a day with hemingway

connie is a crazy 'ol hoot. she's the volunteer coordinator at the Ernest Hemingway museum, and ever since i volunteered there about a year ago, she's called frequently ever since, asking if i could help out. i normally dismiss her late-night calls and her melodic voice messages (she seems to speak in a rhythm, complete with crescendos), but i decided to call her back this time. with no job to report to and no classes to study for, i figured i could offer society SOMETHING during this sedentary state-o-mine.

unlike when i volunteered before, when i was the greeter at the museum, i worked yesterday in hemingway's birth home. i was the "traffic controller," which is an authoritative name for "take tickets, greet, and tell guests when the next tour will be offered." i got to work with some lovely elderly docents who knew more about hemingway than hemingway even knew about himself.

what made the day so extraordinary was all the people i got to meet and talk to. people from taiwan, ireland, rome, california, pennsylvania, the netherlands, and korea all came to see where ernest first popped his manly head. while waiting for tours to start, i got to learn more about the visitors. one woman, from taiwan, was here on a three-month work visa. her and other international students spent the summer at six flags working food service. she loved it.

another man, whose name i never caught, was so generally interested in my life that it amazed me. i told him of my life here, my goals, my struggles, and he listened with a smile. he then introduced me to an English teacher he was traveling with on the tour group. upon hearing of my future plans to teach, the woman got giddy with excitement, telling me i would be great. it was just what i needed to hear.

it amazes me that one person, a person who lived decades ago, can still bring people from all over the world together in one tiny, humble place, such as a queen anne style house on oak park avenue. sometimes i think writing is self-centered and egotistical; then i remember the power of a book, the influence on a world, and common themes that we can all relate to, and writing and their authors take on a humble, magical aura.