The loveliest woman

Wednesday 9/16/26

I saw the loveliest woman this afternoon. Saturday was a dangerous day. Maybe I'll touch on that in here later. I struggled to come through. The last two days, though, I've done a nice job working and that has helped get me by. Lot of hours, and the work has been strong, so I decided I could go down to the Starbucks and read for a while (the Three Investigators and Rupert Brooke; not in the same book, of course; we never did get the boys from Rocky Beach pairing up with the ghost of the WWI poet). I grabbed a small coffee and sat outside. You could scarcely have a better weather day for 9/16 here in Boston.

This woman was carrying an Amazon box, which she set down on a table parallel with the street. The chair I was in faced her. There was an older couple to my right. Somewhat surprisingly, she left the box on this table, which is right on the sidewalk, to go inside and get a drink, telling us--but more so the older couple than myself--to keep an eye on it for her. She didn't ask, but she wasn't ordering either. She was just so ebullient. It wasn't fake. She was one of those people who have that life spark to them. She was physically beautiful. Tall. Not quite as tall as I am, but close to six feet.

That's not what I'm taking about, though, when I say she was lovely. It was her bearing. Her manner. Her genuine spiritedness. Eventually she came out, thanked us--but, again, more so the older couple, making the most of her eye contact with them--and she just kind of started having this conversation with herself, but also the people who were there. Not in some flighty way. You could tell she was someone who pulled people into her orbit.

She said, "How am I going to carry this box to my boss," and the older gentleman said he hoped she wasn't going far, and she answered no, just to the wharf down the street.

As for looking more directly at the older couple than myself: I think that's just easier. One would be less self-conscious that way. But clearly she wasn't that much of a self-conscious person. But still, there are different forms.

The box wasn't that big and it didn't look heavy, so he wasn't going to struggle, but I could have stood up anyway, offered to carry it, saying that though it was a short distance who would wish to miss out on a quick walk with such an ebullient person? Maybe I should have done this. But I also know that my life, my situation, negates anything other than trying to get out of this situation, which also means trying to endure my life. I am a prisoner. It isn't like I can up and do anything else either. There isn't a space for dates and lightness and beaches and restaurants and vacations in my life. There isn't planning for that kind of future. Everything would have to change. But it isn't as if the short walk with the ebullient person as that and nothing else couldn't be good for me. it did me some good just to see such a person.

Here's something kind of funny from today. I was going up the Bunker Hill Monument for the tenth time. I'm trying to do something this week. We'll see how it goes. A group of people were coming down, and one of their number says to me, "Is this your tenth time?" Spooky! I said that yes, it was, and then asked how I knew that, and they laughed and said it was a guess.

That's a crazy good guess. Someone would almost never presume you were doing it ten times, even if they clocked on to what you were doing. It has happened at least one other time, though. Two or three years ago, a father said to his son, "He's probably doing this ten times today," talking about me. But it's a big number to think someone might be doing. But what can I say? The guy was right. And no, I'm not like the Count from Sesame Street, saying what circuit I'm on as I do it, and at no point today had anyone asked me what number I was on (they usually use the word "lap" when they do) or how many I'd be doing.