One day this past week I happened to be walking from one building at my work to another. I ran across the husband of a co-worker. Other than just exchanging pleasantries I really don’t know this man at all. But for about ten minutes we stood and talked despite the fact that I had plenty of work I needed to be doing at that moment.
The topic we mostly discussed was dirt track car racing. I admit it’s been years since I have been to a dirt track race. I do remember those times well though. Hot summer nights, cigarette smoke hanging in the air between the crowd and the giant lights reaching toward the sky, twangy country music filtering out over scratchy public address speakers, hard concrete bleachers and enough noise to not be able to hear the person sitting right next to you. Down below sat an oval track where a big truck watered down and packed dirt turning it into red Georgia mud while cars, some looking as though they had been through the pummeling of a gauntlet, drove round and round slinging that water and dirt mixture behind them with each lap.
He eventually talked about some of the more celebrated drivers of the past like Bobby and Donnie Allison, Neil Bonnet and others he had seen. This gentleman regaled me with some tales of local drivers and local racetracks going back into decades long gone. I shared a tidbit now and then even making him aware of one or two distant relatives who got behind the wheel and spent weekends on their second job, driving dirt tracks for fun. Mostly though, I spent some time listening to this man’s memories and experiences.
I admit the discussion piqued my interest some in those dirt track memories. Maybe I’ll locate a book that discusses some of those days and I can read it and relive those memories in some way. Maybe I can find some clips on YouTube that will remind me of those dirt track days.
What I really took away from these ten minutes in the middle of the day was how I enjoyed those ten minutes. I enjoyed getting to hear someone else’s memories. I enjoyed seeing the gleam in the eyes of someone as he talked about something he obviously enjoyed. I enjoyed getting to know someone better. Now this gentleman and I will have a starting point for discussion when we run across each other again.
Digging deeper though I think I probably needed this ten minute conversation. This week has been a tough one. Friends in other parts of the state and the South saw their homes and businesses wracked by flooding. Work has run long almost every day and been a bit more stressful than normal. A co-worker’s mother passed away after a brief illness Monday morning. This followed the news of the death of someone else that we worked with a good bit. His death was accidental and totally unexpected. It all has been a reminder of how life can change in a moment. It has been a reminder that serious stuff happens and sometimes stings and how sometimes it all piles up to make a body begin looking for the next bad thing to happen. It just seems to turn up the noise level to whatever else is happening in life, sometimes even muting the important things. So while maybe I enjoyed the discussion for various reasons, maybe that discussion was something I needed at that moment.
Amidst the recollections of car fumes and checkered flags was ten minutes of not thinking about the bad things that seemed to be beating down on my brow. It was ten minutes away from my phone and email and the other work I am trying to complete but can’t seem to finish because the phone won’t stop ringing and the email won’t stop coming. It was a nudge for me to slow down enough to listen because life is passing by. Of course, the trick is to listen not to the compiled noise of a bunch of engines drowning out all the important things in life but to focus my listening enough to hear above it and to hear the cheering crowd, the individual engines striving to get to the finish line and to also hear and comprehend what the person standing next to me is saying.
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