I can expound upon love

like
Emily Dickinson could about

traveling, trains,
precise position and velocity of a given quantum particle and

death.

Are there conversations

or
(you're never sure why) moments
that stick in your memory,
bumps on the surface
disturbing the smoothness
each time you run
your fingers along
time's skin?

In Front of the House That Would Be Occupied by a New Tenant Come Spring

she planted tulips.

The Squeaky Wheelchair Gets the Grease

     "I'm applying for a position as the assistant to the Diversity Director at Purdue," my friend Evan told me when I asked him what job he had interviewed for.
"Good thing, too! Purdue needs your help with their diversity.  We need to see some more colorful characters there.  The problem is, they mostly draw from just one age demographic: it's all the 18-24 crowd," I told him, "You need to start hosting bingo nights.  Get a hold of that, at-risk 65-89 crowd.  We've gotta get them off the streets before they fall to vandalizing out of boredom."

     He thanked me for my advice, and expressed his regret that he had not thought to suggest such during the interview.  I told him it was probably good that he waited until after he was hired, as it might come across as intimidating for the Director to be approached with such brilliant ideas for program improvement during an interview, when the assistant position was really only supposed to pertain to desk work.

     But now, as I think back on my college experience thus far and imagine ways in which I can help increase diversity on my own campus, I can't help but think realistically about the dim possibility of any of my suggestions becoming realities in any campus or community.  The problem is that those 65-89 who are at-risk due to boredom, feeling underestimated and devalued by their society, and angsty at how little control they feel they have over their lives, will never be properly attended to.  And this is because, unlike the obnoxious backlashes that teenage youths have learned to lean on for attention, the elderly have never made a stand for their own cause.  Until they begin to give society a clear reason to realize the overlooked, wasted potential the retired population has as members of the community, there will remain a distinct inaction and unawareness of their condition.  Until grandma gets up out of her easy chair, goes out at midnight, and smashes in some windows, there will never be a reason for the community to fund more free adult-care activities, and involve senior citizens in community outreaches.  We need more knitting clubs, weekly baby-holding sessions, story-telling invitations from schools, and free cat-care clinics for those among us who have already given their best years to bring up the generations beneath them.

     If vandalism of public buildings and shoplifting Depends is the only way we're going to start seeing free transportation to and from water aerobics classes, then I say, by all means, buy grandpa a can of spray paint and a dark beanie.  Obviously, until our community organizers sense a financial threat from a particular age demographic's destructive backlash, they will do nothing to provide for them a way to feel appreciated as an integral part of our society.

My Toast to the Unexpected

There are countless different definitions of the word "friend," and while some people use that word to refer to anyone they've interacted with at least a handful of times, others reserve that word as sacred -- only applied to those whom they trust and share a bond with.

I joke that someone is not officially my friend until they've seen the movie Troll 2. (I'm kind of obsessed... I hold yearly Troll 2 parties which involve a large variety of green food, as well as a pre-movie speech, in which I prepare the Troll 2 virgins for what they are about to experience.)

In reality, the best definition of friend I've heard of is truly cheesy, as all attempts at describing such things are, and I love it nonetheless:

"A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart, and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words."

Most people take years to get to know the music behind who you are, but on a rare occasion, a few seem to know the beginning bars of it right away. 
....
But really, this is all a little too abstract, isn't it?  There's got to be a tangible sign, a quantifiable checkpoint during that journey from acquaintanceship to friendship, hasn't there?

I can think of one.  And it's very trivial, indeed.  ...Maybe even more so than Troll 2.

Whenever I save someone's number on my phone whom I've just met, I add an epithet onto their name so I can remember who they are so I don't accidentally delete them from my phone later because I don't remember who they are.  Example: "Greg from ISU Swing," or "Beth from ENG308," etc.  But, say I get to become better acquainted with that person.  It gets to the point where, one day, I'm about to text one of my dear friends, and I see that their name on my phone still includes that tagline, which is now entirely unnecessary. Obviously, I delete it, and then it's just saved as their name.  Often, as only their first name, even though I know I'll probably meet other people who have their same name.  For now, I'm not worried about that.

I know I'll remember them.

And, apparently I'm not the only one who adds taglines to their new phone contacts.  It makes me realize that we all think we're set -- that we don't need any more friends, and we don't expect the new people in our lives to become anything more than faces we see and make small talk with every couple weeks or so.  We never expect the strangers of today to become the shoulders we cry on tomorrow.


And so, this is my toast to the unexpected,
to the strangers I happened to stop and talk with at a coffee shop
one day when I should have been busy
doing other things or
seeing other people.
This is my prayer of thankfulness
for the people in my life I never saw coming,
never thought I needed,
who have showed me love and given me
reasons to look further than the first (or even fifth) layer
and to know and love anyway
(because I have been known and
loved anyway.)

Why we stopped coloring and started getting our taxes done on time

I think that, at one time or another, we were each really good at something for our age.

The scary thing about attempting to create anything past the age of 17 is the fear that our tiny sliver of genius was only waiting for the years to catch up to it, and it was never anything more than that.

Oh, the revelries of youth.

She is (nineteen) knitting
shaking her fist at
the television
(she knows every player by name)
all day long we've been
watching
the French Open --
a sport neither of us
knows
how to play.