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August 29, 2004
Muse Building
(Originally written August 25, 2004)
It rained this afternoon at work. When I looked out the window of the office, I saw that Smoking Guy was back. And I ran back to my office to grab my camera:
It's been several months since I saw Smoking Man. I love it when he appears. It feels like a welcome sign.
I have never seen this man when he is not smoking. In my world, that is his job. In my world, he does nothing more than lean thoughtfully on the windowsill of his condo in the Muse Building downtown, smoking meditatively and watching life on the street below.
I wonder if I ran into Smoking Guy on the sidewalk outside his building if I'd be able to recognize him. I can't see his face very well from my office; all I can distinguish is a gently receding hairline and a steady, patient gaze. I'd like to think that I'd know him if I walked past. Maybe I'd even talk to him.
One night about six months ago I was working late. The sun had gone down and I was alone. I typically hate to be at the office by myself when it's dark outside. The office is on the 10th floor, but it's surrounded by taller buildings, and when it's dark outside, someone in a neighboring building can see straight into my office's big picture windows. It can feel like working inside an aquarium, or in the script from Rear Window. That night I saw Smoking Guy leaning again on his windowsill, looking down at the street, smoking. He was not looking up towards me, but I started waving anyway. I waved and waved and waved, very patiently, and after about half a minute, I guess I caught his eye, because he looked up at me, and waved back, and smiled.
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New photo album: Our Little Grace Goes to JournalCon.
(Really, there are none of the expected JournalCon pictures in the album. Yes, I did go to JournalCon and meet a few other wonderful journalers in the polyester confines of Hotel Helix. But this album is mostly just a scrapbook of my trip to DC last weekend, and not an account of JournalCon Proper. Of course, I doubt that there is such a thing as JournalCon Proper.) |
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It is good to be born in a church, but it is bad to die there. It is good to be born a child, but bad to remain a child. Churches, ceremonies, symbols are good for children; but when the child is grown up, he must burst, either the church or himself.... The end of all religion is the realization of God.
— Vivekananda |
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A poem that broke my heart with its perfect beauty: Idyll by Wendy Cope. |
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I can be reached at romanlily ~at~hotmail.com. Or you can join the notify list here. |
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