I’ve mentioned various interactions before, but this post is all about Conversations With Strangers. I’ve had a good balance between visiting friends all over the country and being by myself for days at a time. I’m in the longest stretch between friends now; two weeks before I meet up with more. But I‘ve noticed a real shift in my interactions with strangers, or I should say how I interact with strangers. It’s amazing how quickly people open up and talk when approached with a casual, easy manner. Maybe people are also just more approachable on the west coast? In any case, it’s fascinating to learn a little bit about someone’s life, share a bit of your own, and then move on.
A side benefit of writing this blog is that yes, sometimes I’m having an experience and think, “I may want to write about this.” It makes me think about how I would describe what’s happening, which serves to make the experience instantly more interesting. I met an elderly woman today at Devil’s Churn; she was watching the waves pummel the rocks and I joined her at the overlook. I can’t remember the conversation exactly, but one of us said, “So beautiful” and the other said, “Mesmerizing.” It could have ended there, but I got things going by telling her the last time I was here was on my bicycle at age 23. She had been here many years ago, too, and pretty soon we were talking about our kids, and she was traveling with her sister and brother in law, her husband died two months ago after 55 years of marriage. I met her companions, and by the time we said goodbye I felt I had had a genuine connection with another human being.
It’s not lost on me that this is something I need to feel healthy, as much as food and sleep. All the longevity studies say a rich social life is the constant. I start to feel a little crazy when I spend a whole day and night alone in the van, waiting out the rain. I talk to myself, make strange sounds, carefully arrange the bananas just so on a banana sandwich (my childhood staple), and you get the point.
I had an especially rich night in Waldport. I had fish and chips at a pizza place, but it was still early so I poked my head in a bar with no windows. There were obvious regulars at the bar, so I sat right down. After a few minutes, there was the initial comment and we were off. At this point I’ll just transcribe what I wrote in my journal about it.
…I should spend more effort to describe the conversations I have with the people I meet. But I just feel tired when I consider the prospect. And these are their stories, not mine. But what else am I doing??
The guy to my left was wearing a brace around his torso. He broke his back slipping in the shower; “You know those mobile homes from the sixties? With the pink porcelain? That stuff doesn’t give!” He had been taking Prednisone for 17 years because it was the only thing that worked on his gout. His heart doctor almost had a heart attack when she learned how long he’d been on it. His partner, a man ten years his senior, had had a heart replacement. “Seven years later, still here, and still drinkin’!” By that he seemed to be saying because he is still alive it’s proof that drinking doesn’t kill you. The heart came from a 32 year old, so he said adding his 65 years he’s really 97. I said, “You should go the other way; you’re more like 33!”
To my right was a man who was about 33. We talked van conversions. He did the conversion himself. When I talked about tires he said to think about multi-terrain ones. I said, “Snow tires?” But he said no, these are different. Suddenly way down the bar a woman said, “You want TORO tires!” She has them on her Trans AM. She is planning to go to Alaska, but needs a bear gun, and you have to already have an address to be allowed to buy one in Alaska, and she wants to build a cabin in bear country, so in the meanwhile she’s considering smuggling one under her van to go through Customs so she can protect herself while she builds the cabin, which would give her an address to qualify for a bear gun, but she wouldn’t need it because she already has one…
And then I walked “home” across the bridge to the KOA, stopping halfway for a few minutes to feel the ionized air.
