Do real people feed each other popcorn?

I was watching the

Superbowl last night,

And the camera panned a row of

Celebrity spectators

Rocking in black leather chairs.

A movie star and her pro baseball player boyfriend,

Their eyes ultramarine against their tawny skin,

Her hair an enviably expensive and perfect blond.

Just at the moment the camera panned to them,

She took a few kernels of popcorn in the tips of her long fingers

And fed them to the baseball player,

Who snapped at them like a puppy,

One kernel sticking to his bottom lip

And then falling into his lap.


Normally, I am sensible on the subject of


I only have to imagine them

Taking a plunky shit

To bring them back down to

Planet Earth.

But this


Was so decidedly


And so maddeningly


It made me wonder if perhaps these


In their nonchalant vitality,

Aren’t truly


Their concerns so far

Beyond what we

Regular folk deal with

That they would just

Do something

So spontaneously playful

In front of 111 million television viewers

Like feed each other


I mean,

Who does that?

How to appreciate snow

Photo credit:

In Finland,

I learned to be a

Connoisseur of winter.

There, near the arctic circle,

Over generations of plodding survival,

Folks have passed down small

Observations and


About winter, snow and cold

That they carry with them like

Small, warm nuggets in their pockets

To wrap cold fingers around.

One thing I learned:

Snow makes darkness bearable.

In a place where you might not see the sun for weeks or months,

A coating of white snow

Suffuses the murky black nights and

Tentative gray days with sudden

Brightness and


From the ground,

Like the earth is glowing.

Extroverted introvert

I was confused.

I thought, for a long time,

That to be an


You had to be


Scared of people.



I’ve always known my

Natural state is


But shy?

Not so much.

I am astonished

At the weird power of the

Social instinct.

Even if I can’t see you,

I feel you when you’re nearby

And I know you feel me, too.

And that’s madness, right?

How can we feel one another without even touching?


If we laugh together,

Or smile,

Or share a kind word or touch,

Joy nearly brings me to tears.

When I’m out and about,

Which I am

A lot,

I’ll talk to anyone.

Old, young,

Man, woman,


I can even,

Every once in awhile,

Command a room.

But it tires me.

I need to recover from

Time with people.

Alone, quiet,

That’s my recovery.

And if I didn’t have the wisdom to know I must,

For my own health,

Push myself toward you,

My natural state would drive me to

Climb the stairs slowly,

Pulling the door closed behind me,

Holding my book to my chest.

(Because sometimes,

I love books most of all.)

But you see,

I’m not shy.

So I’ll add yet another


To my characterization

Of myself


I do love a good paradox):

Extroverted introvert.