The Furious Spinner

Some days I love where I live. Actually, every day I love where I live. Some days I am just bouncy with joy about where I live. This is one of those days. I can walk less than three blocks to get to my bank, pharmacy, grocery store, post office, and video store. I could also go to various restaurants, real estate offices, a massage therapist, a coffee shop, the dollar store, courthouse, a gift shop, and liquor store should I elect to do so.

At each of these places that I frequent, people meet and greet me. I like that. If I write a check, I don't need ID at any of these places. Except the post office. The new post master makes everyone show ID when writing a check. Some of these people have known each other forty years, but he still makes the clerks get ID from everyone. He said it was a federal post office rule, yet when he was on vacation, the guy taking his place never asked for ID. We all noted that and whispered amongst ourselves how relaxing it was when the new post master was on vacation. No offense personally but lighten up, dude.

At the grocery store, we try to get in Thelma's line. I like to tell her how beautiful she is and ask her how things are going. She's a sweetheart. She just got back from Washington D.C., and she told me all about it. I said I wanted to see pictures. And I meant it. Other people are nice, too. Our grocery store now gets organic produce and other organic products. Makes me very happy.

I like stopping at the gift store kitty-corner from the post office. Gift store is probably the wrong description. My guess is they make a lot of their money from cut flowers. As you know, I don't buy flowers. Too much baggage attached to how they’re grown and how much pesticides are used and how the workers are treated. I've never asked the owner, but maybe she uses sustainably grown flowers. I haven't asked because I don't buy cut flowers. I buy some of her potted plants, most often when they're organic or no-spray. I like looking around the shop because it's beautiful. She has an artist's eye for decorating. And I buy some stuff for the house.

We went in this morning (after we stopped at the post office) when we saw tag boxes outside the shop. (Remember my obsession with tag bowls.) She had gotten some glasses, and Mario and I have broken all but two of ours. I had overdressed as usual, and it was already hot, so I said, "I'll be back later with less clothes on to get the glasses."

I walked Mario to the library and came back home and took off some of my clothes and got the checkbook and returned to the store. The proprietor's husband, a friend of ours, said, "You're back. With less clothes on. Can't wait until 2:00." I laughed. "I tell people that in this kind of weather, they're lucky I have any clothes on at all." He nodded. "So then by nightfall you'll be naked." Then we talked about writing. He’s a writer, too. And I bought eight glasses. Four green bubble. Four blue bubble.

This was not an unusual conversation for me. In the summer, I talk a lot about being naked. What can I say? Clothes just feel so uncomfortable when it's hot. I probably just need to buy a bunch of cooler clothes, so that I'm not wandering around my town talking about being naked all the time. I think I scare the tourists.

The big river is about four blocks away from our house. On the weekends when we walk around town after dark, we can sometimes hear George playing his bagpipes in the empty lot next to the brew pub. We usually sit on the curb or lay on the grass and listen to him. Last night the moon was up over the cliffs, shining down on George as he played.

On the night before July 4th, Mario and I went walking around town after eleven o’clock. The town was deserted yet lively. A Ray Bradbury night we both agreed. Warm. A slight breeze causing the flags all over town to stretch out and flatten themselves against the street lights so that they glowed. A pale yellow glow. We could hear the distant and near pops and bangs of fireworks going off. This year the noise was not bothering me as it has in the past. We walked by one of the two firework stands in town, and an old man leaned back in his chair and waved to us in a kind of slow motion. We waved back. We kept walking.

Fireworks blossomed in the sky. Someone was shooting off ‘works from the port area (east). Then fireworks bloomed near where the old man had been (west). It was dueling fireworks. We wondered if it was a coordinated effort. One went off. Pause. Then the other. Pause. Then the other. Mother Nature decided to get into the picture. Heat lightning lit up the gorge, sometimes behind the firework flowers, sometimes in-between. These light shows were magnificent. I’d never seen anything like it in the Gorge. It reminded us of evenings spent in the Catalina foothills watching the heat lightning splice the sky above Tucson. Only when these zigzags flashed, the river, gorge, and sky were illuminated in a magical mystical way that moonlight or sunlight could never do. It illuminated those in-between places where everything and anything is possible. Terrifying and alluring. I wish I could give you a better description. It was as though what was behind the veil between worlds was revealed, for a millisecond at a time.

This went on for a while until both Nature and the fireworks had a finale, full of sound and color and oohs and aaahs. From us. As far as I could tell, we were the only ones watching except for the people doing the fireworks. As we walked back toward home, we saw a young girl dressed in a pink dress, wearing glasses, dancing around the bank parking lot waving a lit sparkler. “Do you want one?” she asked. “No thanks,” we said. “You’re out late walking around,” she said. We laughed. “So are you,” I said. “Yep,” and she danced away while tiny globs of color fell off her sparkler.

I love my town. I know that it's changing because of all the development. I can already feel it. When we walked down to the video store last night, I noticed a lot of people I didn't know. I don't know everyone in town. I only know a small percentage of the people. But those of you who live in small towns know what I mean. You can tell when people aren't from there or don't live there. Mario and I have tried to pinpoint what it is exactly, but we can't. After you live in a place for a while, you must take on some of its characteristics or something. Maybe it's like dogs and their people looking alike. Perhaps people begin looking like or feeling like the place where they live.

I don't know.

It's changing. As Sister Bea Wilder Mermaid says, "Things change. Get over it." I will, I will. But let me mourn it a bit, sister mermaid.

Here's hoping you all live in a place you love.

May You Love in Beauty! 4 comments

4 Comments:

When I walk around town people are always honking from their cars and waving at me. I always wave back, even if I can't see or don't know who they are. It always feels nice. We all chose to live here and we're all glad to see each other. I even wave at the work crew rolling out of the county jail each morning as I pass by them on the way to work. (Also less than 3 blocks from our house.) More often than not they wave back. In a few weeks or months when they've done their time, I'm likely to see at least a few of them visiting the library. Some will be looking for escapist reading, others might be looking for a book to change their lives. It all feels right. There is a charm to small town life that is impossible to find anywhere else.

By  Mario, at 12:33 PM  

Kim and Mario, I enjoyed your thoughts on your hometown. When I worked there (1982-1988), I lived on the county line "down the road", but spent most of my time in town. I liked it there. Unfortunately, my job changed, my lifestyle changed, I now live in a bigger city, but on a quiet street. I still think of your hometown a lot and make frequent visits there still. Enjoy... Vickie

By  Vickie, at 1:39 PM  

This piece reminds me so much of the town I grew up in...the river, the post office, the fireworks the dollar store - except that I live in Canada. I left my hometown five years ago because my partner took at job at a university. On days like this, hot, lazy, I miss it. Fortunately, most of my family still lives there, so I visit often.

By  ISF, at 6:56 AM  

Vickie, I hadn't forgotten that you lived here, but I didn't realize it was so close to when Mario started working at the library, but then he told me he "replaced" you. Funny! Hope you're sleeping and that you and your sweetie are doing well.

Thanks, Mario. Remember the time we met the work crew on the Falling Creek trail and I stopped the young deputy and interrogated him on what the men were in jail for because I was a bit nervous being on the trail with them? They turned out to be mostly guys who couldn't pay their fines and DUIs

ISF, I grew up in a small town and couldn't wait to leave because I didn't like everyone knowing my business. Of course, everyone didn't know my business. I moved back to a small town as soon as I could. Didn't like the first one: too conservative and agricultural. Second one: didn't really have a town center. This one we love, but we can't really afford to live here. Most of the real estate has been bought by wealthier people who commute to Portland or wealthy people who only come in the summer; they tend not to get involved in the community and many of them move on after a few years, selling their homes for even more money. Those of us who live and work here can't afford the rents or the houses. This is going on all over the country. Hope it's better in Canada.

By  Kim Antieau, at 8:04 AM  

Post a Comment

All photographs and written material copyright © 2003-2008 by Kim Antieau unless otherwise indicated. May not be used without permission.