Celli and I bundled up against anticipated cold. Friday was near 90-degrees, then temperatures dropped into the 40s for the rest of the weekend. When we stepped outside into a thick fog, the air felt warm and wonderful and I decided then that springtime in the Carolinas is noncommittal. We go through the seasons during this time, as if to reflect on each. As though we needed reminding of our gratitude for the warmer months by showering us with a cold autumn rain or a sudden severe winter wind. It definitely helps. I’m loving these days when the air is gentle and the birds seem to be singing out joyfully in a backdrop of blossoming shrubs and trees.

Erick and I ventured out to the music store with the girls yesterday. I met some really neat people in the woodwind/string section while Erick was playing the bass across the store with the girls. I’d really like to make some friends down here sooner than later. I miss that connection we had up north. It will likely get easier when we know we’re settled somewhere, but I’m still going to try. I know there are a lot of people feeling much the same in this great expanse of city and I think the same thought frightens us all away from committing to a friendship. I think it’s the choices – the sheer numbers. There are so many new people we meet each day only never to see them again, you feel sort of awkward asking one of them out to coffee without looking like you’re trying to pick them up. Even the store seems to rotate through employees so fast I have trouble keeping track of faces, let alone names.

There was that guy who wanted to know all about Michigan. He was Greek, but had lived here most of his life. I told him about the Mackinac Bridge. He had never heard of the Mackinac Bridge and he was so intrigued! I could have easily gotten along with him, but I’ve never seen him since. And there was the woman from Russia at the train stop with two small children. We hit it off instantly, but I hesitated to give her my number for the same reasons I mentioned above. Would I ever see her again even though she lives only one street down? I have not yet.

The nice thing about all this variety is that I’m feeling more comfortable around strangers. I’m able to be direct, communicate and laugh with them. I love them for their potential to be great friends. And there are just so many beautiful people in this city, at times, you just want to observe them. The diversity of culture is incredible, welcome. The languages sifting through the great halls that connect Wachovia One with Wachovia Two remind me of the songbirds lining the electric cables powering the light rail. Their songs mingle to form one flavorful medley. When the train passes Celli and I in the morning, though the engineer and I have never met face-to-face, we wave and smile. We connect and that connection lasts long after the rails have quieted in my contemplation of what could be, what will be given a little patience and time.