the rest of the weekend of the 12th

Was both uneventful and soul changing. It is a strange thing, living so close to so many other people, having them stacked above and below you. Going places en masse in one vehicle. Varieties of different kinds of people I don't normally see living in the suburbs and going to playgrounds and Whole Foods.

On Friday night we went out to an Indian restaurant. We all love Indian food and it's easy to agree on a place to eat when there's Indian food available. We were seated by a window in an out of the way corner of the restaurant watching people go in large numbers down into the bar on the basement level of the building. It seemed like it would be an uneventful meal. I was watching our waiter because I knew it was time for him to go into the kitchen to see if our food was done. I was sitting in the corner so I was really the only one in a good position to see the middle of the restaurant. All of a sudden our waiter started to have vocal outbursts that seemed to me to be typical of schizophrenia; my immediate thought was that it was enlightened of the owners to hire someone who might have outburts on the floor of the restaurant. Then he staggered two steps, fell to his knees, the heavily onto the floor, hit his head hard, then proceeded to seize for about 2 minutes. The restaurant patrons who were sitting right by him when it happened helped him out and I have no medical training so I didn't really feel like I could do anything. Someone called 911 and the EMTs came. So did our food (brought by someone else). And I felt strange about eating with our waiter lying on the floor in the corner. It was really an ethical (or moral, maybe) dilemma to me, I felt bad eating the food but what could I do? I couldn't help, not eating wasn't going to help him.

After capoeira class and the farmer's market on Saturday Nina, Franki, and the two Larrys went sightseeing in DC while I grabbed some down time. We went out to eat on Saturday night at the Thai restaurant down the street, after which Nina and Larry went home and Larry and Franki went off to enjoy the jazz festival that was going on near their hotel. I went off to shop for food for Sunday breakfast, after which Larry and Franki would need to hurry off to the airport. On my way home from the grocery store, waiting for a walk sign, when a man crossing the street from the other direction tripped and fell literally at my feet. He was a middle aged man, probably 60 or so, african american, sharply dressed in a suit. After he got up I (and others around me) asked if he was ok. He said that he was ok. And then he told me his story.

I was just happy, I had a great evening and I was just so happy that I wasn't paying attention. My wife died in June and it was the first time I was really happy. A woman my wife was a mentor to had a fashion show in her honor and it was so wonderful. And I was just so happy that I wasn't paying attention.

At the point where he said that his wife died his voice cracked and he started to cry a little. I hugged him right there on the street. It felt so good. And then as I was walking away I checked my purse. Why did I do that? Why did I have to sully a perfect moment in time like that? It wasn't ruined but it did make me think a lot. Would I have checked if race wasn't a factor? I'd like to think yes, but I can't be positive.

These two events prompted a lot of soul searching for me. I live an incredibly easy life with a lot of opportunities for growth; I'd like to take advantage of these moments more and work harder.