Butter for my oatmeal

Today I traveled on buses for hours, running errands all around Seattle, from Capitol Hill to the airport to West Seattle for groceries, then home again. And in all my travels I encountered wonderful people with whom I conversed and/or eavesdropped on, basking in the glow of rich, wonderful dialog.

On one bus, idled at a time point, the bus driver was talking on his cell phone to a friend. He said, "I've heard 'first things first,' and that's good, but I have also heard 'feared things first,' and that's how I live--I do the hardest things first, and then the rest of my day is great."

I met a woman, poor like me, telling me about her day so far as she peeled this wonderfully fragrant tangerine on a bus bench. "I went to worksource and signed up for job training and I start April 1st. Then I went to the store and got some butter for my oatmeal, because I've just got to have butter on my oatmeal. Today I'll have a corndog for lunch, and I also got a hunk of sausage so I'll have some meat for dinner, and then I'll be hungry and broke again."

The bus driver inspired me. The woman on the bus bench warmed my heart. In both cases, their joy cost somewhere between zero and a buck or two to achieve. The joy each of them gave to me was like a string of pearls.

The fragrance of that tangerine... every time i smell one from now on I'll see an image of a fat pat of butter melting over a steaming bowl of oatmeal.