As time passes, I often find myself in little “moments” that turn into truly special experiences. They usually last no more than a minute or two, but they have a profound impact on me. I had just such a moment Sunday morning, a chance meeting with a stranger over a shared passion, and it has stuck with me. It’s these experiences that make me feel good not only “in the moment,” but also moving forward as we look for peace, respect and connection as we navigate so many complicated issues in our own lives, in society and around the world.
*****
I was sitting quietly, doing my weekend “thing”(that is, working on the Sunday crossword while enjoying a cup of coffee). It was early, and I was the only one in the coffee shop besides the four employees. These days, most of the early morning traffic is folks dashing in and out to grab mobile orders or using the drive-through (which this place spells “thru,” a pet peeve of mine but something I’ve learned to live with), so the early morning weekend “dine-in” crowd is usually sparse.
I’ve been doing crosswords since I was old enough to read and write. I was inspired by my mom who–-while I often define as someone who’s lived a “perfectly moderate life, never overdoing or underdoing anything”–-was a voracious reader and “doer” of crosswords.
As I focused on a particular section where several clues all had multiple possibilities, I was pulled from my Zen-like focus from across the table.
“A man after my own heart.” I looked up to see a tall, grey-haired gentleman standing in front of me.
“Oh, hi there,” I said, knowing right away what he was referring to.
“Sorry to interrupt, but I’m a crossword guy too. Love ‘em. Always have. My dad got me hooked years ago.” I smiled and nodded because my crossword “journey” had begun in much the same way.
As his wife ordered their coffee drinks at the counter, he and I had a nice conversation. I learned that he’d been a college professor for 47 years but retired a year ago after suffering a stroke. (For the record, I never would have guessed he’d had any health problems, and I told him as much.)
I also learned he has a son or daughter who attends (or attended) UCLA, as evidenced by his “UCLA Dad” sweatshirt. He continued. “I tried to go back to teaching after the stroke, but I just couldn’t do it anymore. Things just moved too fast, and I had trouble keeping up and remembering what I was supposed to be teaching.”
Again, I nodded. “That must have been a tough decision after all those years,” I said. He brushed it off as though it was old news; like he’d moved on with his life. I was caught by his smile and easy-going demeanor. It was genuine, as though he was truly happy to have run into me. He pointed at my crossword. “What about you?”
I told him how I’d been a crossword fanatic since I was a kid, and that I, too, was inspired by a parent. “I love how they make you think in different ways,” I said.
He nodded in agreement. “Recently, I wanted to go back to them, but I wasn’t sure I could,” he said. “Then, I mentioned it to my sons, who are in their 40s, and they thought it was a great idea, and I’m glad they encouraged me. The only thing is that now I have to do them in short spurts because I can’t quite process things like I used to. So, I do a few minutes, and then put it down. Then, I come back later and do a little more.”
I laughed, not because I thought his memory loss was funny, but because I could identify. “It’s weird how I can read a clue now, and I can’t for the life of me come up with the answer. But then, minutes or hours later, I'll look at that same clue and the answer comes to me right away.”
Now, it was his turn to laugh. “It’s amazing, isn’t it, how the brain works?”
With their order ready, Jim’s wife arrived on the scene, nodded and smiled. “These puzzles are so good for his mind; keeps him sharp,” she said as she handed him his coffee.
As they turned to leave, he stopped. “I’ve seen you here before,” Jim said.
I nodded and stuck out my hand. “I’m David.”
“Jim,” he said.
“It’s great to meet you, Jim. Next time you see me here, sit down and we can talk more.”
Once again, he flashed me that genuine smile. “Count on it.”
I will, Jim. You bet I will.
© 2024 David R. Haznaw
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