2004-11-01 - 8:42 p.m.
Not very long ago I was a very naive girl for my age. It took a great deal to convince me that naivete would not serve me well the older I got, and never had. Two years ago I realized that losing my shock of the world did not mean I had to participate or advocate it too. Experience did not equal acceptance.
There was a time I played U2's "Stuck In A Moment" over and over, again and again. The line, "There's nothing you can throw at me that I haven't already heard," became my motto to overcome naivete with wisdom. A grandmother told me the following story: She worked as a teacher. On her first day she faced the class and told them that she had raised x number of boys. There was nothing they could say or do she had not already heard or seen. With that she immediately earned their respect and attention. With my work experience, I think that by 30-years-old I could hear or see all I need to about life to no longer be surprised by it.
In the space of two weeks I met a truck driver from Tennessee who lived with foster parents in Switzerland as a young child and thought he and his wife had more fun bowling Grand Junction when their truck broke down that they did on their days off at home. I learned that driving together, they make over $800/week.
One man loved my Irish name and went on to tell me that he and his brother were given mismatched names. This man, Kevin is his name, was convinced that "Kevin" belonged to dark-toned men whereas "Eric" belonged to fair-haired men. Kevin is, or used to be, fair-haired; we can imagine what his brother looks like. I told him that his name means kindness, and he filled in the rest. Apparently, throughout his nursing career, people have complimented him on his kindness. Mothers know what they are doing.
One day a woman told me I looked like a model and why was I working for Enterprise? The following day a man told me, unnecessarily, that he painted nude women, so I quickly brought the conversation back to the geography of southern Oregon and nudged the gas pedal. At the office he decided to show me a sample he had done on plastic like a credit card. He was a total weirdo who would fit well into southern Oregon.
Then there was the woman who lost her husband two days earlier, their car broke down which was not safe to drive over the mountain pass anyway. I got her into a comfortable vehicle, but had nothing to comfort her heart. She rambled in grief, and told me that more than half of her had died with him. Admiring my calendar, she explained that she and her family (a grand daughter and a few others maybe) were starting an internet business soon. I could only think that she must be short of money to start something like that.
The first customer I helped picked up told us that his son who had just started college in August had broken his back. They were remodeling the Grand Junction house, formerly a rental, to make it comfortable for his son.
I could hardly bear the principal from Seattle who chose to live her sabbatical helping a cousin, or some relative, with her hotel in little Meeker, CO (small, dusty, hick country). A liberal and pacifist-whatever that's supposed to mean, she was shocked by hunting season. Laundry was making her good money, but she was disgusted with the vulgarity of hunting camp that overwhelmed the hotel. Her experience undoubtedly confirmed everything bad and worse that she has ever thought about hunting. I was curious to know how the offspring of her grandparents, homesteaders and hunters, though she called it poaching, had become vegetarian pacifists, but I had to diplomatically actively listen instead. She was, if I can use a figure of speech, a hair-trigger liberal that I did not want to set off. She had driven to Grand Junction in the first place to attend a Republican Women's luncheon with Ruth Coors "to see what they are thinking". I almost forgot not to laugh at her: I could see right away that she wanted not to listen, but to talk. I was glad she was delayed with us so the unsuspecting women, especially the ones who invited her, could eat their lunch in peace.
There have been so many characters, some more colorful than others, through whom I vicariously glean a little understanding of suffering, hope. life, sickness, and death.
