On nodding terms

 

Strange where misery can lead you.

In this case, it led me to the north-east corner of Linden and Oscar, where I never go, normally.

I had barrelled out into the September evening, furious at the Resident Fan boy, and fleeing my feelings.  I considered heading east on Fairfield Road, currently being stripped and dug for resurfacing, gawd knows when.

However the blurred indigo of the Olympic Mountains drew me to turn my toes south at the last minute, and I started down Linden Avenue on the unaccustomed east side.  And I stopped.

It was a telephone pole, ringed with wooden plaques and pieces of paper, some bearing platitudes, some inscribed with poetry. I revolved around it, reading in the last rays of the sun disappearing behind James Bay.

It was a "Kindness Corner", inviting people to add their own messages, or take a picture.

Among the missives was a quote attributed to the late Joan Didion: "We are well advised to keep on nodding terms with the people we used to be."

The person I used to be? I thought, turning westward.  I think she was nicer, really.  Certainly more clueless.  It's easy to be nice, when you're clueless.

A fawn strolled diagonally across the street, some yards ahead of me.  I turned north, where the early evening light hit the sides of the limbs of the ancient plane trees, and thought:  It's September.  I live here.

Six years ago, we moved into this neighbourhood and reclaimed it.  The younger, clueless, nicer me left here years ago.  I don't think I can reclaim her.  But I can re-read my journals and walk these streets, and nod in her direction.