Wednesday, April 4, 2012

Call Me Crazy

Many of my small everyday tasks have been modified by observing or listening to others. I think of my former sister-in-law every time I grind coffee and brush the grinder clean. I think of Nancy while cooking my oatmeal in milk rather than water. I think of Linda every morning as I do ‘the plank’ during my stretch-and-strength routine. I think of Mary Sue every time I vacuum, imagining a line of ants marching out the door. I think of the man in the laundry at a Denver apartment who showed me how to fold sheets without dragging them on the floor.

When these thoughts jump to mind, vivid and clear, I believe they send positive energy from me to each person, like The Force, only more subtle.

Call me crazy, but today, as I ironed the top sheet for my bed, I heard my friend Ruth’s laughter. Not in the room. Ruth lives across town. In the past twenty-eight years, we’ve seen each other two or three times.

Still, I can hear her tell the story again, of her puzzlement over how the housekeeper was able to iron a king-sized sheet. Then she discovered a missing sock inside a neatly pressed and folded sheet. I can hear her musical laugh at uncovering the mystery – and at herself for not guessing the process.

But today, rather than rely on The Force to deliver my thoughts, I decided to deliver them myself.

Without thinking, I tapped out the pattern of her home phone, hoping like crazy that I had the correct sequence. I did. Her husband answered. No, Ruth was at work. I told him why I’d called, expecting him to question my sanity. He didn’t. We chatted a few minutes, easy and unstrained as though we’d seen each other yesterday.

He promised to give the message to Ruth, to have her return my call.

I told him it should be her choice, whether to call back.

Because, call me crazy, but I believe the energy sparked by my memory has already rippled out, spread wide, then washed back over me.