Moments

On a whim, I made a run to the local natural-foods store (Clover's, for those in the know) just before its closing time tonight. I was working on writing a letter to AM, and put off going just long enough so that I had to really hop on the bike and race, head- and tail-lights flashing.

Got there, grabbed a few random things (rice milk, spinach, cat food, chocolate, baby oil--I did say random, after all), and got in line. Two spots ahead of me was a wonderfully whimsically eccentric older woman who was very much an extrovert, randomly engaging the girl working the register (who, incidentally, had a stunning smile, in a vaguely Ani DiFranco way) and the 50-something moustached fellow in front of me, who looked tan and well-off (but not aloof) and was buying some peaches and black-bean-chili chips. Her cart was quite full, and it was closing time, and she looked back and noticed our comparatively small loads and was apologetic, though in a somewhat wacky and endearing way.

While the checkout girl (all too demeaning a description for her; let's call her something else...say, Ariadne) worked through the myriad items and bags and the woman made a complex show of paying, a bag of carob-coated something--almonds, maybe?--burst in her cart and spilled over the floor. Again, a sort of wacky apologetic, slightly doddering, yet not really, reaction from her. The fellow in front of me and I picked them up off the floor and poured them into Ariadne's proffered hands. The woman, with apologetic tone but playful intent, wondered whether the other fellow and I were in a hurry. We both insisted no, and she looked at me and said something about do I never rush? and I smiled and replied, I don't want to say that categorically, but I'm certainly not in this moment!

Then the long, slow process of checking out all her goods got underway, and the woman engaged the fellow in front of me in some conversation about travel. He had the look about him of a guy who goes to very sunny places to play golf, but again, not really in a bothersome way; he seemed congenial to all involved. Then the woman turned to me and out of the blue, asked: "Are you a singer?" I was flummoxed for a half second but said yes, and asked why. Then she pointed to her throat, and said after a moment, "it's here. You've got it. It's in your voice." Well, that made me blush, especially in the presence of Ariadne. It was one of the best, most spontaneous comments anyone's ever made on my voice. Most of the time, when people say something, they ask if I've done radio or some such. And I've had compliments on my voice when I sing. (Some of the best ever came a couple years back at the Sequatchie Valley Institute, when I performed a killer set of "Tristesse" by The Church and led a round of "Happy Birthday" for Ann Marie.) But to have someone just hear me say a few words with good humor (and a bit of dimples and smile lines thrown in) and then tell me there's music in my voice--that's something.

I was feeling pretty miserable and helpless at one point earlier in the evening. Working on the letter helped me feel better. Being in the right place at the right time for such a random moment as the one described above made me feel good.

As I was finally checking out, Ariadne thanked me for my patience. I thanked her for staying late (it was 10 min. after closing time at this point), and said, "it's amazing what kind of energy you can find just by being open to it at the right time." She smiled and said, "well said."