The Stranger

    As a few people know, I often take a few moments to break away from cubical life and walk around Old Town Pocatello. Well, I did, before it froze over and became the windiest place on the face of the planet (I know that is a bit of an exaggeration, but it sure feels like it when you go outside).

    I do not necessarily participate in this quiet ritual for exercise, (though the physical benefits have been wonderful), I have found that taking even 15 minutes to get out of these four office walls and literally take a breath and mental reset my brain is one of the most refreshing things I am able to do. I am able to experience the different seasons from beyond the window, to not only see what is going on, but to smell, to hear. It sort of reminds me of being a kid, when 90 percent of my day was spent outside. (But that is another blog)  I did not realize how little time I spent outdoors until I started walking.

     Anyway, some of the people who mill around in these historic neighborhoods are interesting to say the least. I have seen people dressed in their finest to train folks camping out in the bushes at Simplot Square. But as strange as some of these people are, almost all of them say "hello."

    Then there was the one who said so much more.

    On one of my many foot fueled expeditions, I saw a quite elderly woman scooting along on the sidewalk about a block in front of me. She was sort of hunched over, as one would expect someone with so many years of life to be, and had a small, empty, canvas bag strapped to her right shoulder (now that I think about it, she was probably walking to the library). Not wanting to startle her as I passed, I announced my presence with a quick "hello" as I became within hearing distance.

   She turned, smiled, then returned my hello before striking up a conversation. I slowed my pace and walked with her for a bit. We talked about the weather, and how beautiful the particular day had become, and she told me some of her childhood memories, spending summers in Tetonia, how beautiful it was.

   When we came to the bridge over the river, we stopped and looked out through the chain link to watch the water drift by. She told me about growing up in a home literally right down the street from where we now stood, and about how one day she had gone out to play, and her mother, unable to find her, had become terrified that the child had fallen into the river. (History break:  Back then, of course, the Portneuf had no concrete channel and chain link to protect it from overflowing and people from falling in. Before that time, not only did it flood many times when the ice jammed in the spring, but it was responsible for the drownings of many small children.)

    Of course, she had not fallen into the water, but was innocently playing, and was discovered by her mother, unharmed and unaware of the panic her wandering had caused.

    I made a comment to the effect of "It is a good thing you were OK!" and she smiled a sweet, old lady smile, and pointed toward the sky and replied, "I know my boss upstairs, so I know that everything is OK."

    This is not about to take a turn into a religious tangent, by the way (seriously, please, come back), I will save a blog for religion when I am feeling more bold and particularly determined to tackle that topic.

    I have no idea what religion this gal is/was, and it does not matter. Nor does it really matter to me what anyone's religion is (see previous paragraph). What struck me about her statement at that moment was the conviction, the confidence, the calmness with which she spoke. Here was a lady who had seen at least 80 years, the inventions of the computer, cell phones, man walking on the moon, etc. The stories she could tell, and, based on her willingness to speak to me about her childhood, would be more than willing to, given an afternoon.

    And she was not afraid of anything. Here she was, walking by herself, striking up a conversation with a complete stranger. She was living, not just existing, and she was happy. Not just content, but genuinely happy to be alive. How many people can say that?

   There are those who would say she was just lonely and glad to have someone to talk to, but I would retort that she was not lonely at all, and her talking to me was not because she finally had an ear to listen and was simply taking the opportunity. She was talking and sharing with me because we were two people whose paths had happened to literally cross one afternoon. Why not speak and share? Why be afraid? It was completely natural to her.

     I will never know a time when it was not normal to be afraid. In the 33 years I have been alive it has been normal to have electric fences and security systems, caller ID and deadbolts on our doors. Parents told us to not talk to strangers because they might shove us into a smelly old van and drive away.  It must have been wonderful to not be afraid.

   I have purposely taken that path several times since that day, and have not had the pleasure of meeting her again since that day. Sometimes I wonder if she was even real. But, even if she wasn't . . . that's OK,  I was not afraid. :)