Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I stole the title of this posting from him. Granted it is only April 23rd and in the rest of the country it is not quite summertime. Yet here, in Phoenix, it feels like it. The mist is on at Casey Moores and all along the street the students in Tempe are sailing down the sidewalks in the shortest the shorts, the whitest of white tee shirts, on beach cruisers ranging in all colors of the rainbow, and of course the afternoon is a blazing 103 degrees. It will cool off again. These are just a few early days reminding us how brutal the desert summer can be here. In the high desert the cacti have not begun to bloom yet. When they do the Sonoran Desert will be a sea of neutrals speckled with white and pink and green and yellow. The ocotillo plants are red though and in the city the planted peonies and roses are in full flourish. Everything here is showing its colors. Even my skin, which has been light pink for as long as I can remember is finally turning brown, despite my attempts at frosting myself with sunblock with every given chance.
And there is baseball. To be honest, my summer has always begun when those boys take to the field. Play ball.
With the beginning of the season comes too the beginning of fieldwork season for contract archaeologists, shovelbums to be more precise. And just like clockwork, the moment the thermometer hit 100 I was contacted to begin work. This time to begin in New Mexico. I have not been my usual gypsy self for nearly a near now. I have missed the feel of dirt in my socks, of the futility of wearing nail polish and lipgloss. In respect to what I have spent my last year doing, that too was completely fulfilling. But what we are we must accept and embrace and love, and I am...and always will be...a duckman. No wait, that's Ducky from Pretty In Pink. I meant an archaeologist. Yes.
I would not have been offered such a chance to return to work in such a beautiful and romantic area had I not had doors been opened to me by the family I have been working for. As a nanny for this family I have been able to come home, to find my heart again, to explore all that I am capable of, and to pursue such occupations as a desert jeep tour guide. I owe them more than they will ever know.
National Geographic eat your heart out.
Even as a girl summer was something special. Summers in the suburbs of Cincinnati meant Friday night concerts on the town square. I am sure I snuck out to meet boys more times than was healthy for an inexperienced girl of my age. Summer meant a new year, new friends, time away from the tumultousness of school (where, yes, even I know I was such a super geek). Summer was a time to grow, to travel and fall in love with other young people who we would never see again. Summer was built of long days and short nights, as if the season itself was telling us 'get up! wake up! this will not last forever!'. I never slept much. In high school I fell in love during the summer going into my freshman year. Well, at least as much as one can love at fourteen. He has a lovely family now and work in politics in Cincinnati. Summer was girlfriends painting each others nails at the community pool, of music, of dancing in the rain. I look back on it now and realize that even then, taking a cue from My So Called Life, I knew it was something special.
Perhaps we lose some of that when we get older. We lose that ability to feel the heat settling into our skin as we find ourselves embarking on new adventures. Perhaps we forget how wonderful it is to see the sun rise and prepare ourselves for whatever the new, long, hot, humid day has in its plan.
Ah, but here I sit. Thirty one years old and so full of excitement I can barely sit still. Summer. Bright, brilliant, long, hot, summer. I think I am ready, severity and all.
Monday, April 23, 2012
Thursday, January 26, 2012
The past is a good place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there...
One of my many faults, oh believe it or not I DO have faults, is that I tend to find myself living and reliving the past in a nostalgic type reverence as in an old film. I find myself looking into the moments of the past as if they were better than the present. In a sense, that the days that can never be repeated are better than the times currently. As if the sun shone more brightly, the nights were more romantic, the food richer, the drinks stronger. I romanticise the past, the places and people that can never and will never be again.
The water was warmer in New Zealand.
The kisses were sweeter on that bridge in Cincinnati.
The mountains were more beautiful when I was a child.
The Chicago winter was sparkling.
Texas wasn't SO bad...
Oh the times were better!
And what a folly to live this way. I have been training myself to stop these thoughts and to realize that, despite the tricks our mind plays, the reason I find the past so much more intriguing is simply because my memory chooses to remember things the way I wish they were. I think many of us fall into this trap. It is easier to live in the past, to remember the people and places that our paths have taken us as we wish to remember them, rather than to realize the beauty of our present. When in fact the true beauty of life are the moments of now. All of the journeys and triumphs and failures bring us to where we are at this singular moment, moments that as you read this (as I type this) are continually passing. It seems such a waste to miss the moment of the now to live in the moments that can never be again. Failure is especially daunting. It may seem trite to say but failure is never truly failure, if you are able to approach it with a healthy view of the now. Failure simply means that the choices we have made did not work out the way we expected them to, and now we must make alternate decisions. We must forge a new trail and simply try something else. The cliche "failing up". My failures have brought me back to this wonderful place, to a home that I have been searching for, to friendships to cultivate and adventures yet to be had. I don't really think I can call that a failure. Nor should I spend my time missing out on the amazing backdrop of my current life reliving the past.
Oh no. Not this girl. Not anymore.
Regret is healthy, it keeps us from repeating poor decisions. But to carry regret around is simply unhealthy. Of course it is good to remember the positive aspects of the people of our past, but if we forget the bad as well, we allow the bad to be acceptable. The same for places, moments, and actions.
But to forgive, ah that ever elusive forgiveness, yes that too comes in time. And we should always forgive, lest we not forget. Yet even forgiveness should be healthy. To move forward, to allow our life to continue, and know that we will not allow others to dictate how we live our life.
If this comes off as preachy I am truly sorry. I am, in no way, an expert of anything but prehistoric ceramic and lithic production, but I have lived. And this is a lesson my life has provided me.
I could sit here and reflect on the pain of heartbreak or the many places I have been that have far overshadowed this chilly cafe...or...
I can take a moment right now to look around, at the oh so fashionable college kids, the mother with the brand new baby (which of course every hipster girl is simply FAWNING over), the taste of the americano, and the music accompanying my typing and enjoy this lovely moment...right now.
The water was warmer in New Zealand.
The kisses were sweeter on that bridge in Cincinnati.
The mountains were more beautiful when I was a child.
The Chicago winter was sparkling.
Texas wasn't SO bad...
Oh the times were better!
And what a folly to live this way. I have been training myself to stop these thoughts and to realize that, despite the tricks our mind plays, the reason I find the past so much more intriguing is simply because my memory chooses to remember things the way I wish they were. I think many of us fall into this trap. It is easier to live in the past, to remember the people and places that our paths have taken us as we wish to remember them, rather than to realize the beauty of our present. When in fact the true beauty of life are the moments of now. All of the journeys and triumphs and failures bring us to where we are at this singular moment, moments that as you read this (as I type this) are continually passing. It seems such a waste to miss the moment of the now to live in the moments that can never be again. Failure is especially daunting. It may seem trite to say but failure is never truly failure, if you are able to approach it with a healthy view of the now. Failure simply means that the choices we have made did not work out the way we expected them to, and now we must make alternate decisions. We must forge a new trail and simply try something else. The cliche "failing up". My failures have brought me back to this wonderful place, to a home that I have been searching for, to friendships to cultivate and adventures yet to be had. I don't really think I can call that a failure. Nor should I spend my time missing out on the amazing backdrop of my current life reliving the past.
Oh no. Not this girl. Not anymore.
Regret is healthy, it keeps us from repeating poor decisions. But to carry regret around is simply unhealthy. Of course it is good to remember the positive aspects of the people of our past, but if we forget the bad as well, we allow the bad to be acceptable. The same for places, moments, and actions.
But to forgive, ah that ever elusive forgiveness, yes that too comes in time. And we should always forgive, lest we not forget. Yet even forgiveness should be healthy. To move forward, to allow our life to continue, and know that we will not allow others to dictate how we live our life.
If this comes off as preachy I am truly sorry. I am, in no way, an expert of anything but prehistoric ceramic and lithic production, but I have lived. And this is a lesson my life has provided me.
I could sit here and reflect on the pain of heartbreak or the many places I have been that have far overshadowed this chilly cafe...or...
I can take a moment right now to look around, at the oh so fashionable college kids, the mother with the brand new baby (which of course every hipster girl is simply FAWNING over), the taste of the americano, and the music accompanying my typing and enjoy this lovely moment...right now.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
A girl and her cat make it Home
I left the hotel in Colorado Springs before the sun came up, making my way across town with the hope to hike a portion of Pikes Peak before I made my way farther south into New Mexico. The day was beautiful, clear and crisp and my lungs heaved against the foreign altitude. Sadly, the road titled the Pikes Peak Highway was closed until 10a.m. A bit too late for a girl with a trek ahead of her. So instead I turned the car around and went to Garden of the Gods, a free public park in Colorado Springs marked by phenomenal rock formations. Jonesy made herself comfortable in the car and I made my way through the park.
I began to sweat, to take deep breaths of mountain air and I began to purge my mind. I admired Balance Rock and began to leave particular memories with every step. "You" weren't here. This was my memory. Nothing about this moment was attached to anyone else. It was mine, a first that only belonged to me. And perhaps Jonesy.
Two hours later I was pulling into the town of Trinidad, Colorado. A border state town, speckled with antique shops and bakeries. Lunch was panini and pie from a locally owned cafe, substantial food to keep me going. I had to get to Los Alamos, New Mexico before the sun set. The drive up the mountain to the tiny town was treacherous even in the summer, and I was severely out of practice. By mid-day I was making my way across the Raton Pass, my car barely making it at nearly 8000 feet. We were speeding along at an unheard of 45 mph when I finally made it to the apex of the drive. It hit me then...
Townes Van Zant sang about this pass, "Snowin on Raton Pass". As we made it over the final hill, New Mexico spread out before us (us being the cat and myself). It was then that I cried.
I pulled the car over and looked to my south. From here I could see where I came from. I could see the Rocky Mountains, littered with lakes of snow along the ridges and the plains spreading to the northeast. To my south the pink and red buttes of New Mexico were beginning to rise up. And I cried. Not out of sadness, not out of regret, but for the "very human" habit of crying when one is happy. Doctor Who has more insight than most of us give the writers credit. To my south lay the next phase of living, to the north the things it was time to leave behind.
I left "him" there, hidden behind the pass, where I would never have to visit him ever again. And I raced south.
An hour and half later I entered the city limits of Santa Fe. The Plaza, the Laboratory of Anthropology, the small cacti along the city streets, and found Radio Free Santa Fe. I sang in my car all the way to Los Alamos.
I spent the evening visiting family and reflecting on the fact that Los Alamos is still, to this day, one of the strangest little towns I have ever experienced. But what would you expect from a place that housed the minds that created, tested, and expanded on nuclear weaponry.
The next day we were racing across New Mexico, I was ready for Arizona. The drive along I40 is one I have done so many, many times that it is dull for me to even relive. But it was gorgeous. The snow began to melt away after Albuquerque and by Gallup it was a bright 65 degrees. By the time the sun was going down I saw the top of the San Fransisco Peaks begin to rise up from the horizon, marking Flagstaff and my own personal history. I thought of stopping in Flag to get a room at the hostel and visit the Monte Vista Hotel but my mind was set on the Phoenix Valley.
By 8:30 I was speeding into Phoenix. Every street was familiar, every interstate exit and blinking billboard familiar. I smiled, looked at Jonesy and said, "well, here we are. Home." She just stared at me.
By 11pm I was having a beer in Tempe.
By the next morning I felt beautiful. But I always feel more beautiful in the desert. I think it is the feeling of being free that really does it. For months I waited and waited and hoped for something to happen, for something to change. However, waiting does not make things happen. Courage, moxy, and a little bit of irresponsibility makes the changes. I know so many people that sit around, miserable, complaining about their lot in life as if they don't have a choice. They settle. They don't do anything. I can't be that way. I can't live like that. And I don't think I could ever be happier.
I began to sweat, to take deep breaths of mountain air and I began to purge my mind. I admired Balance Rock and began to leave particular memories with every step. "You" weren't here. This was my memory. Nothing about this moment was attached to anyone else. It was mine, a first that only belonged to me. And perhaps Jonesy.
Townes Van Zant sang about this pass, "Snowin on Raton Pass". As we made it over the final hill, New Mexico spread out before us (us being the cat and myself). It was then that I cried.
I pulled the car over and looked to my south. From here I could see where I came from. I could see the Rocky Mountains, littered with lakes of snow along the ridges and the plains spreading to the northeast. To my south the pink and red buttes of New Mexico were beginning to rise up. And I cried. Not out of sadness, not out of regret, but for the "very human" habit of crying when one is happy. Doctor Who has more insight than most of us give the writers credit. To my south lay the next phase of living, to the north the things it was time to leave behind.
I left "him" there, hidden behind the pass, where I would never have to visit him ever again. And I raced south.
An hour and half later I entered the city limits of Santa Fe. The Plaza, the Laboratory of Anthropology, the small cacti along the city streets, and found Radio Free Santa Fe. I sang in my car all the way to Los Alamos.
I spent the evening visiting family and reflecting on the fact that Los Alamos is still, to this day, one of the strangest little towns I have ever experienced. But what would you expect from a place that housed the minds that created, tested, and expanded on nuclear weaponry.
The next day we were racing across New Mexico, I was ready for Arizona. The drive along I40 is one I have done so many, many times that it is dull for me to even relive. But it was gorgeous. The snow began to melt away after Albuquerque and by Gallup it was a bright 65 degrees. By the time the sun was going down I saw the top of the San Fransisco Peaks begin to rise up from the horizon, marking Flagstaff and my own personal history. I thought of stopping in Flag to get a room at the hostel and visit the Monte Vista Hotel but my mind was set on the Phoenix Valley.
By 11pm I was having a beer in Tempe.
By the next morning I felt beautiful. But I always feel more beautiful in the desert. I think it is the feeling of being free that really does it. For months I waited and waited and hoped for something to happen, for something to change. However, waiting does not make things happen. Courage, moxy, and a little bit of irresponsibility makes the changes. I know so many people that sit around, miserable, complaining about their lot in life as if they don't have a choice. They settle. They don't do anything. I can't be that way. I can't live like that. And I don't think I could ever be happier.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
A girl and her cat from Colorado Springs
Travel tip: In Colorado Spring, on South Circle Drive there is the BIGGEST Goodwill I have ever seen in my life. Not only that, but everything they had was up to date, nice, and designer. For less than 13 dollars I was able to score two skirts, a shirt, and a jacket. All that will be part of my Amy Pond inspired outfits.
I will be hiking Pike Peak this morning and then hitting the asphalt again to Santa Fe. From there it will an off the hip sort of trip. Nothing planned, nothing in the works. Just a girl, her cat, and the open road.
Sunset with the Rockies from a distance
Thursday, January 5, 2012
Musings of the intrepid sort
Intrepid: not just a car. By definition it means to be bold, courageous, daring, dauntless. I have spent the majority of my adult life trying to live a life as such. Along the way I have met with people who have frowned upon this train of thought. Apparently there are those out there who expect all of us at some point to fall into routine, to want the things that they want, and anything outside of their personal norm is considered irrational and adolescent. I can't abide by that. Recently, I was informed that someone I cared for considered me to be ridiculous for living in my own way. This person referred to me as "still fighting the man", and "not living like a grown up", someone that should never have children. Of course, I took this very personally at first. It hurt to be thought of as such a failure in someone elses eyes. However, the more time has passed and the more I have reflected on the source of these criticisms the more I am realized that they were unfounded by pure ignorance. This person truly knew nothing about me.
For the record, I am not still "fighting the man". I have better things to focus my life on. I simply choose to not give this mysterious "man" any influence to my life. As for children, well, should that ever be part of my life journey I think the simple fact that I have given the matter thought, care, and reflection is a sign that I will be more than a good parent. Books don't make good parents, good people make good parents. But I digress.
In the manner that I am accustomed to, up until the last year and a half, I have decided to move on from my current situation. It is time that this bird flies south, in a sense. I have been here in Rapid City, South Dakota for eighteen months. I have met a handful of amazing people that I am proud to say are friends. I have been a part of a beautiful community and for a short while thought that perhaps I had found a place to settle and call home. Ah, but that was not to be. Home truly is where the heart is, and as my emotions were attached to a particular person here, thus my heart was settled. With that no longer the case, I have found my heart flying back to Arizona. Back to people and places that I did not even know I missed until...well...now.
It is time to travel again. It is time to start fresh but still have roots. I am thrilled to find myself again, to be the girl I was and hit the pavement running. Ah, I tried this settled life, I truly gave it my all. But we can't fight who we are, we can't be what others expect of us.
"Space travels in my blood, but there ain't nothing I can do about it,
Long journeys wear me out, but you know I can't live without it."
For the record, I am not still "fighting the man". I have better things to focus my life on. I simply choose to not give this mysterious "man" any influence to my life. As for children, well, should that ever be part of my life journey I think the simple fact that I have given the matter thought, care, and reflection is a sign that I will be more than a good parent. Books don't make good parents, good people make good parents. But I digress.
In the manner that I am accustomed to, up until the last year and a half, I have decided to move on from my current situation. It is time that this bird flies south, in a sense. I have been here in Rapid City, South Dakota for eighteen months. I have met a handful of amazing people that I am proud to say are friends. I have been a part of a beautiful community and for a short while thought that perhaps I had found a place to settle and call home. Ah, but that was not to be. Home truly is where the heart is, and as my emotions were attached to a particular person here, thus my heart was settled. With that no longer the case, I have found my heart flying back to Arizona. Back to people and places that I did not even know I missed until...well...now.
It is time to travel again. It is time to start fresh but still have roots. I am thrilled to find myself again, to be the girl I was and hit the pavement running. Ah, I tried this settled life, I truly gave it my all. But we can't fight who we are, we can't be what others expect of us.
"Space travels in my blood, but there ain't nothing I can do about it,
Long journeys wear me out, but you know I can't live without it."
Sunday, January 1, 2012
Time, Space, and the New Year
So here we are at a new year. Nothing very special about it, considering that all a new year really means is that the calender just starts over again. But let us investigate this phenomenon known as "the new year":
It is now 2012.
That is two thousand and twelve years since the supposed birth of singular man. This is based on the Gregorian calendar that was created in 1582 (according to same said calendar) by Pope Gregory XIII. This calendar differs from the previously used Julian system that was actually exactly eleven minutes longer. So basically up until the known year of 1582 there is anywhere from ten to fourteen days difference in dates that mark the same event. Up until 1752 January first was not recognized as the start of the new year for Britain and the British Empire. Prior to that, the new year was marked by December 25th, also known as...Christmas. And, without confusing you even farther, this does not even remotely account for the leap years, which is in accordance with the Earths elliptical movement around the sun.
According to the Holocene Calendar, also known as the Human Era Calendar, we add 10,000 (ten THOUSAND) years to the current date, marking the beginning of the Holocene era and the neolithic revolution as "1" and making today's date January 1st 12012 HE. This is marked not by the birth of a singular man but by the evolutionarily relevant footprint of mankind as a whole.
According to the Islamic lunar calendar the year is 1433 and it is not currently the first day of the first month of a new calendar cycle.
So what day is it? Where are we in the span of time as a tangible concept? Current belief is that the Earth is 4.54 billion years old, based on radiometric dating of lunar samples. Depending on different theories of universe creation (flat universe? expanding universe? big bang?) the universe is currently thought to be 13.7 billion years old.
Time as we see it, with names and dates, are a human creation. The stars do not adhere to these ideas, the universe is ever expanding (if you believe as such) and time itself is actually being created in the depths of the universe as we speak. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of space it truly is the first day of existence. It is the beginning.
People tend to think that January first is the start of a new year, a new time. We have gone around the sun for 365+- days and have ended up right back where we began. But we have not. We are never where we were milliseconds ago. As I type, we are careening through space. We can choose to think of January 1st, 2012 as the start of a new time personally or...or...
We can choose to make everyday a new beginning. Everyday, no matter where we are, can be a new start.
And yet, after all of this, today is my new start.
It is now 2012.
That is two thousand and twelve years since the supposed birth of singular man. This is based on the Gregorian calendar that was created in 1582 (according to same said calendar) by Pope Gregory XIII. This calendar differs from the previously used Julian system that was actually exactly eleven minutes longer. So basically up until the known year of 1582 there is anywhere from ten to fourteen days difference in dates that mark the same event. Up until 1752 January first was not recognized as the start of the new year for Britain and the British Empire. Prior to that, the new year was marked by December 25th, also known as...Christmas. And, without confusing you even farther, this does not even remotely account for the leap years, which is in accordance with the Earths elliptical movement around the sun.
According to the Holocene Calendar, also known as the Human Era Calendar, we add 10,000 (ten THOUSAND) years to the current date, marking the beginning of the Holocene era and the neolithic revolution as "1" and making today's date January 1st 12012 HE. This is marked not by the birth of a singular man but by the evolutionarily relevant footprint of mankind as a whole.
According to the Islamic lunar calendar the year is 1433 and it is not currently the first day of the first month of a new calendar cycle.
So what day is it? Where are we in the span of time as a tangible concept? Current belief is that the Earth is 4.54 billion years old, based on radiometric dating of lunar samples. Depending on different theories of universe creation (flat universe? expanding universe? big bang?) the universe is currently thought to be 13.7 billion years old.
Time as we see it, with names and dates, are a human creation. The stars do not adhere to these ideas, the universe is ever expanding (if you believe as such) and time itself is actually being created in the depths of the universe as we speak. Somewhere in the farthest reaches of space it truly is the first day of existence. It is the beginning.
People tend to think that January first is the start of a new year, a new time. We have gone around the sun for 365+- days and have ended up right back where we began. But we have not. We are never where we were milliseconds ago. As I type, we are careening through space. We can choose to think of January 1st, 2012 as the start of a new time personally or...or...
We can choose to make everyday a new beginning. Everyday, no matter where we are, can be a new start.
And yet, after all of this, today is my new start.
Sunday, August 28, 2011
You can find the strangest things at yard sales
I went yard sale hunting this weekend, as I tend to do when I don't have much else to keep me at home or in bed on a Saturday morning. I fancy myself quite the savvy yard sale girl and I have been known to come home with more than enough things to decorate, paint, sew, or share with only five dollars and some change. This Saturday morning I made myself some coffee, got out of bed somewhat early, and headed out to see what I could find. Apparently, this weekend was not to be the stuff of yard sale legends as others have been. The first one I found had mostly baby clothes and toys, nothing a girl like myself would find very useful. The second one had some games (Girl Talk was particularly tempting) and costume jewelry, again nothing I could validate purchasing however. But the third one, that magical number three. It wasn't so much as what I purchased at this yard sale as what I walked away with that made this stop so interesting and worth sharing.
The woman was probably in her mid to late forties, small, with very tanned skin and short hair. She was a fireball, running around picking things up, placing tags on household objects, chatting and bartering like a pro. She had some amazingly interesting things for sale; southwestern artwork, coffee mugs of all types and shapes, candles and holders, a bamboo designed shower curtain, dumbells, books...the list could go on and on. She was chatting with another customer, an older man looking for an air conditioning unit, and I overheard her say something about living in Arizona. So naturally I had to interject, as I am known to do when it comes to...ok anything. "Where in Arizona did you live?" I asked.
"Flagstaff, northern state."
"Oh," I smiled, "I used to live there when I was a kid! I still go back as much as I can."
"I went to college there," She smiled back, "lets see, I was there in 1982 until about 90 or so."
I had obviously been wrong about her age.
"My parents went there too," I was getting excited, "my mom use to own a little vintage clothing shop at the bottom floor of the Monte Vista...."
"Past Times." She said. I was stunned. She actually knew of the shop? No one I had ever met in all of my years of traveling who had ever spent time in Flagstaff EVER knew of the shop. It had not been open very long before my parents divorced and it was, lets be honest, a long time ago.
"Yes! I can't believe you knew if it!"
"Oh honey, I remember that shop, I knew the girl who helped man the shop."
"Dawn?" I reached far back into my memory. I had only been seven or eight when the girl worked there.
"Dawn."
We continued talking about things she remembered and things I remembered, how the town was now, when I had last been back and so on. Of course eventually she asked, "So how did you end up in Rapid City?" All the while we were talking she was still moving, still bounding around the yard after customers, her thin arms in perpetual motion. I proceeded to tell her what I do for a living, that my job brought me to Rapid City, that I just quit my job and was focusing on myself for a while, "That's lovely," she said, "Do you like it here?"
"Sometimes." I said.
"Well then do you plan to move again?" She asked, finally stopping and looking at me right in eyes.
"I would like to," I shrugged, "eventually."
"Well if you don't like it here then why are you here?"
"I have reasons to be here, I have a job and I have an apartment..."
"Bullshit," she laughed, "those things can be replaced. You have to do better than that."
So I gave her another reason why I was here, a little more personal of a reason. And no, my dears, I will not share that with you here. However, I am sure it must have been a very good reason, because she smiled and placed her hand on my arm,
"So it seems to me that you are exactly where you ought to be." She smiled. I probably blushed, I thought people were watching us at this point, "don't ever let money or things keep you from what you want, and don't overlook the possibilities that are sometimes right in front of you. You'll miss out."
"Well, I guess I already knew that." I laughed, "I just forget sometimes."
"Where would you like to go when you leave here?" She asked. I thought for a moment, and told her. She smiled again and laughed out loud, "brand new and far away, just how I like it!" And again, no, that answer will not be shared quite yet. The woman turned, obviously feeling that our conversation was at an end. As she walked away to go attend to the lives of other customers she said, "I think you have a lot ahead of you missy. I can see it in your eyes. You go where you want and be with who you want and don't you even let anyone or anything stop you, especially money, or you'll end up dead before you're 40."
I came home with a new shower curtain and a mug with Stonehenge on it.
The woman was probably in her mid to late forties, small, with very tanned skin and short hair. She was a fireball, running around picking things up, placing tags on household objects, chatting and bartering like a pro. She had some amazingly interesting things for sale; southwestern artwork, coffee mugs of all types and shapes, candles and holders, a bamboo designed shower curtain, dumbells, books...the list could go on and on. She was chatting with another customer, an older man looking for an air conditioning unit, and I overheard her say something about living in Arizona. So naturally I had to interject, as I am known to do when it comes to...ok anything. "Where in Arizona did you live?" I asked.
"Flagstaff, northern state."
"Oh," I smiled, "I used to live there when I was a kid! I still go back as much as I can."
"I went to college there," She smiled back, "lets see, I was there in 1982 until about 90 or so."
I had obviously been wrong about her age.
"My parents went there too," I was getting excited, "my mom use to own a little vintage clothing shop at the bottom floor of the Monte Vista...."
"Past Times." She said. I was stunned. She actually knew of the shop? No one I had ever met in all of my years of traveling who had ever spent time in Flagstaff EVER knew of the shop. It had not been open very long before my parents divorced and it was, lets be honest, a long time ago.
"Yes! I can't believe you knew if it!"
"Oh honey, I remember that shop, I knew the girl who helped man the shop."
"Dawn?" I reached far back into my memory. I had only been seven or eight when the girl worked there.
"Dawn."
We continued talking about things she remembered and things I remembered, how the town was now, when I had last been back and so on. Of course eventually she asked, "So how did you end up in Rapid City?" All the while we were talking she was still moving, still bounding around the yard after customers, her thin arms in perpetual motion. I proceeded to tell her what I do for a living, that my job brought me to Rapid City, that I just quit my job and was focusing on myself for a while, "That's lovely," she said, "Do you like it here?"
"Sometimes." I said.
"Well then do you plan to move again?" She asked, finally stopping and looking at me right in eyes.
"I would like to," I shrugged, "eventually."
"Well if you don't like it here then why are you here?"
"I have reasons to be here, I have a job and I have an apartment..."
"Bullshit," she laughed, "those things can be replaced. You have to do better than that."
So I gave her another reason why I was here, a little more personal of a reason. And no, my dears, I will not share that with you here. However, I am sure it must have been a very good reason, because she smiled and placed her hand on my arm,
"So it seems to me that you are exactly where you ought to be." She smiled. I probably blushed, I thought people were watching us at this point, "don't ever let money or things keep you from what you want, and don't overlook the possibilities that are sometimes right in front of you. You'll miss out."
"Well, I guess I already knew that." I laughed, "I just forget sometimes."
"Where would you like to go when you leave here?" She asked. I thought for a moment, and told her. She smiled again and laughed out loud, "brand new and far away, just how I like it!" And again, no, that answer will not be shared quite yet. The woman turned, obviously feeling that our conversation was at an end. As she walked away to go attend to the lives of other customers she said, "I think you have a lot ahead of you missy. I can see it in your eyes. You go where you want and be with who you want and don't you even let anyone or anything stop you, especially money, or you'll end up dead before you're 40."
I came home with a new shower curtain and a mug with Stonehenge on it.
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