Goodbye, Strangers

I read something online about how just a few minutes each day interacting with strangers can uplift your mood and make your overall quality of life better. The key point seems to be that sure, you may have quite a few lovely relationships with family, with good friends, but those one-minute conversations with strangers remind you that most people are generally kind, that we are all part of one community, and the world is not always a scary dark place. 

I want to believe this. I should. It’s what I experience every day at the library. What they don’t tell you is that eventually these people start to feel like friends and what happens when you move away and have to say goodbye to everyone? Which got me thinking: maybe I’ll just tiptoe out the door and not tell anyone. 

But word got out. Some of the kids scribbled cards. One of the cards was signed by the two little kids in the family and a name I didn’t recognize. It took me a minute to realize it was the nanny. Here I had been chatting with her for years and never knew. She hugged me. She said, who will give me book recommendations now? 

Write to me, I said, and I shared with her a final rec, The Correspondent. Then I went home and slumped on the couch with the dog and tried to gear myself up to keep packing. I don’t want to poke fun of my husband, but the other day someone asked us how things were going along with the packing, and he said, in a confident tone, “We’re about 80 percent done.”

I almost fell out of my chair. 

He said, What? 

I said, You’re forgetting all the stuff in the closets and the drawers and weirdo room in the basement with the sump pump. Plus, all the pictures hanging on the walls and the lamps and the three sets of dishes we have. Why do we have three sets of dishes? It’s crazy. Also, we own approximately two thousand glass jars, because remember at our old house when we had the freaky moth infestation that originated in the box of brown rice and we vowed never to bring food boxes into our home ever again and from then on transferred all of our non-perishable food into glass jars with tightly fitting lids?

Oh right, he said.

I heaved off the couch and spun around the room, building boxes to fill, tearing up my fingertips on the $^#&%^ tape dispenser. Pro tip on the packing: you can use soft items, like towels, sheets and your floofy sweaters to wrap your breakable things. I imagine this will be a fun surprise on the other end when we find our old DVD player wrapped in a bathmat and the china cups stuffed inside our socks and nestled in my bathrobe.  

But we’ll worry about that later. 

Meanwhile, I’ll keep saying goodbye to strangers. The mailman who jokes every afternoon about how much our dog loves him (this is a joke because the dog is barking like a maniac and the only thing keeping the mailman from certain death is a flimsy screen door and the fact that the dog is 90 years old in dog years). And the lady at the farmer’s market who each week sets aside a carrot cake flavored crescent roll for my husband (when we told her we were moving out of state, she wrote out the recipe for him). 

And the mom at the library who I met when the kids were four and two and newborn and now the older two are in school and the newborn is four and there’s another baby on the way. 

Friday the four-year old skipped up to my desk with a gift bag. Inside was a ceramic mug decorated with books, and I almost cried. 

How breakable this beautiful mug was and how carefully I’d need to pack it to carry it with me.