Still alive and very, very curious.

In my old age (77, and counting), I’ve become very, very curious. In younger times, I was merely plain curious. Not very, very  curious. Now I’m compulsively, non-ending curious. I gotta know something significant about the beings I encounter. Man. Woman. Beast. Everyone.  Yes, even strangers that cross my path. Even a dog or a cat or a chipmunk or a pigeon. Almost anything or anyone can wake me from my reverie  on a park bench. Some close friends suggest I’m crazy. For opening up in unlimited ways to total strangers.  But I do it for a well-calculated reason. Openness tends to breed openness. My kind of people are innately curious. They think,  ‘To hell with privacy. Let’s share ourselves in meaningful ways. Let’s not waste time getting to know each other.’ Maybe that was what an old lady had in mind in an olive grove the other day. Here in Sardinia. Where I’m living for several months. Unfortunately, my Italian true love rebuffed  the lady.  Because she asked so many personal questions. Wanting to know our ages. And the nature of our relationship. Of course, many folks approached that way react negatively. By either ignoring the lady, or declaring, ‘It’s none of your business.’  I’m of a different ilk. Wished I spoke fluent Italian.  I’d have told the lady more than she might have wanted to know.  Not only our ages and  marital status. But that I’m a romantic idealist, a spiritual free-thinker, a political liberal, a lover and a dreamer.  Yes, a quick summation. Leaving immense room for significant dialogue. I’d have bombarded the old lady with all sorts of questions. Personal, and otherwise. By the time the exchange  was over, I’d know far more about the lady than she knows about me. And I’d be writing about her in vivid detail. Right here. In my blog. And maybe I’d be planning for future encounters. With this lady. Curiosity may have killed many cats. But I’m still alive and very, very curious.  –Jim Broede