I don’t know her name, the woman at the bookstore — the one I told you about the other day. The one who followed Frances McDormand around and out the store last summer. But I know her face. And she knows mine. When we returned a few days ago, I placed my book on the counter to purchase, and held my phone up to show her the photo. I started with “Remember when…” and she looked terrified — the store is filled with international customers daily, so I’m sure she was not prepared for a test. But I continued quickly…”we talked about Frances McDormand?” And she broke into a huge smile. Yes, yes, she remembered this. I told her that I was so inspired that I went home and painted her. I held out my phone displaying the portrait. “Wow!” She claimed, “You are soooo good, wow!”  I beamed. I thanked her in two languages, both of us still grinning. “Because of our conversation…” she repeated, recognizing the part she had played. “Yes!” I said. And we knew we were connected. We spoke a little of paint, and words, and she placed my new book in a sack. I turned around to join Dominque and she said, this time to herself, perhaps to the store, the books that connected us, “Woah! Magnifique!” 

There are no price tags for each day that we live, but we do get paid, in the most glorious of ways. Sometimes it is with a passing smile. A lingered hug that says, “I know,” without words. A wave from an open window. Two wows and a woah! — I have them pocketed still, not to hoard them, but to have them at the ready, to give them freely when the moment arrives. When looked at with the hope of connection, I can scatter my “w”s and form a bond. Wow!