Tiny Acts of Love

Life goes on here in Bonavista. After nearly three years, people continue to ask me “Do you still like living here?” and I still reply “NO! I do not like living here; I love living here”, for to love someone or something is to want to be of service to that person or that thing. You can like Chapman’s Butterscotch-Ripple Ice-Cream very much, but you can’t love it. I love programming computers, and since May 1967 have tried to help people make better use of computers to take over boring and respective tasks.

So when I say “I love living in Bonavista” I mean that the people of Bonavista have wormed their way into my heart.

How do people worm their way into one’s heart?

I believe it is by acts of love so small that they are mostly un-noticed acts of love.

There I was, peeling and dicing pumpkin at my kitchen bench when movement caught my eye. A hundred yards away, across the street and in their back-yard, Kerry was slowly waving both arms above her head. Who is she waving at? Surely not me? The sun is on the south side of the house, and I am at the northern window, so she surely can’t see me inside the house? My North-facing kitchen is what physicists call “a black hole”; it emits no light.

I stared; Kerry stopped waving; I waved my arms; Kerry waved again. Kerry has spotted me dicing pumpkin flesh. I walked across the street “Were you waving at me?”. Yes. Kerry and I chatted and watched David and Spence wrestle firewood logs out of the bog. I walked home and went back to dicing pumpkin flesh.

This felt good; someone cares enough about me to wave “Hello”, That is an almost un-noticed act of love. If I hadn’t glanced up, it would have been an un-noticed act of love. Same thing when Aletha or Tony honk at me as they drive by. Same thing when Cherie or Geoff call out to me in the supermarket, or when Megan says “You are my favorite customer”.

These small acts are not the kind of thing to write up in a diary, but they add up to a feeling that I call love. I can allow that these people want me to do well here. I live alone, and they know it, but they want me not to be lonely.

They want me to know that they see me, that I am welcome. That I am loved.

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