random reasons to smile (lyn)

I’m on the bus today on my way to see a play with Jill.  A forty-ish woman is talking on her cell in a voice that resonates throughout the entire bus.  I tolerate her first call.  An update of the previous night’s activities.  But by the second call, and the exact same update, I can’t help myself.  She is sitting across the aisle and a few rows down.  I signal her to lower her voice, though my eyes shout, “Hang up now!”  She explodes and begins ranting.   She shouts that I shouldn’t be listening to her private conversation.  She actually says this.  Then she adds that no one else is bothered by her phone use.  And finally, she suggests that my reading a book is annoying.  I mean, really.  I’m sure my smug smile says it all when the other bus riders laugh at her specious arguments.

This makes me reflect on the week and other inconsequential things that happened to make me smile.

I am in a car with someone I don’t know very well.  She is giving me, and others, a ride somewhere.  Her 8-year-old daughter, whom I’ve never met, is sitting next to me.  Out of the blue, this adorable girl leans over to me and in a conspiratorial whisper says, “You know, sometimes I listen to inappropriate songs and find myself singing to them.”

My son is invited to a Giants-Charges game by his older, adored cousins (ages 27 and almost 29). 

I begin reading The Help by Kathryn Stockett; a book I’m expecting to love.

I’m having coffee with Karen, as I do most every weekday morning.  When I am about to leave, her 3-year old and one year old race to the entryway.  They stand facing me, their little bodies pressed against the front door, barricading me in so I cannot leave.

I’m on the phone with a friend, talking about nothing and everything.  After awhile I say that I have to go.  “Why?” she queries.  “What are you doing that you have to go?”  “Actually nothing,” I say,  “but I’ve run out of things to talk about.”  “I don’t want to hang up.  C’mon, you can think of something,” she counters.  I do and we speak for another 20 minutes. 

On the same day that I am writing about getting caught in a glue trap, M is discussing global health with the top medical experts in the country. She’s invited on a mission to Rwanda while I’m extracting glue from my shoes.

I tell my son that I think he’s responsible enough to not have a curfew, but to always keep in touch and let me know where he is and when he’ll be home.   I try to stay awake when he goes out on the weekend but sometimes can’t.  Friday night when he comes home, I’m sleeping, but his gentle kiss wakes me.  It makes me happy to know he’s safe.  And that our relationship is a good one.

I pull a pair of black pants I bought this summer from my closet.   The size 8 tag is still attached (granted, this must be one of those large size 8’s).  These never-worn pants are too big and I will have to return them. 

Jill tells me today that I once again look the way I did when we worked together at CBS in 1989.