The man with no legs

I'm sitting in Starbucks, comfortable in a stiff oversized burnt orange chair across from my roommate with her venti vanilla chai latte. 

To my right is the door. If you step out the door. Walk up the slight, grassy hill. Take a left onto the sidewalk of Hwy. 55. You'll see a man standing at an intersection.

He has two metal sticks for legs and carries a flag that has a picture of a gun and a helmet hanging over it (above is my sad attempt at recreating it for you). On days when it's cold he wears a coat fit for a general in the army. on warmer days he wears his fatigues with the pant legs tied just below where his knees would be. He has the face of the drill sergeant you see in your nightmares. In his hands he carries a bucket. 

what will you do?

Most days i'm too afraid to roll down my window even if I do have spare change.

Well, really, most days i want to offer him a cup of coffee in exchange for an interview. 

I wonder where this man came from. what he's done. what he plans to do.

I wonder if he knows how intimidating he looks. I think he must know if he is wearing the clothes he wears and carrying the flag he waves.

But I wonder. I wonder about the woman and child in the picture he has propped up on the chair that sits on the median where he stands.

Maybe it's a ploy for sympathy. maybe not.

who are they? with their picture that looks just like any family photo taken in the '80s only it is printed on a crumpled up sheet of computer paper encased in a plastic protective sheet.

I wonder about this man. What is his story? how did he end up with two steel rods for legs, standing everyday at the intersection of Hwy 54 and 55. Hopefully I'll get to buy him a cup of coffee soon and let you all know what I find out. 

Wherever you are...Be there

Ever have those days when you just don't know what to say? That would be today. I'm pretty hungry right now but I'm not quite ready to go home. Since it was my day off today I've pretty much had my fill of being home. I'm sitting in a starbucks right now, hoping to overhear something interesting but all anyone is doing is what we call in developmental psychology parallel play. No one's really talking. There are about 5 people in here not having a conversation. I could tell you what they are doing but I'm sure you can guess. Each of them with their very own electronic device to keep them company. A laptop, ipad, cell phone or book, the majority of which leaves us literally silent but virtually audible. Ever wonder what it would be like if we didn't have these things? I'm sure you have. I've heard it about a hundred times "What did people do before cell phones!?" We've all thought about it.

I wonder though what we would do in coffee shops. We'd probably be a little more picky about which ones we go to. Not because of coffee but because of company. If I had to talk to the people I sat in coffee shops with I'd make a mental note about who went where. But instead we can go virtually anywhere with our cyber-selves in hand. Not truly communicating with anyone.  

There is one couple talking...but because the shop is so quiet, they are down to a whisper. Man! this place is dead. 13 people in this little coffee shop and none but two are talking. I guess I could take some of the blame for this. I've yet to say a word to anyone but the barista. 

A policeman just came in to get a venti. Probably working the night shift...

...... AHA! Problem fixed! Music! Funny how you don't realize what's missing until it shows up unexpectedly. Oh man, that is so much better.

Mr. ipad to my right starts tapping his foot to the rhythm. The couple smiles and talks just a pinch louder.  I can take out my headphones through which my music stopped playing about 20 minutes ago. Everything just turned a little more interesting. I can feel the energy in the room picking up. not in a mystical way, just in the way that you can tell people are moving a little more quickly. Well, I'm taking up a spot and the shop is full and I'm hungry. You know a coffee shop is full when a woman asks to share a tiny round table with a man she doesn't know. She pulls out her Spanish book to study, looking enviously over it at mr. ipad who has a comfy chair with his space all to himself while she has to share a table with mr. headphones. Two more tables have just opened up and one barista's shift just ended for the night. I think I will head out as well.

Tip for the day: Wherever you are... Be There.

How to know if you are ready to cut your own hair...

I'm here again. The Coffee shop with the view, nature, and cigarette smoke. Today I sat further down next to three guys- hardcore/grunge looking...they are talking about an interview with a fish in a newspaper.
One guy talks in a whisper
which kind of makes me uncomfortable because the whole table gets quiet when he talks.
You may not care but now they are talking about eating crabs and how as a kid the rock star looking one wouldn't eat them because of the "horrifying cruelness of boiling them in a pot of torture"... good point.

The big guy shares stories about the horrifying things he did to lobsters as a kid.
Most of the words used in their conversation, I decided to edit. They had potty mouths.
so they continued in edited fashion... "If a 90 year old lobster could talk he would have So Much to say!"
The whisperer speaks: "_*____*____***" (the asterisks represent the tiny noises I could hear). I assume he made some sort of recommendation to the big guy.

The big guy BLURTS out: "forget you!" (not what he really said) "cut my own hair!? Have you ever seen me pick up a sandwich or a piece of glass!? That is not a good idea!"
I had to try so hard not to laugh out loud. He made some very logical points. If one cannot easily pick up a sandwich or a piece of glass successfully they should not attempt cutting their own hair.

They leave the outside patio for a minute. Remember, this is the shop from my earlier post- go go fruit in cairo. So we are outside basically on the side of a mountain. While they are gone I decide to stay planted a little while longer. They came back down the stairs in the middle of a conversation about tinsel...
"what is tinsel?"
big guy: "it's the stuff with all the glitz and glimma'"
He's slowly becoming one of my favorites.

I watch as two people that look like brother and sister evaluate the seating situation on the side of this hill. I can tell, they'd rather sit down here but they didn't. This might have had something to do with the big guy playing air guitar.
Oh how I love people watching.

Very Random

It snowed today while I was at work! 

I watched as a cold little boy and his mom walked into the store... he was wearing what looked like her scarf wrapped far too many times around his little neck, and a thick green beanie. When he came into the store he stopped...looked right at me...and screamed! This wasn't a scared scream or a funny scream or a tired scream. This was actually more like a war cry. If you grew up with boys you know the difference. There is a certain yell a boy can make that lets you know he is ready to fight. I looked right back at him and smiled. He stopped his war cry of a scream and ran into the store, never to be seen by me again.

Also... I was thinking about putting logs in my fireplace. I wanted to do something spiffy like decorate them. Maybe have gold fire logs or some kind of cool design on them. I started to think about how spraypaint is flammable. Then I realized, I'll be painting FIRE wood. It's pretty much all guaranteed to catch on fire at some point. 

Men in Anthro

Men really only come into Anthropologie for three reasons:

1. They are looking for their girlfriend/wife
2. They are looking for a gift for their girlfriend/wife
3. They are lost

When he walks in, all confidence drops. He is in unchartered territory. Any worker whose job it is to greet him will smile empathetically, greet him politely and ask if he can be helped in any way. He will then quickly interrupt making it clear that he is not, in fact, here for himself. He is looking for a gift for his girlfriend, or for his girlfriend herself, or doesn't know where he is and quite possibly is looking for the non-existing men's section of Anthropologie, which sadly does not exist.

It's easy to spot him. He enters the store in one of two ways:
1. He stops about two steps in and scans the horizon. From left to right. looking for his girlfriend, her gift, or the men's section.

2. He walks in, quickly feeling disoriented but not wanting to show it by slowing down, he copes by going quickly to the home goods where he finds some comfort in knowing the purpose of a tea cup or a measuring spoon.

He will then proceed to pick up things, a little candle here, a plate, a cup, a sweater, maybe a scarf... his hands are full and because our hand baskets might possibly be mistaken as a purse he will not be accepting our help. He'll take his chances.

Now, the man who finally finds his girlfriend or wife (who will not be near the front of the store where he can find her easily. No, she will be found rummaging through the sale items in the back or better yet, holed up in the fitting room) this man will soon be found again at the front of the store where a couch and a wide variety of books are strategically placed there for his convenience. Here he will make his home. He will come to know the person working in the front zone. He will learn their greeting style and possibly a little something about the individual or the store itself. He may learn that the wood floors used to be a barn, or that the chandelier was actually made of old books. If he's smart, he'll also learn the score to whatever game he's tracking on his smart phone. He could be sitting here for a while.

As funny as it is to see these men, they are heroes. They are wise. They are making history. I see them as legends. They have gained much understanding in the ways of this world. If he wants to make his woman happy, buy her something from Anthropologie. If he really wants to make her happy, buy her lots of things from Anthropologie.

McIntyre Books...

I came into a bookstore today that was disturbingly quiet. I walked through the store filled with wonderful titles and pages full of knowledge I hope to one day retain. One book  called the lost art of reading grabbed my attention. I picked it up for a a little while, trying not to crack it open so far that it lost it's freshness. you know what I mean. the way a book feels when you open it for the first time and you know you're the first person to ever open that book because of the little resistance you feel and the crack that you can hear in the spine. I didn't want to take that experience from whoever would be purchasing this book. I politely put it back and kept walking. I also picked up a child's book by President Obama, I think it was called of thee I sing. I stumbled over some well known and less known titles until finally I found the clearance table. Full of gizmos and gadgets and forgotten books full of poems by authors who worked hard just to get their work on the 50% off table. I finally found something worth purchasing (at 50% off, of course), Ninja bread man cutters. That's right, next year for Christmas I will not be making silly gingerbread men, I will be adorning my little ninjabread men with ninja belts and face-masks  made of icing. 

I found this bookstore on a long lonely drive, giving myself sometime to think. I wanted to find a hole-in-the wall bookstore where I could relax, and I found one. At first it was a little too quiet, I was the only car in the parking lot. But right now I am sitting on a comfy sofa next to a fireplace across from an elderly gentleman waiting for his wife to make her literary purchases. It's nice, relaxing. 

The gentleman and his wife are discussing a book called cutting for stone. "It's just interesting to see that such a thing has been written" is what the woman's granddaughter says when grandma offers to buy a book she showed interest in. The granddaughter, (who I only assume is a granddaughter and not a daughter because the way they interact. Just looking at them she could be their daughter, but she is being far too cordial to be her daughter) mentions a fascinating book she is reading right now. I try to catch the title as they all walk out of the room with the fireplace but the music covers her voice as she nears the register. Such is life. I'll never know of the fascinating book this well-behaved granddaughter is reading. Which is probably for the better. I have my eye on quite a few books at the moment that I may not ever read but would like to pretend I have knowledge about.

So as I sit here, alone again by this lovely, warm fireplace with the soft, smooth music playing, in the middle of nowhere in a bookstore that's been around since the 1890's I anticipate writing in my journal and taking my time. And since it's 1:30 in the afternoon I am also anticipating my late lunch that I wish I had packed along for the journey.

Outrageous- What not to do in a coffee shop, even if you are sitting outside.

The other day I went to a coffee shop to genuinely get work done. I was not looking for a subject to blog about. It was beautiful weather. It could have been mistaken for the beginning of fall but I think it was just the side effects of the hurricanes near the coast. Either way it was enjoyable outside. I sat down with my laptop, working on gathering all of Pastor Jim’s documents and organizing them, when I heard a harmonica playing. I was at Open Eye Cafe, a student heavy coffee shop that attracts all types of people, so this didn’t throw me off too much but I definitely wasn’t expecting it. Shortly after playing, the girl in the long white terry cloth dress’ phone rings. She found it somehow convenient to answer while continuing to play her harmonica, giving her greetings between breaths, as if it were natural. But as we all know, playing a wind instrument while trying to speak is never a good idea. It made for a lot of “what?” “huh?” “what’d you say?” in between breaths. She finally stopped playing to give her full attention to the person on the other side of the phone. Speaking loud enough for me to hear every word of her conversation she told a few stories with a few profanities. She starts to talk about a girl she didn’t really like but was a friend (sort-of, if that’s possible). She tells about how she went to the bar and this girl shows up. She really wants to talk to her outside but harmonica girl doesn’t feel like leaving. There’s a hot guy across the bar she’s waiting to get the attention of. Her “friend” keeps saying, I really want to talk outside and she keeps saying no. Then, out of nowhere, this smell hits her in the face, it was the smell of a dumpster or trash (as she explains) she starts looking around, what’s that smell!?!! what is that!? that is terrible! she keeps looking around, finally getting the attention of the man across the bar, he smells it too. She looks back at her friend and she’s laughing. her friend. yes. it happened. harmonica girl was livid. She finally went outside to talk about the fact that you don’t do that in public places! Well, somehow I was able to tune her out for a little while after that. Just long enough to get some work done. Shortly after a woman walks by, talking on her phone saying “yes, she is still clipping her nails!”, so I look over at harmonica girl who I hadn’t paid any attention to since she yelled at the passing motorcyclist that she loves motorcycles. She was most definitely clipping her nails. Note to you- never do this in a coffee shop, even if you are outside. This was my outrageous experience at a coffee shop. Not very inspirational, maybe a little funny, but overall outrageous.

Go Go Fruit in Cairo

take it all in. breathe it in deep.can you feel that, fresh air, nature, the same wind that is blowing through the trees is going into your lungs. ah. cigarette smoke, hm, okay, well, the same air coming out of his mouth is going into my lungs in a diluted form. The trees sway softly, the leaves encircling the tree trunk glimmer, shimmer in the sunlight, I feel the tension leaving my body. eavesdropping on  conversations. tornados, parents, and mobile homes, interesting. coffee shops bring about very inspiring conversations. If someone eavesdropped on my coffee shop conversations i bet they would want to write about it too. 

Although life change is inevitable, I’m surprised every time it happens. You would think I could take some type of preventative measure to prepare for the emotions that come with it but its something you can’t really prepare for, or if you can i haven’t learned how. ‘Go’ is what He tells us. so we go. we go across the room, across the state, across the country, across the world. we go, He tells us to. 

The market and fruit in Cairo is now the topic of their conversation. Two men and an elderly woman, sitting at a coffee shop, not an ordinary coffee shop but one that pushes you out into the woods of North Carolina, just a few miles from UNC. the back patio of this coffee shop faces tree tops, thats all you can see as you step out, I look down and I see a trail, we are on a hill top.

I love coffee shop convo’s oh and they have no idea I’m listening.

I love this, beautiful weather, beautiful people, beautiful scenery, with a laptop and a cup  of tea. I actually am not drinking tea. I don’t have a drink, I probably should to be courteous to the shop but I just want to sit and be inspired. A new couple just sat down, a new conversation, lets sit and see where it takes us.accents. this may be difficult. These two behind me need to speak up or something because I can’t understand a single word. I think they are speaking about directional issues. thats no fun.

A few tables down a baby is crying and her dad is trying to soothe her, he succeeds by standing up with her in his hands, now they are exploring. They are going.

Another interesting couple joins and the crying increases while dad makes little sounds ‘awww ohhhh oooowww sarah! lets go for a walk.’

coffee shop conversations. interesting.

As I sit here alone, writing to you. I enjoy it, feeling the warmth on the skin of my left arm. a girl goes down the trail and while today is not my day to go, I can watch to get an idea of where I would go if I wanted to. more directional conversations behind me. cairo fruit man laughs…something about being addicted to apples. baby and daddy are gone, replaced by a student, conversation-less as she props up her laptop. Go

Let's start from the very beginning...

Let’s start from the very beginning. It’s a very good place to start.Remember that time you went to Starbucks and had that really deep conversation with your best friend about how your life was going? Yeah, I remember too. I actually wrote about it and I’m going to post in on my blog now. Don’t worry, I don’t know your name and no one will see your face (on this blog). This idea started one day when I was sitting at a coffee shop in Jacksonville,Fl. My plan was to sit and sketch and read and just enjoy the view outside. I started a very sad attempt at sketching the entrance to memorial park. It wasn’t really about the sketch, it was more about taking the time to zone out and take a break from school and work. SO… I’m sitting there minding my own business when I catch part of a conversation going on behind me. Two young guys in their twenties talking to an older British man about how tired they are. They just flew in from their tour in Europe, opening for James Taylor. hmmm… this isn’t something I hear about everyday. I start listening on purpose now. This older British man was clearly in the music industry and had a lot of wisdom to share. He started talking about song writing… why? well, because these guys were currently writing lyrics for THe Who… OK, pretty Legit. So, the British man sitting behind me (whom I can only tell is British because of his accent. I caught a glimpse of him and he seemed to look more like a hippy with a grungy shirt and grey hair longer than most girls’ that live in the area) says that writing a song is not about writing what others want to hear. It’s about writing what you’re feeling. “screw what the people want, write from your emotions”. If you write for them, it never turns out the way they want it. Write what you are going through and people will respond. He spoke about how much work this will take and how you’ll go through at least a dozen songs before you write one that’s decent. but keep writing. He then said something profound. I’m not sure if it’s been said before but he said this phrase like he owned it, and I will never forget it. He said, ” a good songwriter is just a bad songwriter that kept trying”. I take this to be true in every area of life… whatever you want to do… do it from your heart, because you want to do it, and then keep working at it. Their conversation continued for a little while longer. One of the young men talked about wanting to settle down one day since he is now engaged. The older gentleman spoke about knowing the man who wrote the book about the Beatles (the book costs like $100, he said). I hope you see my heart in this. It’s not to eavesdrop or to gossip. I feel that there is something to be learned when we stop and listen to what’s going on around us. I don’t know, maybe there’s something inspirational, or maybe just something that will make you laugh.

I hope this inspires you to keep trying, even if you’re bad at something. Not many people start out as experts or famous geniuses but they keep trying anyway.