tourist.

I have been pretty ambitious this week, making my way into the foreign, to new museums, eateries, and sections of town. I had two days off in a row, and though I dreamed of using the time off to make a short exit, looking up plane and train tickets to various stops on the map, I decided on the practical, and to spend some hours exploring the newness of my present.

On Friday I made it to the National Gallery of Art, and Saturday, a run preceded stops at some shops, a date with overdue Indian cuisine, and a foreign film titled "The Concert". So that's what I did, but what this is about has nothing much to do with my itinerary.

It's about the little boy on the subway that perfected the task of making faces at his grandpa. Grandpa looked at him, beckoning some mischievous behavior, and the three year old just punched him in a serious, I've had it with you sort of way. And then they went back and forth, giggling...grandpa acting like a kid, kid channeling grown-up.

The next train ride brought the man, sleeping in his seat, with a bouquet of flowers resting in his lap. I don't know who the lucky one was, and if it was for no reason, in celebration, or in mourning, and the man wasn't wearing a ring. But the image of the flowers in his lap was nice, and regardless of their course, so was the idea that he was thinking of someone, and that's something this world can't really get enough of.

Sitting outside of the Gap, after a thirty minute period of trying on things I'd maneuvered from the disorganized and overstuffed sales rack, I sat outside on the steps in hunger, googling a place to eat. A couple passed by, perhaps in their seventies. He was taller than she, carrying a shopping bag from Banana Republic, Gap's neighbor. They were strolling, and happened to be enjoying each other's company. I followed their trail away, and watched him lift her purse from her shoulders, to take some of the weight of her day away; She looked at him with a smile of gratitude as they walked further on.

At the movie, I sat next to a couple, who seemed to have been married for years. Their company seemed so natural and appropriate, like apples being picked from apple trees, or mellow music on a Sunday morning. I was at the movie quite early, and so privy to conversation I'd otherwise miss. They still seemed to have so much to talk about, and enjoyed listening to the thoughts of the other. This is something I think about when I think about being married for years, which in and of itself is hard for this relationship novice to imagine. It's a hope that not only will I find a someone to spend lots and lots of years with, but also someone that I won't tire of conversing with. They were a picture of this. A preview passed by that she enjoyed and she subtly said, "I'd like ot see that." He nodded, not in agreement but in recognition, and she asked, "would you like to see that one," with a tone of hope. "I would," he responded. As they exited their seat, after the film had ended, he maneuvered himself down the stairs with his cane in is right hand, her hand in his left.

A friend of mine from work gave me a blue stone, since it's the color of my eyes. It's a gratitude stone, she said, and when I reach in my pocket to get something and I feel its smooth surface, I am supposed to think about the things I am truly grateful for. I made my way home on the metro, thoughtful of the day, inspired by humanity that had been sprinkled throughout my itinerary, and by the blue stone gift I'd been given. I marveled at the weather, and what felt like a sixty-degree evening as the breeze pierced my skin.

My mind wandered to an evening with Melinda and Liz on a red couch, as we each sipped girly drinks and they gave a sermon to me of what they want me to have in my life. I thought of Aimi, and the countless times she has expressed more interest and excitement at goodness coming my way than I did. I thought a conversation with Chris a few weeks before I left, as she tried to explain how injury toward me is injury toward her, and that she feels it, too. I thought about the meal Isaiah made for me on one of my least favorite evenings, an evening that turned out to be one of the best because of his care, and because of the homemade avocado sauce deliciousness. I thought of Lindsay wanting me to hate where I am so I'd just up and move in with her, and of my Aunt Mae, who feels as if I've been gone from Tulsa for a year, though it's only been two months. I thought of the crane Mary gave to me at Melinda's wedding, speaking of adventure, and of not giving up, and of Tonia, always reminding me to give myself more grace, and credit. I thought of Pamela, my cousin and hostess, and the encouragement, challenge and friendship she has offered to me, generously, since the moment I arrived to be a guest in her house. And readers, the gratitude and the weather and perhaps the mellow music providing a most appropriate soundtrack brought tears up, welling to the surface. The rest of my walk was accompanied with a cry of gratitude, salty water streaming from my blue eyes, like the stone placed on a path of streaming water.

In light of my day and what I'd payed attention to, I wondered what passersby were thinking of this lady, walking, smiling, and crying. I hope they felt a little piece of humanity. That's what I hope.