Serenity

My old friend Neil was last seen on this blog in “James Bond and the Errant Shrubs.” There, his adventure began when he cheerfully cut off branches that protruded beyond private gardens across a public sidewalk, sometimes smacking him in the face.

This time, he joined a group on a trip to the relative warmth of southern Europe. One morning they went to a remote beach that stretched far out to an area of shallow water before falling sharply into the Mediterranean. Eager for a swim, Neil took off his wading shoes and left them on the sand. Then he walked and walked.

Just as the water reached above his knees, but not yet high enough for him to swim, the sand changed to rock. Without shoes, he found the going too difficult. With the rest of the group way ahead and his planned swim thwarted, he sat down on a rock and reveled in the push of wave after wave against his legs.

Looking around and seeing him, a woman in the group waded back to him to ask if he’d like to borrow her shoes. It was a generous offer, but Neil felt he had to refuse. He didn’t refuse the hug she gave him.

I thought back to the spring of 2013 and the tour of the Scottish Parliament that Neil, my wife Laura and I joined in Edinburgh. Our guide instructed us to stay together and not wander before we wound our way to the debating chamber.

The consensus seems to be that the chamber is ugly and weirdly shaped. I found it spacious and airy, which I’d appreciate were I a legislator during a long session. That day, it was empty. The tour guide led us down a long aisle between lines of desks and chairs to the back, where she proceeded to give us a talk.

I realized Neil was no longer with us. Laura caught sight of him sitting some distance away at one of the desks. As he later told me, he was imagining he was present during a Parliamentary session. What would it be like to be in the midst of a heated debate? Would he have had the nerve to stand to make a speech of his own? Would he be able to think with all the ideas being thrown out around him? How would he feel, knowing that everything he did or said, or didn’t say or do, would have an impact on all the people he represented, as well as Scotland overall, and even the world? Would he feel too intimidated? Or would he feel proud? Would it be the pride that goes before the fall?

“Everyone here?” the guide asked as she prepared to move to the next stop on our tour. She looked around. Seeing Neil at his expropriated desk, she marched down the aisle to fetch him. I waited for a show of annoyance. But I wasn’t accounting for the affection everyone feels on meeting him. Not that he has any sense of the aura of grace that surrounds him. From our distance, I faintly heard their cordial exchange as he stood to rejoin us.

These two images I have of Neil coalesce into one. There he is, in that debate chamber during a Parliamentary session, sitting serenely at a desk with the Mediterranean’s waves flowing and ebbing around him.