Nook

Today was so summery you longed for the beach. I had a meeting at the Office of Diversity in the morning, and on the way there, I discovered a delightful little nook tucked behind the Benton Museum by the Wilbur Cross building. In a bower of leafy trees sat a square fountain pulsing its clear water three feet into the air. Nearby a weather worn bench wore a shawl of white flowering bushes trimmed by the sentinel greens of long-gone daffodils. It was teasingly inviting.

But alas! I had to get to the meeting, so I scurried past, listening to the water splosh against the square foundation and promising myself that I would stop by the "road less traveled" on my way back to the library. The meeting went well, and my colleague was a delight to chat with. Minutes stretched into over an hour while conversation strayed from topic to topic as we got to know one another better. We shared openly cancer experiences as she had just attended her good friend's funeral, and expressed her concerns that there must have been something more that could have been done, how she felt her friend had either been in denial or just given up without much of a fight. Ovarian cancer. She went so fast. Months really.

I left uplifted, but late. I passed the tantalizing fountain, greedily taking in the coolness of the little nook, marveling that so near lunch the benches were completely unoccupied on so glorious a day. I would check in, take care of a few things, and come back for my own lunch. One of my staff had returned from being out for a week, facing cancer herself, having a procedure done. We needed to talk, so I took lunch in my office with her as we shared experiences, talked about ramifications, bemoaned the torturous waiting periods to find out next steps, whether more will have to happen, if the surgery would be enough, how crappy one feels afterwards, the fears, the pains, the interaction with the medical community - all the common things we now share. It was a good conversation. We cried a bit, we hugged, we connected.

But the day was passing. I longed to take a break and go to my newly discovered nook and settle in and absorb the beauty of the flora, the music of the water, the song of the birds. I had to take care of a few things before the holiday weekend, and while I was at the desk, I encountered a faculty person with whom I had connected in the fall. She had flown home to Italy to have her cancer attended to; back where her family could help and support. She looked wonderful now, full of smiles and so tan. She told me how long it had taken her to get her energy back after the surgery. No chemo needed, they got it all. But the tiredness, while not keeping her from teaching, had stripped her of life's fun, life's little pleasantries. At long last, after nearly a year, she was beginning to feel as if she were coming alive again, worthy of her name Gloria. I totally understood that.

Four o'clock. I wanted to finish editing a document for my colleague who had brought me the long lasting bouquet of flowers. In fact, she had brought me another one - pink roses so fragrant they make you melt with pleasure - and this bouquet will be as long lasting as the first. What a joy to open your office door in the morning after battling with a teenager and fighting traffic and struggling from the parking garage to the library, and find quiet beauty awaiting you, just as you left it at the end of the previous day. Continuity. So important. So we talked, and then I decided there was no time to sit in bowers of nature and meditate. It was nearly time to go home, and my trek to the garage was in the other direction.

I felt sad all the way home until I realized that I had in fact been in a bower of joy all day! Talking with good people about important things, sharing experiences, encouragement, support. How precious is that! And how much more productive than sitting by yourself on a splintery wooden bench being splashed by clorinated fountain water. Ah, live and learn. It was a very good day.