On a Conciliatory Note
On Friday, we had a big day after Thanksgiving party, filled with loved ones whose vehicles lined the street. An out-of-state guest had parked in front of our neighbor Gordon’s mailbox, and party was hopping when he came over to complain. He was, according to Sam, upset, and Sam, according to Sam, was annoyed, but said he’d look into it. Sam walked up the street and saw that a car was, indeed, parked in front of Gordon’s mailbox, but figured the mail carrier could easily walk around it. It was, according to Sam, no big deal.
I know Sam is right. But I also know Gordon’s precarious life, surrounded by detritus, disabled siblings and a very unpredictable and muscular rescue pit bull, Pablo. Punctuation by reliable routines (like mail delivery) matters. A lot.
Yesterday, I went to Gordon’s with a plate of cookies and an apology note. He didn’t answer the doorbell, so I left them on the front porch. I had the sweetest day that caused an anxious one for Gordon. What needs smoothing is the uneven intersection, and after the fact, my best hope comes down to sugar and sincerity.
It’s both a small thing and the cosmic ripple effect; cookies and an apology are, if this world is to work, how it works.