Minutes from the Loafers’ Club Meeting

What are you moaning and groaning about?

I’m sitting on a tack someone put on my chair.

Why don’t you get up?

It doesn’t hurt enough yet.

Driving by Bruce’s drive

I have a wonderful neighbor named Bruce. Whenever I pass his driveway, thoughts occur to me, such as: Have you ever had one of those days where you walk into a room and can’t remember why you’re there? This hadn’t been one of those. I knew why I was there.

“How are you,” I asked a stranger seated near me.

“Fair to middlin,’” he replied. “You?”

“I’m golden,” I said.

I was in a massive clinic specializing in a particular ailment. It wasn’t a place where many people do any whistling. I sat in a waiting area, a place that makes people comfortable being uncomfortable. I felt like a pencil stub — still useful, but unsure how much more sharpening I could take. Immanuel Kant wrote, “Out of the crooked timber of humanity, no straight thing was ever made.” It can be hard being us. Ours is a world made of illness and injury, but we’re still surprised when something happens to us. I smiled in the direction of a fellow seated across from me. “What are you in for?” he asked, leading me to believe he had no aspirations of becoming a motivational speaker. I told him I hoped they’d find me completely healthy, refund my money and I’d leave in better shape than when I’d arrived. I did get wonderful news, but no money was refunded.

A nurse asked if I was still working. That was a required question. Then she asked me what I did. That wasn’t required. I’m guessing she asked that of most patients. She asked it to be nice and to calm. She wanted patients to be on her side. Being me is a full-time job, just as being you is for you. I considered answering that I was a writer and a speaker. I am. I replied I was a storyteller — one word that covers all. She asked if that required much travel. I do travel regularly. It’s spinning plates. I’m nomadic. Travel can be isolating and draining. It can make a person feel as if he is at the birthday party of a stranger. A cellphone helps. The life of an itinerant speaker wouldn’t make a good reality TV show. Traveling rarely goes according to plan. Bad weather attacks. Pothole-filled roads become an antique roadshow. I get odd directions: “Follow me and turn left when I go straight.” I’m thrilled when I make the right turn. I forget about the wrong turns. Each mistake is as memorable as the time Moses parted the waters of the wrong sea. You don’t remember hearing about that? That’s how unimportant it was. I’ve slept in cars.

I’ve slept in airports, too, thanks to canceled flights. Rental cars have disappointed me. Why do I do it? There are those amazing moments, incredible sights, learning experiences and outstanding people. I love my job!

Life is a matter of getting used to things. Not becoming upset by things I can’t control or change. My four rules of travel are: Be nice. Be kind. Treat others with respect. Stop at rest areas.

Nature notes

  I’m a sustaining member of the benevolent bird feeders of my ZIP Code. As I came out of the house to fill feeders, the first three birds I saw were a house finch, house wren and house sparrow. That seemed appropriate.

The yard had become Goldfinch City as the chatter of the tiny birds filled the air. I saw a Swainson’s thrush looking like a coloring-book robin that hadn’t been completely colored. Orchard orioles don’t whistle like Baltimore orioles, but sing more like a house finch. Carpenters worked in the yard. Woodpeckers, nuthatches and chickadees excavated nesting cavities in trees.

Gardening was on my mind. Ancient Romans planted seeds on dirt-filled carts and rolled them into the sunshine. Rhubarb, native to Central Asia, first appeared in American seed catalogs in 1829 and is called “pie plant” by some.

From the car, I saw coots eating grass, walking as if they were wearing clown shoes. I visited the Upper Mississippi River National Wildlife & Fish Refuge, which covers 261 river miles of Minnesota, Wisconsin, Iowa and Illinois. In 1972, the Refuge had one bald eagle nest. Now it has over 250 nests.

Color-coordination is overrated. Each time I see a sunset, I’m reminded that orange goes well with any color.

Meeting adjourned

Don’t spend your days looking for reasons to be offended. Spend them being kind.