Mediocre Fred's Mediocre Blog (Ret.)

Nothing But A Smile

Today's Musical Selection: "Love Grows (Where My Rosemary Goes)" by Edison Lighthouse

Hi, folks! Today I want to talk about love. Not great flowering romance or sex (that's Uncle Millie and Aunt Beatrice's department), but just everyday love, the kind that greases the wheels of our daily lives. You're familiar with the phrase "love makes the world go 'round"? Most people who hear that phrase think of grand passions firing them up and giving them the energy to pursue tremendous goals, but I don't think of it that way. I think of the small affections, which often pass unnoticed to the outside eye, that make daily life worth living. (Which is not to say I don't believe in grand passion; I certainly do. And it can move mountains. But it's the daily kind of love that keeps the earth in rotation, I think.)

What is this daily love? In some ways it can be a function of friendship, but it doesn't have to be. I'm thinking of those little day-brighteners, things that throw a little sunshine on the daily slog and bring a smile to your face. Kindnesses from strangers to strangers -- the guy who lets you ahead of him in line when you've got a couple things and he's got a full cart, the woman who lets you have the last book off the shelf -- certainly fall into that category.But those aren't really what I'm thinking of.

I'm thinking of those little mini love affairs, those two-minute crushes that put a little extra spring in your step. That person who makes you heart beat a little quicker, the barrista or the cashier or the woman (or man, if that's your pleasure) passing you by on the street. The romance isn't destined to go anywhere, but that isn't the point. It's the brief flash that matters, that little uptick in the pulse rate, that warm-all-over feeling that makes you feel cheerier and taller and better-looking. A little harmless fantasy, with no downside or disappointment factor. You don't have to worry about whether or not she'll call, or whether she's got a crazy family, or whether she shares your interest in yodeling. Just a little stimulation, a reminder that you're vital and alive and a member in good standing of the human race.

And it doesn't matter if you're married or in a relationship. Mini-crushes are no threat to a serious relationship, and can even enhance it. After all, that little self-confidence boost makes for a happier outlook on life, and a happy partner is a loving partner. Truly, there is no downside. Love is not a zero-sum game.

It seems like we should have a pithy little term for them, because they're so common, but as far as I know we don't. We have a fair number of descriptions in literature and song, though. The pithiest version I know comes from the old Dead Milkmen song "Laundromat":

There's a girl washing her clothes

I'm in love but nobody knows

She looks sixteen or seventeen

My mind gets dirty while my clothes get clean

My favorite longer-form description of this phenomenon comes from one of Kurt Vonnegut's later and regrettably unheralded novels, "Timequake":

I go one block south to the Postal Convenience Center, where I am secretly in love with a woman behind the counter. I have already put my pages in the manila envelope. I address it, and then I take my place at the end of another long line. What I need now is postage! Yum, yum, yum!

The woman I love there does not know I love her. You want to talk about poker faces? When her eyes meet mine, she might as well be looking at a cantaloupe!

Because she works sitting down, and because of the counter and the smock she wears, all I have ever seen of her is from the neck up. That's enough! From the neck up she is like a Thanksgiving dinner! I don't mean she looks like a plateful of turkey and sweet potatoes and cranberry sauce. I mean she makes me feel like that is what has just been set before me. Dig in! Dig in!

Unadorned, I believe, her neck and face and ears and hair would still be Thanksgiving dinner. Every day, though, she hangs new dingle-dangles from her ears and around her neck. Sometimes her hair is up, sometimes it's down. Sometimes it's frizzy, sometimes it's straight. What she can't do with just her eyes and lips! One day I'm buying a stamp from Count Dracula's daughter! The next day she's the Virgin Mary.

This time she's Ingrid Bergman in Stromboli. But she is a long way off still. There are many addled old poops, no good at counting money any more, and immigrants talking gibberish, maddeningly imagining it to be English, in line ahead of me...

I at last have my envelope weighed and stamped by the only woman in the whole wide world who could make me sincerely happy. With her I wouldn't have to fake it.

I go home. I have had one heck of a good itme. Listen: We are here on Earth to fart around. Don't let anybody tell you any different!

See what I mean? It's a harmless little pleasure, and the older I get, the more I realize that harmless little pleasures should be taken at every opportunity and savored.

Naturally, I have my own mini-crush.

In the town where I work, there's a Mexican restuarant I make a point of visiting a couple times a week. The food is good, but in and of itself not worth a twice-weekly visit. No, what makes it such a frequent destination is the young woman who works the cash register. I secretly harbor a mad crush on her.

What makes her stand out is her smile. If you saw "Love Actually," remember the Portuquese woman who fell for Colin Firth? Remember how she looked plain and unremarkable... until she smiled and you realized she was beautiful. That's how it is with my crush. She wouldn't stand out in a crowd when she's got a straight face on. But that smile... oh, my! She's got a gold-capped tooth that I think she's self-conscious about, so she tends to go more for half-smiles. But when she lets loose with the full smile... incredible! And those big brown eyes that dance when she smiles... I was smitten from the first time I saw her smile. And who wouldn't be? It's a sweep-you-off-your-feet kind of smile. You can almost see the songbirds twirling around her head, a la Cinderella.

And I'm in a better spot than Vonnegut, because my crush recognizes me. She always favors me with that dazzling smile every time I come to the register, and she smiles wider for me than for other people. (I know, I've watched. Got to do something to kill time in line, and I'd much rather stare at her than the "art" on the walls.) The combination of the loud music and poor sound insulation makes civilized conversation impossible -- and what could you say in fifteen seconds anyway? -- but she always asks how I'm doing, and I ask back, and I promise to return in a few days, which of course I do. Sometimes, if she's feeling particularly upbeat, she gives me free guacamole, which I can't get enough of. (It may not be universally true that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but it sure as hell is true of me.) And away I go, take-out bag in hand. A tiny fraction of a day, but often as not, it makes my whole afternoon.

We don't know each others' names. I know nothing about her other than that her smile makes me weak in the knees, and she knows nothing about me other than that I sure like Mexican food a lot. But it doesn't matter. For the price of a taco platter, I get affirmation, a little thrill, sunshine to go. Is there any better value out there than that?

These mini-affairs don't even have to be romantic and/or lustful in nature.

The other day, I stopped in to the grocery store to pick up ingredients for dinner and I wound up in the interminable lines that always occur at that time of day. I found myself stuck behind a frazzled young mother who was trying to keep two of her kids off the candy rack and had the other one, a little girl who looked about a year old, slung over her shoulder.

The little girl, as little people are wont to do, was sweeping her eyes around the place, taking in all the unfamiliar sights. (And it's all unfamiliar at that age, no?) Eventually, her eyes alighted on me, so I took the opportunity to flirt shamelessly. It's a skill I have. (I have a near-hypnotic charm over women, provided that they are under age 5 or over age 60. Anything in between and my appeal dips sharply.) I winked and smiled and wiggled my eyebrows and made silly faces. And the little girl was entranced! She locked in and did not take her eyes off me thereafter. So I kept mugging and vamping, and she kept on looking raptly. Eventually, she entended her tiny little hand and I extended my finger, which she promptly latched onto.

It was at this point that the mother looked up from her other children grasping at the Snickers and noticed me. She did not at first appear particularly thrilled that her daughter had glommed onto a strange man, but once she realized I meant no harm she softened a bit. I told her her child was beautiful, which she was. And I tried to disengage my finger so the family could go, but the little girl was having none of that. She knew what she wanted. I offered to let her keep the finger (it was on my right hand and I wasn't really using it), but eventually the mother gently loosened her daughter's grip and took off. A welcome slice of life for a guy on his way to cook chicken soup in his empty apartment. It certainly brightened my evening.

In today's atomized, fast-paced world, we feel (despite record population levels) alone more often than not. All the digital cable channels and Web chats in the world can't combat the isolation that comes from living in our own bubbles. The old back-fence chats are gone. Block parties are dying out. And town parades and picnics are going the way of the dodo. We may be statistically closer to more people than ever before, but in plenty of ways our circles of acquiantance have gotten ever smaller. Given that, mini-crushes are more than ever the affirmative water of life. In that little spark is a connection. And in today's world, where we're so often imprisoned in fiber-optic cages, every connection counts.

And besides all that, the heart is a muscle like any other and benefits from regular exercise. A little harmless pitter-patting around an attractive member of the opposite sex... it's good for your body and soul. It makes you a better person in every conceivable way. More upbeat, more engaged, more alive. It's a good way to get the blood pumping, and a hell of a lot safer than bungee jumping.

I don't know if I agree with Vonnegut that we were put here to fart around, but I certainly think it's an experience we'd be fools to miss out on. And mini-crushes are one of my favorite ways to put spice in life. (As opposed to the chicken soup, for which I prefer garlic and tarragon and a dash of cayenne. But perhaps I reveal too much.)

At any rate, have a good weekend, all! And if you're in the Fedroplex, please stay of the roads unless you know what you're doing. Thank you.

Posted by Fred at January 22, 2005 03:03 AM