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 a remote area in southern Europe. One day they went to a nearby beach. It had a long stretch of sand leading to another stretch of shallow water before deepening into the Mediterranean. Neil got ready for a swim and took off his wading shoes. He walked and walked. Just as the water reached above his knees, but not yet high enough for him to start swimming, the sand changed to rock. Without shoes, he found the going too difficult.

He didn’t want to turn back, but the rest of the group was way ahead. Even though his plan to swim was thwarted, he was enjoying being in the water. He stayed where he was, sitting on a rock and reveling in the push of wave after wave.

Looking back and seeing him, one of the women waded back and asked if he’d like to borrow her shoes. It was a generous offer, but not one Neil felt he could accept. He didn’t refuse the hug she gave him.

I thought back to the spring of 2013 when he joined Laura and me in Edinburgh. The three of us took a tour of the Scottish Parliament. Before our tour group set off, our guide instructed us to stay together and not wander.

We wound our way to the debating chamber. The consensus appears 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, the chamber was empty. The tour leader led us along 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 alone 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 said 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.

Two images I now 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.