The Art of Conversation

I was tired. I was fed and tired. I was back in the museum of flight and my parents and kids had just entered the "kid" area and Max and Sam had promptly vanished and my parents and benched themselves like 4th string freshman not to move until told that we were leaving. I was looking at an "out of order" exhibit when a docent came up and told me he would turn it on for me because I clearly wanted to see it go. He was right. It was a little wind tunnel with a model plane in it on wires that would clearly "fly" when the air was pushed past it. He fiddled with it for a while and then dug out his Swiss army knife and he tried various blades to turn a screw in the "on" knob to get it to turn on. No luck. Well no luck turning on the thing.

We started talking about Swiss army knives. He had lost his model with a saw which he said was hard to find. I talked about my various ones. I say various because as I told him, I lose them, buy them then finally find them again so I have like three around. I have the model that lacks cork screw and has a Phillips screwdriver instead.

We conversed. It was great.

For about fifteen minutes we covered subject such as flu shots and immune systems to the germ dishes that are so fondly called: "children." We talked about education and science. Of course we didn't get to (and wouldn't) politics or religion. It was still a real conversation. Not small talk.

We never once spoke of the rain. Of course we didn't, we both live in Seattle and the rain is to be ignored above all else in polite conversation.