"What a Wonderful World"

Preface: I wrote this post much, much earlier in the day. Not at 6 p.m. as the time stamp indicates.

Here I sit in a street-side café, having my pot of tea, watching the world pass me by to the raspy sounds of Louis Armstrong, serenely passing away the time until my first class of the day begins. Très typique if you ask me!

When I flagged down the first bus to stop at my corner to make its way downtown earlier this morning, on the line that stops by all the old folks' homes, two older men jovially wedged themselves around me and engaged in what seemed to be their routine and extremely profound morning conversation. It continued in a manner which I imagine most of my elders' conversations begin, "Oh how's your health," "How's the family," and other generic formalities like that.

What took me aback was the other's response, "Oh, I had a stroke a few years back and it paralyzed my entire right side." But his good spirits continued, "I've always thought of myself as a left-sided man anyways, so who needs the other side?"

"What mobility! What courage!" his neighbor commended.

To which he responded, "You must! Though I think of myself like a bird with the help of our faithful chauffeur here, free to land wherever I wish.

"Plus, that's a good title for a film, 'Men Like Birds.' The whole world should be like that really."

And then the man with full function of both his sides responded, "Ah, la philosophie française!"

Was I hearing this correctly? At the onset of my morning, I wasn't in the best of spirits and here these two men shoehorn themselves right in my life and have the most optimistic dialogue I've ever heard in my entire life. One part of the conversation actually reminded me of Voltaire's Candide, when he kept repeating the expression, "Tout va bien." Although that doesn't surprise me, because I assume Voltaire is heavily taught in French curriculum.

Then they continued to discuss life's other complexities with such ease, even as they descended from the bus. (Wow, that's a direct translation from French, "to descend the bus.")

And on the way home, I found myself knee-deep in two other similar conversations with, I'm guessing 60-70 year old women. Hearing the older generation's views on the world is kind of a neat pair of rose-colored glasses to try on for a few minutes. So in conclusion, on the Bus Line 3, I guess my life is kind of like Tuesdays With Morrie.

Except in French. And it's three times a week.

Comme la vie est belle!