Tuesday, November 22, 2011

Single Schnucks

There is this store in town called Schnucks that I frequent. It's a little more costly than Aldi and a little less than Whole Foods, and more than Target, so I go there occassionally.
Each Schnucks has it's own demographic that it "caters" to. I am most used to the Jewish Schnucks in Clayton, which has kosher foods. But more recently since moving into the city, I go to Scary Schnucks, which isn't really scary at all if it's light out. The way they cater to their clientele is to sell food past it's expiration date. Boo economic prejudice.
Today, I went to the middle of the road Single Schnucks, which got it's name by being so close to Washington University's campus. Now, it's not exactly true that you find a date by walking in, I never have, expecially since I have noticed the students are looking younger and younger. But today I fell in love.
I normally fall in love easily, an empathetic, sympathetic, heart warmed humanistic love of someone's turn of phrase or the way they wear a scarf. The mosaic of people in this world astound me.
But today in line, I was getting the fixings for Rotel dip because I don't want to eat another casserole in November, and yet I have 2 Thanksgiving dinners to down. And before me was a girl getting a ton of food, and behind me was some man-ish person, no big deal. But he had a basket, which is a good sign, and no list (written by a girl), which is better, and the first thing I always check is the left hand, and it was bare. Then it happened. My soda fell on the floor. I stared at it for a second longer than I needed to and he said "I'll look the other way and you can put it back." Ethically this is wrong, so I didn't, but it was exciting. He was a man with a dangerous side and most importantly, the talking barrier had been breached.
I told him to put his basket up on the roller thing, invited more than ordered, and then noticed the contents of his basket. 6-7 jars of spices, a pie plate, condensed milk other stuff. Obviously this guy is cooking something, so I asked if he had ever cooked before (um look at the spices, there was enough for a spice rack).

Him: Oh those are on sale, and I'm making pies this year.
Me: (thinking) Oh! Pies! I like that. He is also making eye contact. Brown chicken brown cow.
Me (aloud): What kinds?
Him: 2 pumpkin and one cherry
Me: (thinking) Gross
Him: I think pumpkin is gross...
Me: Because it is!
Him: Thank you. (eye contact)
Me: (thinking) Eek! No thank you love of my life. We're only in 3rd gear of banter, but you might be able to shift up to a snarky 4th. I possibly want to finish your sentences forever.
Him: but it's expected to have pumpkin.
Me: I guess so. (so conventional)

And the conversation waned as I paid and wished him luck and walked away. And even though I had gotten over the fact that he looked like a typical Aryan Nazi youth (parted blond hair does conjure the thought), I still thought he should at least facebook friend me.

Oh pie man who got away, look me in the eye and be sarcastic again, won't you?

Sunday, November 13, 2011

some notes come back

There are some things from the past that are beautiful. And they were. But with time that beauty can break. And if you come across the remnant again the beauty and the memory of it's wholeness remains. It's so easy to see and yet jagged with flaws. And even if the parts are still there, it is never the same. Likely some pieces are missing and you are left with the beauty that was and the sharp edge that is now.

Thursday, November 10, 2011

The World is Round

Sleeping to dream. Sometimes I sleep to dream since there seems to be no other way to lay aside inhibitions and truly understand what I am feeling. But in dreams my brain processes, cryptically but well, life.
Last night I had a painting dream. It seemed like a Renaissance scene, rich in color and activity. At the focal point were 3 women in wedding dresses sitting on thrones looking out over a room of other women. On the highest throne was seated my best friend from grade school. To the left was her baby who had just learned to roll over, and did so then grinned up at me. They both shared the same striking blue eyes. Then I looked up from the rug and rolling babe and saw a co-worker announcing how she could buy a house. She had bundled her full ride scholarship to the mortgage using a HIPPA form (not everything makes sense in dreams). So her house payments came directly out of her supplemented income. And she was pursuing her 3rd grad degree and said this discretely as she repositioned her pearls.
Why such a dream?
Minus the opulence, this is life. No one quite prepares you well for friendship. To be a true friend, you understand that you must be loyal. When things are hard and friends need support I know my role and am able to comfort, listen, distract, easily. What people don't tell you when you talk about having friends and investing in them is how to rejoice with them well. I guess it's assumed that that should be the easy part. Rejoicing when they get engaged. When they announce they are pregnant. When they buy a house.
It's easy to run to them in sincerety and hug them. And then jump litterally for joy. It's easy when you're in the air of the first jump. But then you land. And then comes the pang. Is it gravity? And you've landed in different places with the thought "I'm not you." But you're not done jumping because this is a big deal. One jump isn't enough. We're landing in different spots again and again out of rhythm.
Jealousy gets in the way? I hope I would not shy away from that word, jealously. But given the choice I wouldn't take their joy from them. But it's much easier to take joy when you share the new stage together when you jump in unison.

Sunday, November 6, 2011

the keys are alright , or ... lost things

There is a fine line between being fine and only appearing so. It's difficult to distinguish from the outside and often from within. Even if you are analytical. Even if you are self-reflective. Even and especially if you are me.

For me, determining a state of okay-ness, relies on a finite number of soft signs. Obviously to wonder if there is mental clarity indicates that there is some, actually that there's a lot...but? But not so fast.

If I am distracted, since I am normally focused in a disorderly way, that is a sign. The extension of this sign is a key, or a set of them. "Do you know where your keys are?" This question could be synonymous with "are you alright?" Lately keys and their location seem to give the best insight to if I am or am not through and through functioning well emotionally, physically, etc. If say, I lock my keys in my car, it wasn't as simple as locking keys in a car. There was another reason. Not a blaming sort of reason, but a state of being reason with catalysts and multifactoral roots. I was too much in my mind and not enough in the world of objects.

If say 2 weeks ago when I again misplaced my keys for 20 minutes and searched for them in my car in the rain with a headlamp, wondering "how did I do this again?" Answer: You are clearly distracted. Distracted to the point of having the keys in my pocket the entire time. Distracted to the point of leaving the keys in my front door all night 5 days later. Distracted enough to not be thinking about tangibles about matter.

Where are my keys? Next to the door where they belong. In the ashtray that I use for keeping keys. Not in the door. Not in a pocket. Not in a trunk. Not in purse number 5. So I know yes, I am focused once again.