City Streets: Selfies with David

We’re in Chicago, and on our way to a Whole Foods. My brother and I have been traveling around the city with our whole family, so it’s a relief for it to be just the two of us. All I want is a salad bar.

On our way in we pass two men sitting about fifty feet apart, both requesting help of any kind. The second one spoke to us.

“Can you help?”

“I don’t have anything.”

“You can get something in there.”

“What do you want?”

“A hot breakfast sandwich and some juice? It’s hard, because I can’t chew.”

Once inside we realize that, since it’s 2pm, a hot breakfast sandwich will be hard to find. We put together two bags, each with a fortified juice, hot chicken, and some watermelon.

We hand a bag to the man who spoke to us, then head down the block to where the second man sits.

“Would you like some food?”

“Oh thank you!”

“May I sit with you?”

In only a few minutes, Duncan and I will cross the street, and stand on the corner of State and Huron, looking at a map on my phone to see where to go next, and I’ll regret not sitting with David longer. We have no plans to rush off to. I’ll regret not stopping to talk to the first man. But in this moment I sit with David, and try to make small talk.

“You’re the most dapper man on the street that I’ve ever seen!”

He tells me about a man who bought clothes for him: four shirts, two suit jackets, and matching pants.

“And there was another man, he was on his way out of town, rolling his suitcase behind him, and he didn’t have any cash. But he gave me his shoes and they fit perfectly!” He straightens his legs, showing us the clean loafers on his feet.

I thank him for his time, and stand up.

“God bless you, both of you.”

We smile and say the same.

 

Grief on a Train: Meeting Marguerite

She’s the absolute picture of grief: petite, aged, black coat draped across her torso and fingers pressed against her lips as she looks blankly towards the curtained window.

“Are you alright?”

She shakes her head no, the tears springing up immediately. She opens up the slim volume in front of her– Psalms and Proverbs, maybe a few other books as well- and shows me a picture of a lovely woman, dyed blond hair, in her forties.

“My daughter,” she says, in an accented voice, “She’s had a five year battle with cancer.”

I’ve started rubbing her shoulder almost immediately. Her sweater is soft, and I try to make my eyes sympathetic.

“She’s beautiful.”

“She was only forty-seven. Too young…what’s your name?”

“Chloe.”

“I’m Marguerite.”

 

Sweet Cherry-Hots

“Daddy, will you sing the Cherry Hot song?” I twisted and squirmed until I found a comfortable position, chin pressed against my soft Barney the Dinosaur sheets. My teeth were brushed, my nightgown was on, it’s time for bed.

“Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…”

I finally rested my head on my pillow, face turned towards his. He ran his finger over my forehead and down my nose, again and again.

“Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…”

It was hard to keep my eyes open; with each stroke of his finger, I’d blink, and my eyes would open a little slower each time.

His voice swung low, tone-deaf, but I couldn’t tell. Its deepness resonated through my chest.

The words didn’t matter, it was just the cadence with which he said them, the same way he did in church when I’d rest my head against his chest and hear his deepness resonating out through vibrations into my ear. No one else could hear the way he shook the earth with each word, but I could.

“Swing low, sweet chariot, coming for to carry me home…”

He’s what brings me home.

High-Fives From The Trees

When I was little, I biked through the streets of suburbia, attempting to get lost in the maze of tract homes, all made from four  different floor plans but flipped and painted to create the illusion of variety. My own house was such a nondescript shade that I couldn’t tell you if it was gray or green or blue, merely that it was on the corner of Maria and Stone Creek Drive.

Sometimes I would ride with my eyes on the sky, craning my neck to keep track of where the flocks of birds were going and attempting to modify my route through the streets to match their path above the rooftops. I imagined I was like DaVinci, studying their movements and trying to understand how they flew.

Other times, I’d race down the sidewalks and imagine that all the trees were cheering me on. They reached out to give me high fives with their overhanging branches, and I let the leaves slap against my outstretched palm, one hand gripping the handle bar, the other reaching out to receive the encouragement.

Eventually I’d park the bike behind a bush, and climb up into my tree, up into the smaller branches until I was as high as they would allow. The wind against my face felt like the world reaffirming my right to enjoy the day; I was Pocahontas, watching the horizon for any strange clouds that might come to change my life.

Sunday Storytime: A Collection of Fairy Tales

I grew up with a copy of The Random House Book of Fairy Tales, which is a pretty comprehensive collection of classic stories from Hans Christian Andersen, The Brothers Grimm, and more. I was obsessed with the illustrations; they were so different from what I was accustomed to seeing.

There’s the usual tales: Rapunzel, Cinderella, Snow White. The Emperor’s New Clothes, Puss in Boots, The Elves and The Shoemaker. Sleeping Beauty, Jack in the Bean Stock, Beauty and the Beast, The Frog Prince. Familiar story lines, illustrated with unique characters bordering on caricature.

Then there’s the less popular stories, like The Steadfast Tin Soldier, which had the saddest ending. I felt so betrayed each time, because that’s not how fairy tales are supposed to end.

The Valiant Little Tailor is a story about a tailor who I remember to be quite clever, but upon rereading, he starts off being mostly arrogant. He swats seven flies dead, and decides the whole world must know, so he immediately makes a belt that says, “Seven at one blow” and then sets off into the world. He pretends to squeeze milk out of a rock by hiding cheese in his hand, and tricks a giant into doing him all sorts of favors.

Watching Frozen, I realized that its loosely based on The Snow Queen, a story about a queen who shoots ice into the heart of a little boy, and takes him captive. Fortunately, his sister loves him quite a lot, and rescues him and melts the ice. I always marveled at how brave she was, venturing into the unknown to save her brother.

So it doesn’t have to be THIS exact collection, but traditional fairy tales should be a staple to any child’s reading, if only to provide a broader understanding of where Disney gets its movie ideas.

You know you’re a writer when…

you keep pens where your toothbrush is supposed to go.

Sunday Storytime: The Bear on the Moon

This book features a curious polar bear who is different from the other bears because she “wondered about things no other bear thought about.” She swims as deep as she can to see what’s below, and she swims to the horizon to see what the aurora borealis is all about.

Seriously, look at how beautiful this page is.

When no one can answer your questions, go and find the answers yourself. If you persevere, despite what others say, you just might get to touch the shining lights at the horizon.

Writing in Sebastopol: The Holy Cow

I am not a morning person. My parents could tell you about what a nightmare it was trying to wake me up in time for school. College was great, because I was pretty much guaranteed that I wouldn’t have to wake up before nine am, so it’s been awhile since I’ve had strict schedule.

Two weeks ago, all of that changed. I got a job driving this kid from Petaluma to Sebastopol for school, which means I have to wake up at 6:30am. This is not a thing that I enjoy.

However, once I’m up and driving, I’m looking forward to the morning hours that I would usually miss.

I’ve been frequenting this coffee shop for the past two weeks, and it’s become one of my favorite (and most productive!) places to work. The first barista to greet me has a smile even bigger than the frames of his glasses, and his friendliness extends to everyone who walks through the door, long before you even make it to the counter.

They let me smell my tea options before I commit to a potful, and don’t seem the slightest bit miffed or resentful when I stay for three to four hours, getting refills and not buying anything else.

When I buy tea at a coffee shop, I’m not paying three dollars just for tea. That would be ridiculous. Tea is much cheaper elsewhere. I’m buying unlimited hot water, a place to sit, and access to both wi-fi and a bathroom.

Located on S. Main St. in the heart of Sebastopol, the shop gets plenty of foot traffic. There’s seats by the window, and although there’s a regular stream of customers, it never gets crowded or loud. Maybe it’s just the fact that it’s placed in the sleepy town of Sebastopol, but the vibe is always laid back. The baristas never seem stressed, and in between the rush, they take time to chat with the regulars. The small-town-ness also means friendly people, who offer smiles and actually make eye contact with their fellow patrons. Toddlers explore fearlessly as parents chat nearby. Mothers bounce babies on one hip.

I don’t have to wear my earplugs here; the ambient noise stays low enough so as to not be distracting, but loud enough that I don’t feel awkward sneezing too loudly.

I finally treated myself to one of their grilled cheese sandwiches, and it’s a good thing I waited this long, or I’d be ordering one every day. The cheese itself is a tasty melted delight, and the sourdough bread lives up to its name, soft and dense with a strong flavor. My side salad is as big as my main course, which is just the way I like it.

If you’re ever in Sebastopol, I highly recommend The Holy Cow. And try the backpacker’s cookie. It has everything delicious in it,including graham cracker bits.

Sunday Storytime: Heart of a Tiger

Marsha Diane Arnold starts by explaining Naming Day, when “each animal born the previous spring chooses its own name.” But there’s a catch: they only get to keep that name if everyone agrees that it is fair and honest.

“Four supposed he should name himself Smallest of All. But he was afraid if he named himself that, it would always be so.”

“In my heart I am bigger than what you see.”

He journeys into the jungle in search of himself, and calms back calm and confident, ready to claim his identity.

 Ideally, won’t our kids do the same? Maybe not in a jungle, although that’s as good a place as any.

You have to go find yourself, discover yourself, without the influence of others.

And it’s a kitten.

 

City Streets: Selfies with Spaceman

He sits on the corner with a helmet high up on his head, demanding change from the people walking down Hyde St. When I shake my head at his request, he said, “Well, how about a hug?”

There are broken CDs taped to the outside of his helmet, and as I hug him, I can see through the clear visor that it’s stuffed with various articles of clothing: a glove, a sock.”My name is Spaceman, and my helmet is good all over the universe. It works in space, but also on bikes and motorcycles and helicopters.”

I ask about about the metal chimes hanging from his chest, and he tells me he uses them to do Hare Krishna.

“Like this,” and he claps them together, beginning at tuneless chant of “Hare Kirshna Hare Krishna.” When a tall young man dances across the street in time with his chanting, Spaceman shouts after him, “Hey! How about some change for the music? I play, you pay!”

Spaceman tells me that he wants to buy something from the convenience store across the street, but he’s nine cents short. When I ask if I can take a picture from him, he insists I give him some change. I relent, but he hears the rest of the change in my wallet, and won’t even look at the camera before bargaining for more.

“Where you goin’ girl? You gonna get on the BART?”

“No, I’m just filling up my Clipper card, then heading to yoga.”

“Oh right, gotta do your yoga. You’re probably a vegetarian and you eat yogurt.”

“I am a vegetarian, but I don’t like yogurt.”

“Yeah, well there are lots of things that you don’t like that you have to put in your body, because they’re good for you. Kids these days, they get drug education, sex education. I’m 64, and we didn’t have none of that when I was a kid.”

“Yeah, ok, I gotta go.”

“Oh, okay. You eat your fruits and veggies.”

“I will. Bye, it was nice to meet you.”

But he’s already lost interest, and returns to badgering anyone who walks by.