She caught my eye

March 23, 2002

I'm in the Guinness Book of World Records! Well, I might be. It all depends on whether or not there will be a picture of the approximately 1800 snow angels on the Capitol grounds today. The State Historical Society decided it would be fun to get as many people as possible to make snow angels at one time, and a lot of people agreed. When faced with the decision of whether to hang out in my apartment or go out on this beautiful Saturday, I opted to make a snow angel.

Hundreds of kids were pelting each other and their parents with snowballs. The sun was hot in the still March air and the snow was melting quickly. It was the perfect spring day.

After shooting some pictures of the antics, I took my place in the southeast corner of the field of angels - in the second to last row. While scouting the scene for the perfect photo op and listening intently for the sound of the countdown, I noticed an elderly woman standing on the sidewalk, watching. Soon a policeman approached her and, after a lot of convincing, talked her into creating a snow angel of her own. She took her place next to me and enjoyed herself immensely.

I couldn't help but smile. It was such simple fun on such a grand scale.

After an hour of organizing, everyone dropped to the ground and waved their arms and legs for an intense ten-seconds of angel construction. A new world record had been set.

Once the whole affair had ended, I wandered to the Heritage Center to see the new "Winter Memories" exhibit. I enjoy the Heritage Center, but unfortunately it doesn't change often. The exhibits have remained largely unchanged since I was a little boy touring the place with my parents years ago. As a result, I was interested to see this change.

Shortly after entering the building, a gallery of black and white photographs caught my eye. I recognized them instantly as the work of Wayne Gunmundson -- not because I'm a big fan of his work, rather because I recognized the style and quality of the work. One of his photographs hangs above my couch, and I really enjoy it.

While admiring the detail in the shadows of one of the photographs, someone caught my eye. I glanced over my shoulder and saw a young woman enter the room where I stood. I discreetly kept an eye on her as she moved from photograph to photograph. She had fairly long, dark hair. Her backpack had a cup dangling from one of its straps. For the moment, her back was to me. The thought entered my mind of talking to her. After all, I found her quite attractive.

Being the introvert I am, I feigned interest in the details of the photograph in front of me. But my mind was elsewhere. She meandered closer, her eyes glancing over photos successively nearer to the one I studied.

And then she spoke. The question was irrelevant to the situation, quite simple, and of such a nature that indicated more interest in simply talking to me than looking at artwork. It was "Have you ever been to the headwaters of the Sheyenne river?" I was ecstatic at this bit of conversation. We chatted for a bit and my interest only increased. She had lived in Maryland, moved to California, and was working somewhere in North Dakota for the Bureau of Reclamation. Our conversation turned to the photographs, her work, and so on. I was not nervous, it was easy to talk to this woman. I enjoyed talking to her.

But our conversation was brief. Like I said, I was not nervous -- at least not for the first few minutes. But my confused, worthless mind kept telling me "she's not from around here," like I really knew her situation and that meant I should bail out. A general feeling of time wasting and nervousness crept over me. During a lull in the conversation and perhaps for lack of anything obvious to discuss, I said "Well, enjoy," waved a halfhearted wave, and walked off to the exhibit I had come to see. I never even got her name. I was kicking myself for hours afterward.

The exhibit was only mildly interesting. I was distracted and angry at myself. I may even have cussed aloud as I tried to enjoy the old Skidoo and other mementos in the exhibit.

Even so, my day was much brighter.