This world is full of friends we just haven’t yet met. My husband, with his approachable blue eyes, smiling face and positive, nonjudgmental attitude sees it that way. I’m the one who regularly needs reminding.

Him at the grocery store: “People are awesome!”

Me at the grocery store: “Blanched almonds? All they have are blanched almonds? I need slivered almonds. Blanched won’t work in this recipe. This is so frustrating!”

Meanwhile, he starts a conversation with a young fellow passing by with two boxes of frozen edamame beans in his cart. “How do you cook those?” The fellow, without missing a beat, says, “Well, you’re supposed to steam them but I’m too lazy, so I just microwave them.”

Him: “Are they good?”

Young man: “I like them. Not everyone does, but I do.”

Me to myself: “Where are the frozen peas? I can’t make this meal without frozen peas.”

Him to the young man: “You make me want to try edamame.”

Young man: “Just be sure to put salt on them.”

It’s always like this at stores. I’m on a hunt, foraging for the stuff on my list. I tend to hyper focus on my mission. That’s why it’s healthy to have him along. He reminds me that we live with other people on this planet, including the ones roaming through this store. It’s like a playground for him. “Hey look, there are new kids here. I’m going to go meet them.”

Me, I’m the boring mom not paying attention.

He does this at any store, not just the grocery store. We go to the same hair cutting salon. I settle into a corner chair and stare at magazine pictures of people with purple hair who look much more interesting than I am. He, meanwhile, is much more interesting than I am by making friends with everyone sitting in the waiting area.

I took him to the home décor store once. Once. Too many questions. I think he made a few women there a little uncomfortable. Not everyone wants to discuss with a strange man why she chose a teal pillow.

At the post office, he talks about mail to the clerk. Who talks about mail? He does.

His favorite store people are the clerks. He can’t get through a checkout line without making friends: Have you had a hard day? How long have you worked here? What’s that star on your name badge for? Do they pay you what you’re worth? Do you get to go home soon?

Once they get over their initial surprise that someone actually cares, they engage. Sometimes much longer than they should, but they engage, and he keeps it going.

His super power is making friends. Growing up, our kids groaned to me that whenever they had to go somewhere with Dad, he stopped to talk to people. This sometimes drove them crazy because they had plans but had to wait while he carried on a full-blown conversation with someone he just met. They don’t go to the store with him anymore, being adults with spouses and kids of their own now. But I’ve noticed how sometimes they strike up a conversation with a total stranger. They did NOT get that from me.

From him I’ve learned the simple truth that you find what you look for. I look for carrots and I find them. He looks for friends and he finds them. It makes perfect sense that people are awesome to him because he is awesome to them.

He’s teaching us how to become friends with the world, one person at a time.

If he lives long enough, we all might start getting along better.

D. Louise Brown lives in Layton. She writes a biweekly column for the Standard-Examiner.

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