You might have succeeded in changing me; I might have been turned around

I remember once reading an article about blogging written by a woman who is semi-well known and makes a living selling advertisement space on her blog. She said not to write laundry lists of things you've done because people will find that boring.

It is boring. Yet I've never felt like trying to change what I write about here to make it more interesting to anyone else, because I am not trying to attract a readership or to sell space. I'm just saying things so they won't take up so much space inside my head.

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Yesterday at the aquarium, we noticed a little girl running back and forth near the front entrance crying and calling for her Mama. She was a tiny little thing, maybe two years old, and I got down low to look her in the eye and said, "Are you lost, sweetie?" and she screamed like I was a terrible monster and ran away from me.

I stood back up to and looked over to ask Shawn what we should do next, when I suddenly noticed that the little girl was flanked on all sides by people who were staring at her (and at me, for having tried to interact with her). Someone had already alerted the staff about the little lost girl (who, it turned out, spoke only Spanish, which I hope is why she found my question so alarming and not because of my face) and while waiting for a translator to show up who could talk to her and help her find her Mama, a small crowd had gathered around the girl.

These people were all keeping their distance so they wouldn't frighten her, but each one was doing their part to make sure the girl didn't leave the vicinity and wasn't picked up by anyone who wasn't clearly "Mama".

It was really rather heartwarming to realise just how many people were a part of this operation, how many people had taken note of her distress and were all keeping an eye on her, and each other, to ensure this ended well.

Shawn said to me, "Poor little thing. She's so scared... but look, she's probably never been safer in her entire life." Sometimes people are more good than I think they are.

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Tonight I was supposed to meet C so we could go to a play. Due in part to my dawdling, and in part to traffic, I was later than I was supposed to be and I arrived with only seconds to spare, rather than the half hour we'd planned.

Fortunately, C had read some information and discovered that the play was going to be three hours long plus a twenty minute intermission, and wasn't in the mood to sit still for that long. When she said that I was completely relieved because I don't think I could have stayed awake that long sitting in the dark after the busy weekend we've had. At times I realise that I'm not as much of a theatre lover as I pretend I am.

Instead we went to a restaurant. I had a glass of ginger beer (which is not beer) and she had Yardie Fries which are made with yams. Yuck.

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Something I admire is people who are able to dedicate their lives, or even just a significant amount of time to a cause. I don't really understand how anyone has the attention span to stay focused on one thing for a long time like that. It sort of bothers me that I feel that in spite of feeling passionate about many different important things, I tend to get distracted and flit from one thing to another so much so that I probably don't make any real difference to anything or anyone. I get worked up about a particular issue and do a whole lot for a really short period of time, and then move on to something else. I think that I'm probably wasting my energy by operating that way. But I have no staying power. I want instant results, like most of our wasteful North American society wants them, and when I don't get them I give up.

This is why I will probably never write a book or become very good at playing my guitar. Because I don't have the patience that is necessary to invest significant amounts of time in practicing and honing a skill. I just want things to happen fast.

If I spend my Saturday handing out hot chocolate and dry socks to homeless people, I want to see less homeless people on the street by next weekend, and the ones that are left had better be wearing my socks and be giving me high fives when I walk by. Eight weeks in Africa really ought to be enough to change the world.

Sometimes my brain doesn't work like an adult's.

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