Saturdays and Sundays

Wearing my tennis shoes, shorts and pullover, sporting my freshly cleaned glasses I gripped my warm caramel cappuccino in one hand as I cradled my newly purchased books in the other while dialing in some good walking music which ended up being Tom Middleton’s “life tracks” album. This is a balancing act whether you throw in a moving escalator or not.

At the bottom of the down elevator I meandered out the front door of the Barnes & Noble at the corner of 12th and E Street. It is worth mentioning that E Street turns into Pennsylvania Avenue one block East. It is worth mentioning because even though the weather is a bit chilly, hence the pullover, people seem to swarm the vicinity of the Whitehouse on the weekends. If you slow down enough and do a little crowd observation you will see people standing around the parameter fences gazing at the place in hopes to see the president, or some recognizable government official walk past a window. Ironically, these are the same people that would ask themselves “Who is this idiot?” if they saw their own state senator giving some commentary on the nightly news, let alone recognize a government official stroll past a window in the Whitehouse. But I digress. The streets are filled with people and just out the doors at the base of the escalator I will become one of many as I work my way toward the metro.

The breeze on the street gives me goose pimples on my legs as I walk making the coffee that much more welcome. I really love a warm coffee on a cool day. Thankfully, the overcast sky is holding back the raindrops and I am really digging the walk, and the crowds, the clean streets and the eclectic mix of it all. The music really helps too.

As I round the corner to go East down G Street toward Chinatown I find myself thinking about the movie I just watched and how it reflects a few key moments in my life. The film was “Management” with actors Steve Zahn and Jennifer Aniston. Not all of the film is a great match to my life but what movie, or book for that matter, ever is. In fact if I were to write a book or a screenplay I don’t think I would make it too much like my life for fear of mostly boring the snot out of the sucker who dropped the cash to call the story entertainment. But this movie definitely struck a chord with me. I could go into the details and explain but it is maybe better to just recommend the film and tell you that it contained some decent writing and a few moments of great acting. Even though it is a somewhat melancholy film I still think it has a metric ton of heart and touches on some very intimate moments that most films so callously blast through with over acting and dramatic scoring. I am still thinking through the parallels between the two main characters. It is worth the $10 ticket.

At about G and 10th I can see the Verizon Center flickering in the distance. It is a nice little walk as it takes you past the north side steps of the National Portrait Gallery. That is where people sit and chat, eat ice cream on a warm summer day (which this is not), talk on their cellphones and such, as the world buzzes by headed for the Capitol buildings or the Shakespeare Theater or the Spy Museum.

Just as I am about to step across the street the person to my right seems to say something to me. I turn slightly and give a nod and as I turn back to cross I notice he is smiling right at me. For fear that I have done something unintentionally awkward and in an effort to fix the situation I slip one earbud out of my head dulling my walking soundtrack just slightly and ask him, “Did you just say something?”

He struggles to respond. I am thinking maybe I made a mistake. My assertive question seems to have made him a little uncomfortable and he is searching for words in his mind as if I have just asked him, a perfect stranger, for money and he is now dragging his hands through his pockets out of inconvenient kindness.

“Do you…where…ugh…know you…Chinatown?” He is foreign. Every word is crystal clear and even though he doesn’t quite have all of the nuances worked out, his broken English makes perfect sense. Fhew. I am not the crazy guy hearing voices and barking at people on corners today. He did say something.

I attempted to explain how the huge building in the near distance with the blinking signage for sports events and concerts was basically the edge of Chinatown. He didn’t get it. Finally, “Hey, just follow me. I am walking in that direction,” I offered.

Over the next few blocks I learned that he is going to be in the U.S. for a month and is hoping to explore his way up to Manhattan before heading home. He didn’t speak a word of English when he got here. He is basically picking up the language as he goes. I am starting to envy his journey. “Where are you from?” Tajikistan is his reply.

My brain is riffling through memories from the 10-years-or-older file when I once remembered learning something about Tajikistan. I asked him, “So what languages do you speak then?” He replied, “I can… Tajik, Russian…now English.” He smiled. There were a few other languages that he picked up along the way but I was confused a little by his pronunciation of their names. My brain also stopped at “Russian.”

At the University of Wisconsin, Oshkosh, I took a few years of Russian. I had taken a number of years of German in High School and wanted to continue learning that but in between my Freshman and Sophomore years of college I traveled to Russia where I caught the bug. So, midway through my Sophomore year of school I started taking Russian language classes. That turned into about two and a half years of Russian, about 12 years ago. In my mind, as time passes and you don’t use a certain skill, you lose street-cred in that area. Doing the rough math of street-cred depreciation I figured I have retained the equivalent of maybe one year of Russian language skills, if I am lucky. Nonetheless, it felt like an opportunity to jump back on the bike.

“Ya ezuchia-you po-Ruski adeen le-yet vv-Oonivers-i-tyet,” I said. He smiled again. “You know Russian?” I just told him I studied the Russian language for one year at the University (I think) and he now wanted to chat about it… in Russian. “Vwee ezuchach Ruski Yazik, vam?” It started coming back to me. “Adeen Lyet v-Oonivers-i-tyet, dyesiet lyet… ugh… ago!?” I told him I studied for one year at the university, ten years ago. Of course this wasn’t quite right, but my street cred was low and I couldn’t remember how to say the number 12… or the word “ago.” He corrected my grammar a little and I tried to say it a little better repeating the pronunciation he just gave me.

“You say… I understand… very good.” I got the thumbs up. Then somewhere between Russian and English and over the course of a few blocks I was informed that my pronunciation was very good and that if I wanted he was offering to sit and have more coffee so I could practice my Russian. For one, what a nice offer, and two, I was shocked that any of that Russian was coming back to me. In fact, in retrospect now I don’t honestly remember translating some of the phrases I said. It just seemed to come back to me, which is very cool if not completely inspiring. But at the moment I was also quite overwhelmed. I should have sat down and had more coffee and talked but at that point I had fully exhausted the remainder of my Russian vocabulary.

We exchanged names and email addresses and I turned to head for the metro. He opened a notebook and pointed to an address. Apparently there was a particular place in Chinatown where he was headed and it worked out that I had my iPhone on me so I could give him directions. I punched in his destination as we walked North to the corner of H and 7th. Amazingly his destination was less than a full block West on H Street and he smiled again. “I am lucky,” he said. We shook hands and went in two different directions.

I have decided that my life is often most fun in the “by chance” moments. Some call it providence, some call it luck, others destiny in the hands of God. I don’t believe any of that honestly. I think in all of those situations God would have people connecting to people and the result is a somewhat profound moment when we realize that making a living connection is better than a phone call, or a movie or a book, or the internet or even blogging or reading someone’s blog. The moment is made by God, but not like two wind-up toys marching toward each other in a fated collision course. We are not automaton robots who are slowing figuring out that we are either on or off God’s script. We are dancing with Him and dancing with each other and this is His party. Sometimes we are so busy self destructing or trashing His place that we lose sight of the party and take no joy in it. Others of us are so amazed at those in attendance that we forget who is throwing the party to begin with. And once in a while we realize He has pulled this thing together and no matter what our backgrounds happen to be, where we have been or where we are going, God is throwing one great party and I don’t want to miss it. I don’t want any of us to miss it. Lots of people are invited to this party, but so few ever really show up.

In conclusion here, I also want to give a shout-out to my friends the Hartantos. On Saturday they picked me up at my place and took me to Annandale, VA, (a veritable Korea-town part of sorts) where we feasted on some amazing Korean cuisine. All I can say is that you two are a blessing to me. Thank you for making my Saturday and showing me around a bit. I really appreciate it.