September 25, 2008

Weirdness on the block.

I was standing outside when I noticed him walking my way: white guy, late thirties, all in black like Johnny Cash, minus the charisma.

When he was about fifteen feet away, he looked up and regarded me with an air of surprise and recognition before turning on his heel.

Something was definitely afoot. I watched him cross the street and walk down the block. Since there was nothing else on my dance card, I followed at a leisurely pace.

He started walking faster.

I kept my pace and started jingling my keys noisily.

He began to half-jog, once even looking over his shoulder. He outpaced me until he was about halfway down the block, then paused before ducking into an open door of an elementary school.

What's with this dude?

I turned around and headed back to the intersection. At this hour, the school had exactly two exits, and I had them both covered.
I broke out my cell phone and pretended to listen to someone with a bad case of logorrhea until The Furtive Man in Black poked his head, rabbit-like, out of the doorway.

He straightened up and walked toward me. Oh, sure, I said to no one in particular. Really? That's crazy! He measured his steps as he approached, eyes on his shoes until he was within ten feet. If he'd been wearing a hat, he'd have pulled it low across his face. Instead, he scrunched his neck down as if he was trying to force his head back into his sweater.

"Hold on a second," I said conversationally into my inactive phone. And just as I intended, Mr. Nervous looked directly at me, eyes wide as I snapped his photo.

He hustled across the street and down the block to his green Subaru wagon, opened the door and got in. He paused for a long while in the car -- I think I saw him on the phone.

As he pulled up to the four-way stop a minute or two later, I was waiting at the intersection. It could be my imagination, but he appeared to white-knuckle the steering wheel as he looked at me hesitantly. Was I going to cross the street, his eyes asked, or pull him out of the car through the window? I gestured for him to drive on.

I snapped another pic of his car as I stood in the middle of the street and watched him turn left at the next block, thinking one of us is really paranoid.

Posted by Your Protagonist at 07:49 PM | |

August 18, 2008

One year ago today.

Liz, you are my heart.

Loving you has changed my life completely; for the first time ever, I
feel extremely fortunate to be me.

I see you, Liz Warner. You give freely of yourself and seek to be of
service to others -- family, friends, strangers. Your compassion,
kindness and boundless capacity for love are only a few of the many
qualities that make me so proud to be your husband. I may not have
always loved you, but I have always admired you.

In times of discord, I will do my best to remember that your
thoughts, words and deeds are inspired by loving-kindness. Each day, I
will make mindful choices to reject doubt, fear and indifference in
favor of love, trust and respect, remembering that:

Nothing is permanent.

Nothing is worthy of anger.

Nothing is worthy of dispute.

Nothing.

With you at my side, I'll work to accept change more gracefully -- in
myself, in you, and in the world.

I will set aside my ego so that I might ask you for help when I need it.

I will cultivate closeness, laughter and honesty. I will never stop
reminding you of how beautiful you are or how much I love you.

I will do my best to faithfully hear the things you say -- and the
things you don't say.

I will bake you gluten-free treats. We will travel around the world
again. And again.

Be my wife, my chief technical officer, my editor, my muse. Walk with
me until our paths end.

From this day forward, you don't have to go through anything on your
own -- unless you choose to.

Liz Warner, you are my heart, and I will love you for as long as I live.

Posted by Your Protagonist at 02:40 PM | |