Love is Patient, Kind, and Blind
I spent the past weekend soaking up the sun and swimming in a warm ocean. It was pristine and reminded me of all the days (I forgot about) that were just that: Sun drenched, sepia toned, and sandy.
My sunny weekend was also filled with stories that I had not yet heard before. The kind from adults that have always been around and now I am at the age where I wonder how they even got here. The advice of “it will always work out” was variously reiterated. It became obvious that I am in the part of life that is wrinkly and soon will be ironed out. But until then I guess I will be waiting patiently for the few and far between days that feel like a permanent day glow.
The inhibitors that stand in the way of an endless summer life cause me to view them under the guise that too much of a good thing is a bad thing. We moderate our lives Monday through Friday from 9 to 5 so that we are purposeful and get to say we do things when we can. It sometimes feels like a matter of killing time before the next thing rolls around.
I suffered through one of those first Mondays after a sunny holiday weekend away. On my way home, I walked past Union Square preparing to have this moment where my gaze goes upwards and towards the right admiring my favorite building in the neighborhood—200 Powell is an art deco green stunner.
Before I made it to my unlabeled landmark my route home suffered a detour of sorts. On the corner of Geary and Powell, there was an older blind man who was smiling and wading through the sidewalk as passersby played a twisted Marco Polo game. I noticed everyone else trying not to notice this man and heard him ask for directions towards the bus stop. I stopped in my tracks. He needed to get to the 38 and it was just around the corner. He followed my voice and asked to grab onto my arm. I said sure and made conversation because it struck me that I had a random blind man’s hand on my arm and we were going to be stuck like this for a little bit.
“How is your day going?”
“Oh just blessed, I turned 64 today.”
“Well, Happy birthday!”
He told me,
“God protects babies and knuckleheads and I am most definitely not a baby.”
The bus came right when we made it to the stop like this whole ordeal was choreographed. I wished him another happy birthday and said goodbye.
I felt overwhelmingly emotional over the fact that I could see and he couldn’t. I felt funny about telling anyone that I helped a blind man get on a bus. It is the whole tree falling in a forest conundrum. Telling people about doing a simple good deed is self righteous and the worst part is that I cannot for the life of me remember his name, but I remember how his hand felt on my arm, how he waved his white cane, how it was sunny, and how particularly loud the sigh of the bus was when it knelt down.
Tuesday rolled around and I met Sharon. A seamstress who is sewing an insane 17 foot long tiered curtain for the company I work for. We got to talking. In between the words seam allowance and raw hem, she told me about her life. She interrupted herself when she was telling me about the marriage she had in between her first and third one,
“Oh I really don’t know why I am saying any of this to you”
But, she went on to tell me how she landed in San Francisco, how she worked for Hang Ten, O'Neill Wetsuits, and a few other apparel manufacturers. I told her how I have my Grandfather's Hang Ten shirt. She got a kick out of that because Sharon used to sew in the Hang Ten warehouse with her mother. She came to San Francisco for the first time when she was 10 and has been married to her third husband now for 43 years. Sharon has three daughters and seems to be very happy with her life. She no longer works directly in apparel, instead she works for a non-profit and takes on these projects when she can. Sharon (to me) seems to have had life figured out.
A few summers ago when I was in Alaska, I remember talking to this woman who told me “life is a good place too.” I love how pliable the sentiment is. Life could be rooted in instances that happen at a particular place of life. Or it can just be any place because you are somewhere alive and breathing or maybe it is all about a real Earth under your feet kind of place? I guess it is all just as good. I find myself in situations more often than not having conversations with people and they say the most remarkable things. It has gotten to the point where it feels kismet, but really it is because I have patient tendencies and almost constantly smile and nod. I have felt very concerned lately about making the right decisions regarding my own life, trying to be a better friend, sister, daughter, and plainly a good person. Supposedly, love is both patient and kind and maybe if you want to lead a life full of it [love], it makes sense to do kind things and remain patient.
Life seems to get sweet in the summer and I keep thinking about all the rest of the summers I will hopefully be having (the kind way down the line). I am sure they will be honey colored while my eyes squint up at the sun, but until then I will be waiting my turn and leading the blind when I see them.
