As she drove through the town, she noted the five or six prominent buildings in the main square. A bank, a bakery, several bookstores and directly in the middle, the City Hall building. As she gazed at the seemingly out of place grandeur of the building at the center of the square, she heard the squeal of brakes and someone lay on the horn. Guess you need to pay attention while driving, despite the minuscule population of the town. She had almost run straight into the side of a merging rusty blue pick-up truck. The woman in the truck looked at her with exasperation, shook her head and pulled away. Apparently it was time to stop for coffee.
She looked around the square and spun the wheel quickly to turn into an open spot in front of “Coffee Villa” an unpretentious looking coffee house with a small yellow sign that read “WIRELESS INTERNET AVAILABLE,” posted above the business hours. She noted that the shop was only open until 4:30 p.m. – that gave her about thirty minutes to relax for a minute and fuel up for the next stretch of the trip. As she pushed the gear stick into park she heard a strange grinding and then a popping sound, she looked up to see smoke pouring from the engine.
“Shit,” she said. And got out of the car.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Friday, October 22, 2010
Romanticizing Decisions
I woke up this morning to find frost covering my car and myself in desperate need of some warm socks and a long sleeved tee shirt. I am still anxiously awaiting the day that it stays chilly long enough to rationalize my spending $5 on a Pumpkin Spice Latte from Starbucks. There is something strangely comforting about those overpriced coffee drinks that signifies fall to me in the same way as the falling leaves and frosty mornings.
I’ve been to the beach twice this week – so I suppose my Latte can wait for a few more weeks while I enjoy the sun and the ocean instead of the cold chill that tells of a winter not far behind.
I miss fall for reasons that have very little to do with the weather. I miss football games for reasons that have very little to do with what happens on the field. And I miss college for every reason that has absolutely nothing to do with going to class.
Why didn’t they tell us responsibility was so dull?
And at the same time I can distinctly recall being sick and tired of my own apathy. There are so many things going on in the world that are calling for our attention. And the time has finally come to take responsibility for myself and give the time and attention to those matters, people and events that I’ve been placing on the back burner for so long.
Why didn’t they tell us responsibility was so exhausting?
I keep trying to remember the decisions that led me here. Every single decision now seems blurred with the warm and soft memories of a place left behind. It's difficult to sit and remember the past without focusing on the things and people you miss most. It's almost equally as difficult to look into the future without being overwhelmed by the possibilities of all you can do. I feel as if life is already slipping by and I haven't even started yet.
I’ve been to the beach twice this week – so I suppose my Latte can wait for a few more weeks while I enjoy the sun and the ocean instead of the cold chill that tells of a winter not far behind.
I miss fall for reasons that have very little to do with the weather. I miss football games for reasons that have very little to do with what happens on the field. And I miss college for every reason that has absolutely nothing to do with going to class.
Why didn’t they tell us responsibility was so dull?
And at the same time I can distinctly recall being sick and tired of my own apathy. There are so many things going on in the world that are calling for our attention. And the time has finally come to take responsibility for myself and give the time and attention to those matters, people and events that I’ve been placing on the back burner for so long.
Why didn’t they tell us responsibility was so exhausting?
I keep trying to remember the decisions that led me here. Every single decision now seems blurred with the warm and soft memories of a place left behind. It's difficult to sit and remember the past without focusing on the things and people you miss most. It's almost equally as difficult to look into the future without being overwhelmed by the possibilities of all you can do. I feel as if life is already slipping by and I haven't even started yet.
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Smoking Palmetto Trees
Sept. 17, 2010
Sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Charleston. Rich bitter warm smells permeate the air - the ash tray at my table contains two cigerette butts - leaving me with the impression that if I wanted to light up I could. And although I don't want to, the knowledge that I can is strangely comforting. It's September and the coolest day I've had so far in Charleston. I suspect it is a fluke - but I'll take it for what it is and enjoy the perfect day and cool breeze in my favorite white pillow skirt and a blue razorback tank top.
There are palmetto trees on this back patio - as well as ivy covered walls and a quiet fountain.
I think I've found my own heaven and Charleston and it's only a few blocks from my new house. I love it here. nick and I are getting along and the people are wonderful. Jobs are scarce but where aren't they these days. At 23 I don't think I'll have much trouble getting by for now.
A man is smoking outside the gate. Perhaps I was wrong and you can't smoke in here. But the guilty cigerette butts at my table signal that perhaps he is just trying to be polite since no one here is smoking now. This is the South after all.
Sitting in a coffee shop in downtown Charleston. Rich bitter warm smells permeate the air - the ash tray at my table contains two cigerette butts - leaving me with the impression that if I wanted to light up I could. And although I don't want to, the knowledge that I can is strangely comforting. It's September and the coolest day I've had so far in Charleston. I suspect it is a fluke - but I'll take it for what it is and enjoy the perfect day and cool breeze in my favorite white pillow skirt and a blue razorback tank top.
There are palmetto trees on this back patio - as well as ivy covered walls and a quiet fountain.
I think I've found my own heaven and Charleston and it's only a few blocks from my new house. I love it here. nick and I are getting along and the people are wonderful. Jobs are scarce but where aren't they these days. At 23 I don't think I'll have much trouble getting by for now.
A man is smoking outside the gate. Perhaps I was wrong and you can't smoke in here. But the guilty cigerette butts at my table signal that perhaps he is just trying to be polite since no one here is smoking now. This is the South after all.
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Home for the Weekend
August 31, 2010
Sitting at Plate 21 in Toledo Ohio - the woman taking my drink order recognized me by my last name. She is actually the owner, and knows my last name because my little sister works here in the morning and on the weekends. Annie hates it. She's too young to feel any empathy for the middle aged woman trying to run a neighborhood coffee shop in the midst of a recession. To her, the owner is just an angry penny pincher who yells at her when she isn't doing anything. The failure rate of independent restaurants is 65 percent - and that is in a good year. I can't imagine what those numbers look like anymore.
I ran into my parents next door neighbor at the gas station, and I'm sure if I went anywhere else in this town I'd see more people from my childhood or that know my family. It's reassuring in a way. To be from somewhere. To be surrounded by people who don't just konw you - they know your family - they know your history. It's easy to melt into the history of your family and become a Gibbons instead of an individual. It would be the same if I moved to Mansfield, I'd be a Dillon - an automatic part of something without any effort on my part. in those places I am a part of a long history - anywhere else I'd stand alone.
Sitting at Plate 21 in Toledo Ohio - the woman taking my drink order recognized me by my last name. She is actually the owner, and knows my last name because my little sister works here in the morning and on the weekends. Annie hates it. She's too young to feel any empathy for the middle aged woman trying to run a neighborhood coffee shop in the midst of a recession. To her, the owner is just an angry penny pincher who yells at her when she isn't doing anything. The failure rate of independent restaurants is 65 percent - and that is in a good year. I can't imagine what those numbers look like anymore.
I ran into my parents next door neighbor at the gas station, and I'm sure if I went anywhere else in this town I'd see more people from my childhood or that know my family. It's reassuring in a way. To be from somewhere. To be surrounded by people who don't just konw you - they know your family - they know your history. It's easy to melt into the history of your family and become a Gibbons instead of an individual. It would be the same if I moved to Mansfield, I'd be a Dillon - an automatic part of something without any effort on my part. in those places I am a part of a long history - anywhere else I'd stand alone.
Post from the Past - August 28, 2010
Driving through Bloomington at 6 a.m. – Trellis plopped down next to me as we head west toward I-65 S, I haven’t quite realized that I won’t be coming back soon. I’ve always left. Always been interested in new places – new people. But at the same time, its as if my heart breaks everytime I pull up those roots and move again. Getting now almost to a point where I’m hesitant to let those roots get too deep for fear of the pain once I rip them up again. Because I always will – no matter how happy I am – no matter how content my life feels. The allure of the unknown – the excitement of the unexplored, it will always pull me away again.
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Sitting at a Denny’s in Louisville, KY – I’m greeted by the hostess with a “Hi Baby,” as if I’ve been coming in everyday since the moment I was born. People here are kind and warm and life moves just a little bit slower.
“You need anything baby doll?” Another asks.
“No thanks,” I reply. “I’m waiting on someone.”
It’s funny the way the culture changes in just a few hours. I don’t think people appreciate it here the way they do in places like Europe. You drive from Southern Germany to Northern France and you anticipate the culture change. But distance-wise it’s the same trip between countries as it is between states here.
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Sitting at a Denny’s in Louisville, KY – I’m greeted by the hostess with a “Hi Baby,” as if I’ve been coming in everyday since the moment I was born. People here are kind and warm and life moves just a little bit slower.
“You need anything baby doll?” Another asks.
“No thanks,” I reply. “I’m waiting on someone.”
It’s funny the way the culture changes in just a few hours. I don’t think people appreciate it here the way they do in places like Europe. You drive from Southern Germany to Northern France and you anticipate the culture change. But distance-wise it’s the same trip between countries as it is between states here.
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