A Dog is Not

When you move, old friends want to know if you’ve made new ones. Who are their replacements? When will we stop writing and calling? When will we forget each other? When will time and distance swallow up our relationship and excrete loneliness? With whom have I found shelter to speak to? The question is a stumper.

I called my son, an adult, a distant friend, to tell him I was taking myself to the zoo. "Isn't that pathetic?" I said to him - not that I was going but that I was going alone. As it turned out I changed my mind as I crossed the bridge to Seattle and followed the signs to the Arboretum instead of going to the zoo. I found the Japanese garden, but it was closed. I drove on and got out at the visitor center to get my bearings on the “Winter Garden.” I thought about volunteering, especially to wash their windows as they much needed it. The rain had splattered mud dots up onto the glass, but it looked as though all efforts to keep it clean had been abandoned many inches of precipation ago. I decided to just start out with a walk.

I was going along, looking for the "Winter Garden" when I saw a long haired, long-legged man in blue jeans slouching on a park bench while writing in a journal with his old dog nosing around the bushes nearby. I nodded as I went by, hoping that was ok. I wondered again if there was some Northwest code of body language that I was missing since I always seemed to be saying, "Excuse me," in the grocery store, feeling like I am in the way.

I was a few paces past him, when he said in a god-like voice - like Bill Cosby leaning into his mike saying, "Noah, build me an ark," -"WHY DO YOU WALK ALONE?" I pivoted on the path, thought briefly if my mother would find out if I spoke to a stranger, and queried, "Why do you sit alone?" He shrugged sheepishly and gestured toward his dog. He explained that as he sat there he saw so many people walking alone; there just seemed to be so much loneliness. I blurted out that I had just moved here and didn't know anyone. An older woman with short gray hair and a small gray poodle came strolling by with a knowing smile on her face. She had overheard parts of the conversation. If I had known dogs counted I could have brought my own.

We said an awkward goodbye and I continued my search for the Winter Garden while considering my friendship and loneliness issues. Just moved here? It's been almost a year. I finally found the Witch Hazel in bloom and tried to memorize the barks and leaves of hemlock, western cedar, and that other tree that one sees so much of around here. I saw couples and families. When I rounded the bend on the trail the thinking man was still there so I petted his dog and reported that the world was not as lonely as he thought. There were couples and families in this very arboretum. Really, how much of a party did he expect to see walking the woods in winter under a Seattle grey sky?

I resumed my solitary stroll, but tried to make it brisk to burn off the 20 pounds of loneliness I picked up this winter. There is nothing like the pleasure of a half gallon of Breyer’s Vanilla Fudge ice cream in one uninterrupted sitting.

I drove out of the visitor center parking lot. I didn’t volunteer although it occurred to me that it might be a tree-lined avenue to making friends. I waved goodbye to the writing man. We left the parking lot in common. I wonder if there are many synonyms in the thesaurus for loneliness or does it sit apart.

3/2005
Posted by cindy at June 16, 2006 10:04 PM

Comments

A half gallon at once? Ewww.

Nice image, loneliness sitting apart. Like misery, it would looove some company.

Posted by: Calamity Jane at June 17, 2006 12:16 AM

That is beautiful, Aunt Cindy. You have a wonderful way of gently pointing to a thought without hitting the reader over the head with it. Meaning rests softly on your words instead of obscuring them. Well done. I look forward to more.

Posted by: Drew Talbert at June 25, 2006 02:18 PM