La Dolci Vita

I'm not sure I spelled that right; sometimes I mix up my limited Spanish with my even-more-limited Italian. I think that's the Italian; I'm pretty sure "sweet" is dulce in Spanish. Anyway, it doesn't really matter. I'm using it in a more literal sense than the usual metaphorical -- which, according to an essay on religion and morality by Iris Murdoch that I read yesterday, has the negative connotation of hedonism, something I'd never really thought about before. I suppose I'm using the phrase both ways: literally, in that I can't stop eating chocolate; and figuratively, in that my version of the sweet life is doing good deeds, and sometimes that too involves chocolate.

At the end of my class tonight, one student had stayed behind to ask questions and we were chatting afterwards about different things as we left the building together. (My military students are especially protective of me, both the males and the females, making sure I never walk to the parking lot alone -- even though we are on a highly-secure base and it's still light when class is over. My feminist side wants to be annoyed, but my mom side thinks it's sweet.) So this student and I were talking about the sentries at the gate, and I asked him if that duty was punishment for breaking rules. He said those young men and women choose that job. Apparently it's an honor, and they are willing to stand outside in extremely high temperatures in full fatigues to earn it. I told him about my habit of dropping off cookies for the guards when I bring them to my classes on the last day. He told me they love that -- actually he said "we", so I guess he's out there sometimes too -- and also when people bring cold drinks. Nothing makes them happier. So now I have a new idea of something nice to do to make someone's day a little better.

I probably mentioned that, because of the way my hotel reservation worked out (having to add a day) I would have to check out and find something to do for three to five hours today. I asked two different people at the front desk on Monday and Tuesday, and they just told me to come back to the desk early today and they'd see what they could do. I decided to try one more time last night, and the young woman at the desk got me squared away so I didn't have to leave or even change rooms. She made it a "stayover". No one else had been willing to do that, and I really appreciated it. Having tired of restaurant food, I went by The Fresh Market to get a wrap for dinner. I also picked up some lovely chocolate bars -- one for me and one for the desk clerk. When I got back to the hotel, she stopped what she was doing to greet me. I said, "I have a present for you." She said, "Whatever!" I said, "No, really, just a modest gift." And I handed her the chocolate and said, "Without your help, my day would have been miserable." She thanked me repeatedly and said, "You don't know how much I appreciate this." I thought she was going to cry, which made me want to cry, so I hastened away to my room. I think that this young woman is like me in the sense that meanness and pain probably don't make her cry, but kindness does. Maybe we both have had too much of the former and too little of the latter, like many people have. I usually try to keep my emotions in check -- and certainly I have been blessed with more kindness than not in my recent life -- but I care less as I get older. If, when we recognize the humanity in each other, we drop a little tear, there's nothing wrong with that. Seeing more goodness than bad, more love than hate -- that's my version of la dolci vita.