Connectivity and Resulting Actions

Trying to write without being around people at certain times
is not possible for me. It is not a connection with friends so
much that I seek, but that with strangers.  Each person I
meet has a story, or more than one. to tell.This interaction
of exchanging information and personal stories takes less
time than one might realize, but later,when writing, small
details leak into dialog and character traits--all provided
freely by random strangers and connecting with them for
ten to twenty minutes.

I am gifted to have recall of conversations verbatim-
without writing them down.  Sometimes I do write the
where, how, and when--and even the actual dialog
between myself and another, but usually my mind retains
even those conversations I would choose to forget.  On
a humorous note, I can never remember jokes--even
when I write them down, I really flop on the delivery.
I would starve as a stand up comedian--no, they would
ask to take a seat in the audience.

I was at the library and met two interesting people,  the
first, a woman doing research on autism and non-profit
groups.  The second was a man I met while hunting
the stacks for books-he and I had a lengthy conversation
dealing with crimes and research.  His name was Gerald
and her name was Molly.  It was a very spontaneous type
conversation with each.  I came home with ideas swirling
through my head--and isn't  that what creativity is all
about?  Ideas?

I remember a quote from a friend in the 60's:  "Ideas
won't keep; something must be done about them."
--Whitehead.

This was said to me by an older friend who was in
college who I have lost and am still trying to re-locate
after this so-many years.  She was friends with another
friend during that same time period.  There were in
college; I was a Senior in High School, only 17 at the
time.  The second friend and I were closer; we had made
plans to go shopping one Saturday.  I called her back, and
her father answered.  He was out of breath, said he was
mowing the yard, and Jerri (my friend) had already left for
Winston Salem, so we must have got our wires crossed.
He told me that Jerri would be back by 12:00.  I said I would
call her back then.   I hung up the telephone.  At 12:00 and
1:00 there was an answer.  At 2:00 I reach Jerri--and learned
that her father had a heart attack in the chair where he
sat while talking to me on the telephone.  And she was
distraught.  I had no words of usefulness to offer.
Emotionally, I was still a teenager doing my best to
figure out me and my place in the world. The friendship
ended because of this event, not right away, but
within six months.  She blamed my phonecall for her
father's death.  Having worked as a cardiac most of
entire nursing career, I know now his coming in the
house to answer the phone was not the cause.  But
she never knew about my nursing career. The
friendship ended over that phonecall.  Definitely never
forgotten.  Nor was the conversations afterwards.

Kate Thorn