I walked up Walnut Street tonight on my way home from the Ritz Five Theater. Heading from east to west, past Wills Eye Hospital, Jeweler’s Row and Le Bec Fin. I was listening to my iPod for a little while, until I acknowledged my uneasy feeling generated by the white strings hanging from my ears and put my conspicuous consumer electronic device away for the duration of the walk home. Without the iPod to divert my attention and make me look busy, I felt uncomfortable as I walked through Center City at 11 o’clock at night. So I called my mom (exchanging one device for another). We talked about syncronicity and about the “there are no accidents” phenomenon.

She told me that she and my dad had been in Fred Meyers (the best grocery/clothing/electronics/home/garden/everything store around for you east coasters) today and my dad’s cell phone rang. My father stopped in the middle of the aisle to answer and as he talked, a woman walked towards him from the other end of the aisle. She looked familiar to him, and as she past, he hung up the phone and called out, “Karen?” She stopped and said, “Yes?” My father thought she was the girlfriend of a guy from the Unitarian church choir and asked her if that was the case. It turns out that she wasn’t, that she’s getting married on Sunday and she and my father have never met before. But he called out her name and she answered. My mom said to Karen, once they weren’t able to come up with any that they had ever met, “Maybe we were just supposed to stop you and wish you happiness and joy in your upcoming life.” And with that, they parted.

Just as my mom finished recounting this story, I heard the notes of a recorder playing. There is a blind, homeless woman who plays this recorder on the street a couple of blocks from my apartment many nights during fair weather, hoping for a few cents from the people passing by. I’ve seen her for years and rarely stopped to drop a coin into her bucket. I was across the street from her and as I glanced up, I saw her put down her recorder and reach into her bin, to see what people had given her. She felt the few coins, sighed and took a bite out of a stale cracker. I put my hand into my bag and crossed the street and asked her if she liked oatmeal, chocolate chip, walnut cookies.

I had taken these leftover cookies (made originally for students at work) with me to the movies tonight, to share with my ex-boyfriend as we watched “Crash” and hung out for the first time in six months. My intention had been to leave any that remained with him after the movies, but as we parted, offering the rest of the cookies had felt too maternal and familiar, so I had stuck them back into my bag and made my way home. I had been reaching for my wallet as the urge struck to offer something of what I had to this woman, but the cookies made their way into my hand instead and instantly I realized it was the right thing. She was happy to receive them and said, “Thank you, I was getting hungry.” In an instant, this exchange became my “no accidents” encounter for the day. She was hungry, I had cookies and I followed my instinct to share.

Two business men were walking by as I offered the cookies and said to me as we all walked away what a nice thing I had done. In that moment I felt annoyed at them for commenting on my “good deed” and not doing anything themselves, but now I think that what I did was make her visible to them. For an instant I brought her presence out of the shadows and into the shop lights of Walnut Street. Maybe a little bag of cookies will create ripples far and wide. You never know.

On Saturday, Cindy, Una, Chris (Una’s boyfriend) and I spent the day sitting around outside at the Appel Farms Music and Arts Festival. It started as a slightly overcast day, but while Aimee Mann sang to a transfixed crowd from the Grove stage, it shifted to clear skies and translucent sunshine. This was a major improvement over last year, when it rained all day, forcing us to cocoon ourselves in my big, blue concert tarp.

I have to take a side trip here to express my love for my concert tarp. I bought it three years ago for a Jack Johnson/Ben Harper show at the Mann Music Center and it hasn’t missed an outdoor concert since. It’s been with me through Dar Williams, the Indigo Girls, Guster, Ben Folds, Rufus and all the great acts at Appel Farms last year. Living as I do in an apartment, I don’t have a whole of space in which to clean my tarp when it gets dirty in it’s role to protect me and my friends from the dirt, bugs and other outdoor elements. Once I tried putting it in the washing machine, but all that resulted was a flooded kitchen. These days I’ve come up with a folding/bath tub soaking regime that works pretty well. Big, blue tarp, here’s to many more outdoor concerts together!

Listening to music outdoors is always nice, but the thing I enjoy most about day long festivals such as this is the opportunity to be with people, to watch people and to experience humanity differently than I do in my day to day life. People create little sections of private space with their blankets, tarps, chairs and towels that are respected by the others around them. Once we’ve marked our patch of earth, we become comfortable and relaxed in this manufactured personal space and start to do things that we wouldn’t normally do in public.

Like public displays of ugly love. I actually find ugly love endearing, it’s always nice to have the phrase “There’s someone for everyone” affirmed. But I don’t always want to see those someone’s caressing the other someone’s fleshy folds of back fat with hairy, stumpy fingers (HSF). I particularly don’t want to see those HSF delving below the elastic waistband of their partner’s turquoise blue jogging pants during a romantic line of a Rufus Wainwright song. And yet, it’s like viewing any disaster, it’s totally off-putting and completely mesmerizing at the same moment.

Ah, the perils of private behavior in public spaces!

I’ve always been good at first dates and job interviews. Really, they require some of the same skills–presenting yourself clearly, articulately and in good light. Being enthusiastic and engaged in the conversation. Avoiding picking your nose or scratching your crotch. Not mentioning that you still sleep with your baby blanket. That sort of thing.

I put my job interviewing skills to good use today at that big university in West Philly at which I’ve always wanted to work (really, I’ve always wanted to go to school there, but I figured working there is a good first step). And it went really (REALLY) well. About half way through the meeting, the woman interviewing me dropped all pretenses and asked me “How much notice do you have to give your current job?” “When could you start?” and “What days next week would work for your second interview?” She emailed me about half an hour ago, suggesting I come in again next Wednesday. Keep your fingers crossed!

Yesterday while I was driving home from work, my mind was clicking away, generating one great idea after another of things for me to write about in this space. But as we all know, it’s not the greatest idea to take notes while driving (especially on Kelly Drive) so I didn’t write any of them down. But I just knew that there was no way I’d forget all these great ideas.

Except that now, as I try to think of something clever to write, I’ve forgotten all those inspired ideas. Urg! Isn’t that always the case!

One cool thing happening these days is that my sister is off in Texas, at what she is calling “Guitar Camp for Grownups.” It is also know as the Kerrville Folk Festival and from what I hear she’s having a great time.