with the cold wind shining on summer flowers in the bright sunshine just before supportive. I wondered about this over-tall dark immigrant . He is doing the best he can with what he has. Hopefully someone who loves him is waiting for him to come home. Its supportive. What matters in the end and at beginnings is that we care about each other. Stranger is a not a good word, really. I notice a young couple with their nine or ten year old daughter and son. A beautiful family having their pizza supper. They appear happy and hopeful and I find myself hoping fate and circumstance will deal kindly with them. Caring. youtube/watch?v=UTv3TONfTTQ
Posted on: Sun, 05 Oct 2014 01:33:53 +0000
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