Questions that baffle, questions that get too much response

My parents lived to a ripe old age. (What is 'ripe' in a person?) Maybe we'll not think about that too much. When anyone died they got a little excited about the question "What did they die of?" I often exhibited an uncharacteristic impatience, and responded somewhat sarcastically, "A person dies when their heart stops beating." However simplistic that is, I both hoped to avoid long discussions about other people's colons, and kidneys (Remember when we had to look at diagrams of Ronald Reagan's colon, or was it his prostate on all the news channels? God.) and I was trying to trigger the message what did it matter?

In El Salvador during the 'troubles' people were amused by the US news broadcasts which always reported who made the rifle that killed someone or whether it was a bomb or a machete. Their experience was that whatever was used, their loved one was dead. "Do Americans have a scale of better and worse ways  to be murdered?"

I kind of felt like that when my parents were detailing someone's illness. I have wondered if behind the question, aside from compassion and loss there was a little bit of checking their own odds in the game. If the person was fat or smoked or drank too much or was always stressed out, well, then.

I guess it is a matter of perspective. I might ask, "What did they live for?" A bit like that question all Americans ask each other, "What do you do?", meaning-work. And Europeans ask, "How is your life?" On the whole Camino walk, no one asked me what I did for a living. Think about it..

On a whole different question question, I was at a wedding with Louis at the beach in Las Pinitas, Nicaragua a few months ago. Louis was giving away the bride because her dad was dead. The young Nicaraguan woman was marrying a French Basque. His relatives all came dressed in white with red bandanas around their necks. Oh, those Basques! They spoke a kind of French, Most of the brides family only spoke Spanish.

In spite of copious amounts of booze and a great band, and a moonlit night on the beach, the party was slow getting rolling. I asked a quiet, squat , plain little Nica woman to show me how to Salsa dance. I kind of know how, but I wanted to mix it up a bit. Oh God, one simple question and I had a very serious dance partner for the next five hours. She took it as if it were her life work. When I danced with someone else..those Basque uncles got a wild as Scottsmen when they got a little ripped. (Not hard to do when the food didn't appear for four more hours) when I danced with someone else, she just never left my side instructing me the whole time.

I kind of screamed when she appeared at my bedside after I had gone to sleep to thank me for being such a good student. It was her first time teaching. Next time, I'll not ask such an open ended question to short old ladies here in Nica.