I just realized that on 11/11/11 I will be 38 years old. First, this is ridiculous in general, just based on my maturity level. Second, 3 + 8 = 11. Dude. It equals 11. What is truly shocking is that I haven’t realized this sooner, since I am incredibly annoying when it comes to my birthday. Just the fact that I was thinking about a birthday that is two birthdays in the future ought to give you some idea as to how obnoxious I am about my birthday. At least I stopped wearing signs announcing my birthday. At least there is that.
When I lived in Gunnison I worked the late shift at a little hotel, checking people in and answering phones. The late shift was boring but with immense potential for meeting weirdos. And I love weirdos. Every once in a while I would get creeped out by the overeager hunters, but in general my job was pretty easy and uninteresting. Until one night, a woman pulled up, came in, and stayed talking to me at the desk for 3 hours. Now I don’t know about you, but that is a long time to talk to someone I have never met before. She was so interesting, though. First of all, she seemed utterly unfazed by the fact that there wasn’t a single room available anywhere in the entire town. It was fall, and people book rooms months, sometimes years, in advance in order to see the aspens change in Gunnison. But when I informed her (after calling about 27 different places first) that she would have to move on, she looked at me and smiled and said, “That’s okay, I didn’t consult my pendulum before I stopped here. I’m sure if I had, it would have told me to keep driving.” Yes, this was my first pendulum experience. For my second, click here.
Now, in all fairness, inside, I was a little bit freaked out. But I didn’t want her to know that, so I played it cool. I have become pretty good at playing it cool. When people say things to me like, “My urine is so yellow! Should I see a doctor?” Instead of replying, “Jesus! I’m a freaking massage therapist, not a urologist!” I calmly suggest they drink more water. Or like when, before a Reiki treatment once, the therapist told me that she “burps and farts a lot” when she “channels God” and then proceeded to burp and fart for one straight hour, I just acted like that sort of things happens to me all the time. True story, by the way. In the case of my hotel visitor, I just listened, because this woman wanted to talk. She wanted to tell her story so bad, it seemed like she hadn’t spoken to anyone in a very long time. I wish I could remember all of her story but, you see, when the children came out of my womb, they stuck these long, memory-sucking tentacles inside my brain and removed pretty much the entire portion that involves remembering things.
I do remember that she was estranged from her daughter. I’m not talking about “I haven’t spoken to her in a long time” estranged; I’m talking about, “I have no idea where she is on this earth” estranged. I learned that she had been driving around, living out of her car for months, going from city to city in search of her daughter. She had a shrine to her daughter all over her dashboard. She showed me a few pictures of her in case I ever saw her, leaving me the phone number of someone who would, “know how to get a hold of me”. It took me years to throw away that phone number. For one, I am a pack rat and for two, it just seemed wrong to throw it out.
When it came time for her to move on, she did two things. First she did a numerology reading for me and declared that 2 is a very powerful number for me. It was fun to watch, because she did it really fast on a napkin, and it looked like basic math, so I thought that if I wanted to, I could learn how to do numerology too. Yeah. That never happened. Second, she pulled out a map, so creased and worn that it was unreadable to me in some places. It was all marked up with her writing, which she told me were the notes that she had taken regarding her daughter in each place she had been over the last few months. Then she took out her pendulum (a real one, people, not some piece of crap roll of tape and headset) and held it up over the map. This is how she had been deciding where to go all this time. I’m SHOCKED she hadn’t found her daughter yet! Too bad that pendulums can’t talk. Really though, I remember feeling quite sad for her and feeling as if there were many things she was leaving out of her story.
Once she decided where she was headed, I walked her out to her car, taking in the fact that it looked like an entire 700-square-foot apartment was in the back seat, and gave her a big hug goodbye. I felt like we knew more about each other at that point than most old friends know about one another. I was literally buzzing with excitement and energy as I drove home to my apartment that I shared with, like, 17 dirty hippies that kept referring to me as a “cool cat.” At least that is what it felt like that night. I tried to explain what had transpired to everyone but they were all so stoned and involved with the Blues Brothers movie, that I couldn’t really get through to them. In retrospect, that was probably a good thing, because at that point in my life, very few things belonged only to me.
And now. Now we have 11/11/11 (2+2+2) and the age 38 (8+3+11, 1+1=2). Don’t even get me started about Luca who was born on 2/22. Sweet lord! We have twos up the wazoo! And I can’t help thinking about this woman as I do with most people that have had supporting or brief roles in my life. Where is she? Did she find her daughter? And mostly I just wish that I could invite her to my birthday party, in 2011 (2+1+1=4 which is easily dived into 2). Want to come?