a regular conversationalist

I had a long post prepared for this morning and then decided no. Another California thing. Maybe another time.

I’d like to say I’m talked out, but in fact I’m hardly ever talking. Here’s one conversation : I drove to Trader Joe’s about 5:30 yesterday afternoon for things. My refrigerator was fairly empty. Mostly dairy stuff – sour cream, yogurt, cottage cheese, jack cheese, which is me dissolving into the cow-ness of life.

Before checking out I walked over to enjoy the flowers, cause I do, and saw two women – a mother and daughter – looking at and picking up the various bunches of colors of Alstromeria. So, see, here’s me as a regular Chatty Cathy — “Those are my favorite flowers,” I said. “I have some at home now lasting nearly three weeks.” The younger woman asked, “They last that long?” and I said, “Yes.” The older woman, Mom, looked at me and said, “We’re picking flowers for her wedding.”

I got to say, “Congratulations,” and then went to check out. It was just like myself and the cows of Arcata – a very little grateful slice of cool conversation. And there’s the reverence, too, of silence I have with my flowers.