Popular

I am reading a book by an eighth grader, and I think it's going to help me.

I am just so tired of riding alone so much of the time. 

The last couple weeks I've been hyper-conscious of being a loner.  I know, it's mostly a choice.  And once or twice a week I do have company, really good company.  But it would be nice to have more on the other five days, right?

Enter the Today Show. 

Now, the Today Show has gone downhill - way downhill - this year.  There is no world news to speak of.  Unless you count a plane down, or the Royals travelling.  Syria or the Ukraine may as well not exist.  Real chefs have disappeared from the cooking segments, in favor of celebrities who can manage to boil pasta.  Instead of news, there are whole segments about what's trending on Twitter, or how to be Popular.

I reach for the remote. 

Oh, wait a minute.  How to be Popular?

I tune back in.

The interviewee is a pretty young girl in a pretty spring dress.  She is talking about the book she has written, and her inspiration, an old advice book from the fifties.  Is this for real?  Eighth graders are writing advice books now? 

The Kindle makes it too easy.  I go straight to "Popular, Vintage Wisdom For a Modern Geek"  by Maya Van Wagenen.  With a touch to the screen, I buy myself some eighth grade advice.

OK, so let's back up.  Why am I feeling a need to be Popular at this (fairly advanced) stage of life?  

Hmm, all I can come up with is, why wouldn't I?   

The desire for lots of friends doesn't go away.  I had a few in eighth grade and wished then that I knew the secret of how to make more. 

I am lately conscious of having even fewer friends all the time.  Much busier friends.  Friends who are moving away.  Or sadly, friends suddenly gone from life itself. 

Who wouldn't be wishing for a way to find more? 

I ride down Riverside Drive, where there is a bike path.  I meet a dozen or so other people riding bikes.  All but two of them are riding alone.  I am not alone in riding alone.  So why do I feel like a loser?  I don't know.  I just do.

I go for a walk on the beach.  It's windy, so I walk upwind into the sting of blowing sand, thinking how much nicer it will feel on the walk back.  This - toward condos instead of the desolate shoreline of the air force base - is not my usual direction.  I note that most of the people out walking in this wind are also alone.  

Just as I reach 30 minutes, my turnaround point, I see a lone man with a cane.  I have seen him once before, from a distance. 

Because I have just read a book by an eighth grader, I suck in a deep breath, and slog up to the dune line to speak to him.  

He seems happy that I stopped to say hello.

I ask about his creation, a throne-like structure, made of piled up coquina rocks, and decorated with the flotsam and jetsam one only finds at the beach.   He says he built it because he broke his leg and it's easier to get up from than a beach chair, or sitting in the sand.  This rock solid chair is far more than a simple seat, it is a work of art.  It is a throne. 

Because of a book by an eighth grader, I am even brave enough to ask if he minds if I take a picture.

I get rained on walking back.  But I don't mind.  I spoke to someone!  A stranger, even.

I wish I had this book last week.

There were so many people at the memorial for Rick this weekend that I would have liked to talk to.  To get their perspective.  To hear their stories.  To know how they knew Rick and Lita, to perhaps hear about some of the adventures they had together. 

But I blew it.  I let my shyness have its way.  I felt it would be an intrusion if I spoke up.  Actually I feel that way about all people I don't know.  I don't want to intrude.  

But I think now, that I was wrong about that.  People want to be spoken to.  And often, they want to talk.  Even to me.

My Kindle tells me that I am 93% finished with "Popular, Vintage Wisdom for a Modern Geek". 

There's some major cleaning to do around here with Popeye's parents visiting this weekend.  There are windows to wash, groceries to get, and a boil order to boot (don't ask).  Not to speak of making up workout time for missing out on the Tuesday ride because of the goofy storm.  

But hey, it's only 7%.  And, it's about to rain again.

Thanks Maya Van Wagenen, for sharing your research, and your wisdom. 

It's never too late, right?

Besides,  I really need to know how it goes at the Prom.