Getting philosophical at the bus stop (write of passage number fifty-two)

Younger daughter and I are late. Again.

I decide to save time by trying for the bus. We approach the stop nearest our home, where three elderly people wait. I ask the closest lady if a bus is coming soon.

There is a long pause, long enough that I'm beginning to wonder if I have been understood.

"Soon?" she says finally, in an accent that sounds faintly east European. "Is five minutes soon?"

Ah. A philosopher. Just what I need.

She turns to the other two, a couple standing far enough away that she has to raise her voice a little.
"You'll see," she tells them, as if continuing a previous conversation. They look mildly startled. (Younger daughter begins to reply, then realizes the lady isn't speaking to us.)
"If he's a male driver, he'll roll right up to the sign, which is tough for us, because of the grass, but easier on anyone getting out the back, because they'll step on the pavement. If it's a woman, she'll stop at the pavement back there." She points.

Almost immediately, a bus appears. The driver is female. She pulls up to the sign. The Bus Philosopher shrugs, and clambers on.

Later in the afternoon, younger daughter and I walk in from downtown, because it's downhill, only takes about fifteen to twenty minutes, and we're no longer in a hurry.

As we reach our home block, the bus draws up alongside us and the Bus Philosopher staggers out, clutching large shopping bags and boxes.

"You made it!" she informs us, and plods away.

Begone, dull care

My Facebook feed featured an article from the Ottawa Citizen (actually by Sharon Kirkey of the National Post) about a therapy designed to blunt unpleasant memories - in this case, betrayals and painful break-ups. 

Of course, this was the focus of the rather surreal 2004 film Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, but fifteen years have passed, and I guess we're oozing into reality.

The issues remain the same.  How far can it be taken?  (Probably too far.) How ethical is it, and most important, what damage is possible, if we modify memory, even if painful and traumatic?

Of course, we all modify our own memories constantly - could we trust someone else with the task?

I didn't have that many break-ups and betrayals.  The one romantic break-up I experienced was gently done -- although I was devastated at the time.  After all, "A heart without a hurt is hollow," as the song from The Fantasticks goes.

That said, it's not like I haven't been wounded.  What would really tempt me is the possibility of dulling memories of people I dislike - usually those who have hurt me.  It troubles me - early and often - that I can't shake the replaying of past slights, outrages, and injuries.

And frankly, I would not miss these people or my memories of them.

It's beguiling.

However, I'm reminded of a quote that appeared, years ago, in the Victoria Hospice volunteer sign-in book, attributed to Kahlil Gibran (but did he say or write it, really?):  "I have learned silence from the talkative, toleration from the intolerant, and kindness from the unkind, yet, strange, I was ungrateful to those teachers."

And yet, Persephone, have you learned anything?  

No, don't mess with my memories; they may be the only things I have left -- if I'm lucky.

Cafe society II

The micro-macro-economist-barista makes me what looks like a feather atop of my mocha latte.

He turns the cup and tells me, as I exclaim over the image: "Here's a trick. You can get a Dr Suess effect."

He dips the tip of his barista-coffee-stirring-tool (not a euphemism) into a dark edge near the rim and adds two eyes.

"There's a even a way to make this an elephant…"

But he squiggles chocolate syrup across it.
"Now I'm defacing it."
"But I know it's there," I say.
"It's the artistic ephemeral moment," he smiles.
I return his smile.
"Very Buddhist."

Rest in post

Our stay in Victoria is hurtling to a close, even more so with the Resident Fan Boy and younger daughter in residence. I'm relieved to have them with me, but miss slipping out to the ocean and the cemetery. You take what you want, and you pay for it.