More Quotes and a Question

I stole this from Emily's Facebook status:

‎"(Steven walks by with a towel around his waist) Me: Nice skirt. Steven: You like my skirt? Me: not really. Steven: It's a nice skirt! Me: Not if you catch it on a nail. Steven: That's why I walk on the out-skirts."

I've just figured out why I haven't been able to write that novel I keep thinking about. Jan Karon, who wrote the Mitford series, was asked, "Where do you write?" and she answered:

"My studio stretches across the back of my little house. It has eight windows that look out on a copse of trees. I can see the blue outline of the mountains in the distance. Where I write is exceedingly important to me. I am never comfortable unless I am in a room that pleases me. I need the pictures on the wall to be hanging straight. I have to do my housekeeping before I can sit down at the computer. Things need to be in order in my mind and in the place where I write."
She also said,
"Being a writer requires a lot of solitude."

Apparently, then, having a nest of ants crawling in the printer beside the computer and Jenny dumping kittens in my lap while she practices piano 4 feet away and Emily wandering in to tell me about her latest dreams and Ben impatiently waiting for the computer so he can download something for college and Paul printing off seed test results at my elbow and Steven running around the house hunting for his shirt for the concert and both phones ringing and Amy coming in to ask if I was expecting her to make supper is not exactly a "lot of solitude" or the ideal life for a writer.

Somehow I already knew that.

Now the question:

How much do you, my fine readers, talk to strangers and just get involved?

I am descended from parents who are of two extremes. Dad talks to anyone, anywhere. He asks them where they're from and what they do and are they Swedish or Norwegian? This might be other people having family gatherings at the park, people in town, the doctor's receptionist.

Mom says polite hellos and responds to comments about the weather.

Anyway.

When I flew to Minnesota I was waiting at the gate at PDX when I saw a 30-something couple with a boy maybe 8 years old standing in the hallway. I couldn't hear all the conversation but the tension and anger were so obvious that people started glancing at them and then at each other like, "Whoa, can you believe that?"

The boy held onto his mom's hand and glared at the dad. The mom looked like if she weren't in polite company she'd start yelling. And the dad looked ready to hit somebody.

The mom was saying stuff like, "Is this our gate?" "Is this where we're supposed to be?" "Well, go check! Ask somebody!"

And the man was insisting, "I already did!" and, "No! You go!"

Obviously the tones of voice and looks of eye were much worse than the actual words.

And we all sat there awkwardly and did nothing.

I was casting about in my mind if I should say something to them--ask if I can help, point them to the right gate, tell them to grow up and get their act together for the sake of the child and quit being so selfish.

I know it's dangerous to wade into marital disputes but I've also found that wearing a long skirt and veil affords me a bit of respect/protection because people often assume I'm a nun.

I didn't say anything, and regretted it.

Wouldn't you know it, when I got to the boarding area in Chicago almost a week later to fly home, there was that same man, minus the wife and child. Oh my, was this my sign to talk with him?

So I prayed that if I was supposed to, I'd end up beside him on the plane. Instead, I ended up with a young mom with two children.

Ok, whatever. But what would YOU have done?

Two days ago I was in WinCo getting my last item for my overloaded cart, a box of 5 dozen eggs, but I had to wait on the guy ahead of me at the glass doors. He was short and stocky, with a trimmed white beard, and he wore a sea-green shirt with dark green pants. I had a wild impulse to tell him, "You look just like a leprechaun," but I didn't, and my guess is you wouldn't have either.

But maybe I'm wrong.

Oh--and someone found my blog by Googling:

"Christian cats"