Scientific Observations

From the Past 30 Days of Field Research

North Idaho

The pale girl with dreadlocks who sat across from us in the hot springs pointed vaguely towards the hillside. “The St. John’s Wort over there is my favorite patch of St. Johns in the whole Pacific Northwest,” said the girl, whose name was Rain.

“Oh, you planted that?” asked the one-armed guy who was also sharing the hot springs. His left arm ended shortly after his elbow. He held a can of cheap beer in his right hand.

“ No, no,” Rain said, with a hint of annoyance in her voice, “it grows naturally. I just like to visit it.”

“What does it do?” The one armed guy asked.

“It relaxes you; it’s really good for the brain. It regrows myelin,” Rain stated.

“Is that so?” said the one-armed guy when she finished. He swigged his beer, transfered the can from his good arm to a nook between his stub and his body, and then used his good hand to wipe some foam away from his mouth.

Portland, OR

My friends’ newborn baby looked up at me with giant eyes.

“Wow,” I said. “She’s really small.”

“Yeah, well, that’s how they come out.”

Victoria, BC

“What type of food do you like to eat?” I asked the tall Spaniard sitting across from me in broken Spanish. We were sitting in the dark, cellar-like space of The Mint restaurant, and I squinted at the menu, trying to read it by the flickering candle light.

“Como ninos,” Jordi replied.

My mind sluggishly translated: Como - “I eat”, ninos - “children”.

Jen and I met Jordi and his wife Ester, who were from Barcelona, for the first time earlier that day. They were cousins of a friend of ours and they were on their honeymoon and traveling through North America for the first time. Owing a karmic debt to the many people who have let Jen and I sleep at their places while we traveled, we had invited them to stay with us for the night they were in Victoria.

“Uh, you eat children?” I ask hesitantly.

Jordi laughed. “No, no, comimos como ninos.” We eat like children.

“Ah”, I said and took a drink of my beer.

Montana

After the professional comedian finished her show, my aunt approached her.

“Have you ever thought about performing at funerals?” asked my aunt.

“Uh…” said the comedian, a friend of the family.

“My husband is dying, you know,” My aunt continued.

“Oh, I heard that,” replied the comedian. “I’m very sorry.”

“Well,” my aunt paused. “Think about it. You have my number.”