Yesterday started with a random run-in with one of my blog stalkers and ended with an Ethiopian dinner goodbye to Mama’s best friend from growing up and her fiancé.
My ride to work was unexceptional other than the extra effort required because I was taking the long route in because I was going to go straight from work to dinner rather than riding home. That is, it was unexceptional until I was just about to go down the ramp to the bike room in the garage under our building, which is when I crossed paths with a former coworker. Turns out that she stalks me here, which means that she knew more about what I’ve been doing than I could remember.
Calvin observed that verbing weirds language. Blogging weirds conversations. What’s left to talk about if all the small talk catch up has been covered in writing already? Lord knows I’m not capable of substantive conversation on meaningful topics. If I was, I’d write a book, not a blog.
Perhaps my inability to engage in conversation comes from my inability to complete a sentence without the interruption of a song, request for a snack, need for a bike ride, request to set up a tent, and so on. Not that I’m complaining. I’d much rather camp out in the living room with 3B, Eeyore and George than listen to myself blather.
It would be nice, however, to occasionally hear from other folks, but Mama and I have learned that we can tag team conversations and piece them together later. This came in handy at dinner at our favorite Ethiopian place last night.
I spent the first half following 3B up and down the stairs while Mama chatted with her friend and her fiancé, then we swapped roles for the second half of the meal. I make it sound worse than it was. 3B actually spent a fair amount of time sitting with us and talking, eating his dinner and playing his new pink recorder, which we bought at a shop down the street while waiting.
He also charmed the waitresses from the moment he walked in. When they learned his name, which is popular in Ethiopia and is the name of one of the waitresses’ older brother, they really took a liking to him. When the waitress whose brother shares 3B’s name saw how I was walking up and down the steps with him as the others ate, she called him over and had him help her out by taking sugar packets out of the box they were in, then put them back in. She continued to chat with him throughout our meal, making 3B and us happy.
After dinner, as we walked down the street to our cars, we detoured through Maggie Moo’s for some ice cream. 3B got his usual–vanilla with rainbow sprinkles–and then charmed the server with his polite “thank you” and his laugh of exhilaration. But, of course, as soon as 3B had his cone in hand, he walked back to the toppings display, slapped his hand on the glass and declared, “I want gummy bears.” Repeatedly.
The server was watching 3B and laughing as he prepared my cone–I got Heath bars folded in, so it took a minute–and after he handed me my cone and we were walking away, the server called me back and handed me a cup lid with two dozen gummy bears in it for 3B.
After evening like that, with good friends and around friendly people, like our waitress and ice cream server, my faith in humanity is restored. I feel like we are all in this thing together, supporting one another.
And as we said our goodbyes to Mama’s friend and her fiancé, 3B walked around the circle of us and gave us each a big hug–you know, on our thighs, since that’s as high as he can reach.
3B gets it. He’s in this thing with us too.