On a morning as moist and smooth and warm as the water between the waves in the bay -- the word "dulcet" rose softly in the mind -- Tracy came by to deliver the paper today. As usual, I could hear her talking to herself as she delivered across the street and then turned her attention to my house. Shifting conversational gears, she spoke odds and ends of greetings to me as she handed over the paper ... I offered my odds and ends in return ... and then she was on her way.
Later, as I returned from driving my wife to work, I got out of the car just as my Austrian neighbor Hans took off for his farm job at UMass. If we converse once in six months it is a lot. He slowed his car, he stopped and he called out the window, "Thanks for your good writing. You make the Gazette worth reading." And then he was on his way.
I'm never much good at processing compliments, even when I know what the person offering the compliment has in mind. This morning was no different, but the moist and smooth and wet warmth of the enfolding day seemed to file down the uncertainties. My father's throw-away line came to mind: "Well, it's better than the blow of a stick."
Dulcet bits of greeting and life.
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