Luke 15:8-9

About an hour after lunch, I realize I’m thirsty, which shouldn’t be, because all I have to do is fill up my water bottle and....

I stand up from my desk and walk quickly to the back and tell my co-worker, “I’ll be right back.”

The hill up to the top of the park is steep, but I take it at almost a jog despite the sick feeling I have, straight toward the bench where I sat and ate my sandwich an hour ago.

There, sitting right where I left it, is the old Nalgene bottle I’ve had for more than fifteen years, and my heart lifts like I’m the luckiest man alive.

Balancing Act

The Finnish couple in the booth have ooh’d and aah’d appropriately at Katie’s amazing work, and the husband has wandered off to another booth while the wife and I chat.

“I understand how delicate this work is,” she says seriously, holding up a butterfly to the light and watching it shine, “because I knit, lace and things, hundreds of different stitches in one piece, and I will not let anything go out unless it is perfect.”

“Well, I’m glad people like you need lackadaisical people like me to help them take it easy,” I say.

“Yes, I have found mine, and I am glad she has found hers,” she replies, nodding firmly.

I Like To Share

“I got a treat for you,” my co-worker says, reaching into her desk drawer and pulling out a huge bag of peanut M&M’s. A starburst in red on the bright yellow background declares that this is “SHARING SIZE!” which is fine by me.

“I”m sharing, so if you want M&M’s you know where to find them,” I say to another co-worker as he passes, but after he walks out of earshot, the one who gave them to me comes up.

“I didn’t give ‘em to you to share with him,” she hisses.

“I’m Here To Rescue You"

I stand at the bottom of the subway stairs looking up and out to the sidewalk above, where it is bucketing down rain thick and silver against the streetlights. A whole group of us are down here from the last train that let off, and periodically someone makes a run for the surface, or a soaked individual shaking the water from his head or a giggling, wet couple comes down to join us in the station.

The rain slackens and redoubles, getting heavier and heavier, and I curse my lack of foresight for not bringing an umbrella, even though I checked the weather yesterday and the forecast only called for a ten percent chance of rain.

Then, at the top of the stairs, in a t-shirt, a pair of red terrycloth shorts, and colorful rain boots with pictures of owls on them, stands Katie, with an umbrella for me in one hand, and a big smile on her face.

I’m Lucky

“So, are the butterfly wings lucky?” the man asks, his eyes searching mine.

“You know what the secret to being lucky is, right?” I say, smiling. “Knowing that you’re lucky.”

“I like the way you think,” he says, picking up a piece to purchase.

Desire Paths

I step off the paved path in the park and start climbing the hill, thinking about the phrase “desire paths” and what a good song title it would be.

A desire path is a trail worn into the landscape by foot traffic, either human or animal, and it’s called that because it’s the way that people naturally go, no matter what the designer of a park might have made as “the way to go.”

I trudge up the desire path to the top of the hill and pause in the heat and humidity, breathing a little hard, then I sit down and take out my lunch, only to just sit there for a while with it on my lap, staring at it.

Finally, I take one last, long deep breath of the wet air that sits like a heavy, foul smelling blanket of wet dog hair on my chest, and then I put my lunch back in my bag, stand up, and start trudging back down the hill again.

Prejudiced

“I used to live out in Kew Gardens for about ten years,” I tell the old Brooklynite in the market booth.

“Oh, that’s not New York,” he says dismissively. “Used to be farmland into the fifties.”

“And we don’t even talk about Staten Island,” he adds with a scoff.