I had come to the restaurant to write. The place was mostly empty in the middle of a Sunday afternoon. I should have gotten a lot of writing done, but Robert had other ideas.
Robert is a talker. His dad works in the kitchen of the restaurant and had been called in to finish someone else’s shift, so Robert tagged along to wait for him. He quickly struck up a conversation with me.
Robert is in the third grade and he wanted to tell me all about his life. He’s a golfer, he said, but people frequently ask him whether he’s a quarterback on a football team. He and his family have five cats and the one called Boo Bear is is favorite. (Boo Bear sleeps with him.) He’s going to be a firefighter or maybe “something easy” like a landscaper.
There was nothing extraordinary about Robert’s story, but everything about this sweet kid sparkled with life and wit and happiness. That such a thing is so ordinary is extraordinary in itself.
I’m not exactly sure whether children gravitate to me or whether I gravitate to them, but I constantly seem to end up interacting with them. In another restaurant this week, I had another “ordinary extraordinary” encounter.

Loss of majestic tree in my yard feels like death of an old friend
Ruthless impersonal judgment is typical tool of cultural conformity
Shame and Fear still stand guard over my efforts to chase dreams
Each experience of beauty and love stands alone, different from the rest
I feel despair about evil tonight, but my cats offer some comfort
When intense feelings turn numb, something inside has died for me
The goals we chase can become chains that hold us in bondage
Nobody has the right to a position in your life which you don’t want
Briefly: Comic perfectly captured what I wrote about this weekend