March certainly read the poem this year, roaring in like a lion, going out like a lamb. I, for one, and probably far more than one, have appreciated the rush of early summer weather, especially now that the pine pollen season is over. Not to worry, there'll be more pollen, harder to see pollen, more likely to set off the nose pollen before we're in the clear and cruising the beach.
A season into these notes leaves me thinking a couple of things. First, there's the business with what the original author called “extreme” notes. These were the notes he considered, at least initially, to be a stretch, like the card he gave to his barista for remembering his name and his preferred order. I need to take issue with the use of “extreme” to characterize these cards. It's as though he is minimizing them because they're for the small things. Or perhaps I need to reread his book. Nonetheless, I see these cards as the most important. They tell me he was seeing the little things we do for one another to make our lives a little easier, a little better, and I doubt any one will argue that we have too much of that, at least in today's harried world.
It doesn't take much to turn someone's day around, and it certainly doesn't cost us any more than the little bit of time needed to, say, hold open a door. Way back in the day, I asked my daddy why he waved to people we met driving down the road. He said that throwing up his finger didn't cost a cent, and it was important that we be neighborly. That small gesture is about lost on today's world. There's just too much traffic to wave at everyone. Unfortunately, people get used to that, and then they show up in my apartment elevator only to feel, or at least act, discombobulated as I add a greeting when they step in and the door closes. Yes, the introvert in me can, and often does, go a long while without speaking, but it's also interesting in my multicultural environment to express the social pleasantries, and then watch what happens.
My other though after a season sending these notes is a continuation of an observation I had earlier, that being that I send a lot of cards to work. First, that doesn’t surprise me all that much as I spend the bulk of my life at work. Well, I do sleep, but there's not a lot of opportunity to send cards motivated by sleeping. Maybe I could thank my neighbor for being quiet. Of course, we have sound-proofed walls so he might not be all that quiet. I might never know.
That leaves the handful of non-work waking hours to be around people. Well, I tend to seek some form of aerobic exercise during those times, and typically, those are not shared events, not even in the gym where it's packed with people. In the gym, it's all about parallel play, not doing things together. Maybe I should start Tae Kwon Do again. Or not.
So what left me thinking about the people around me, or lack thereof, when I'm not working? Specifically, March found me calling a physician's office to arrange a freaking colonoscopy. They say old farts like me need these things periodically, but I'm pretty sure this is (1) a scan, and (2) medically sponsored torture. I'm sure they're plotting against me. Regardless, that all seems tame enough. Just a medical procedure. Diagnostic. Routine. Done under anesthesia. I won't remember it minute of it. So what's the deal? They require a driver, and it can't be a taxi, to take me home.
Five years ago, I called upon a bud at work, and she agreed, but she's changed jobs, leaving me without a replacement. I suspect this was all a part of her design and career planning. Now, before you start volunteering, I do believe I have someone. It's just that I had to stop and think about it, and that's what triggered the flag. I probably need to get out more. Probably.