Intersections

This past week,

 our little (big) town intersected 

with a woman well-known and much-admired,

 Margaret Atwood.

After an afternoon of interviewing at our local radio, 

after being tucked into a table for dinner at our local(ly) fine(est) bistro, she and I waited backstage at our local and loved theater
for the big moment, the whole reason she was here:

To receive Penn State's

Institute for the Arts and Humanities 

(crafted by local artists) 

Medal for Distinguished Achievement. 

[Caption reads, "That would make a good murder weapon!"]

And then she commanded the stage,

 and read to the gathered crowd from her most recent work, 

Stone Mattress.

 Made of a wry mischievous eye, she enjoyed herself,

 and allowed us to enjoy her as well.

The evening closed with a private reception,

 where persons dear to the IAH 

were given the opportunity to learn from her,

 to share with her,

 to laugh with her.

 Our lives, for just a brief moment, intersected with hers.

Then we intersected the cake

(made, of course, by our local cake-maker with local ingredients),

 and were glad that she enjoyed it enough to make it known, 

before it was time to bring the evening to an end.

And though my interactions with her were mostly made 

of flashes such as "Do you need anything?" 

and "Your book is in the green room"

and "Are you ready to go?",

here is where I am left:  

For an overall total of 24 hours, this woman's life met with the life of our Penn State little (big) community. We will never fully know her;
she will never fully know us.  But for a moment, we intersected.

And that brief merging helps us in some odd way,
it gives us a joint of strength, at the moment of perpendicular crossing.  

Somehow, it keeps us walking the path we're walking, 

as she moves on along her own.

This brief moment, Distinguished from my everyday,
helps me to see with new eyes that all of life is made of Intersection,
whether good or bad, strong or weak.
And it leaves me with the question,
 "What kind of intersections do I leave in my wake?"

Perhaps herein lies the real Achievement.

"I'm a monster," said the shadow of the Marquess suddenly. 
"Everyone says so."
The Minotaur glanced up at her.
"So are we all, dear," said the Minotaur kindly.
"The thing to decide is what kind of monster to be.
The kind who builds towns or the kind who breaks them."
~C. M. Valente, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There


[Photo Credits: Madison Mock, IAH Grad Assistant of Awesome]