Annoying Autobiographical Pause #779

17 08 2008

I’m saying goodbye, in my own way, to things in Hooterville. I think I have an opportunity that I’m not ready to talk about publicly that might be on the near horizon that I want more than anything. I have my fingers crossed.

Small things I’m noticing. The way the grain mill is encased in the blue sky right out of the front door of my office. Some people think it’s unpleasant to look at but I think it’s beautiful. Faded lettering on the side of the building reminds me that it is noble job. The architecture of the empty downtown that I wish would return to it’s former glory of commerce and folks visiting on the street but I’m afraid those days are gone now.

The local artists talking of putting an art gallery next door to the Republican headquarters four doors down from the paper which pleases me to no end.

In my mind, there are thousands of visual snippets and I want to breathe each image and each word I hear in like oxygen.

The fact that one conversation with someone started making me believe in news again. I have fallen back in love with this mistress of a business, I feel more passion for the news business than I have in awhile. The way that the chief staff writer is back from a debilitating accident and how she is excited to be chasing a scoop down. It makes me pleased.

The Alumni Association’s annual parade and watching the mayor toss candy. A woman in a beautiful dress carrying an Obama fan walked by and I took her picture. She smiled.

A man working on a roof. A conversation with a man whose passion is grilling and how he talked about how much he loves to fire it up at local BBQ cookoffs. If he could, he would grill for people every day. Instead he works for the city which flattens his eyes when he speaks of it. But bringing up cooking a hog and those same eyes smile, the laugh lines come out around his the corner of his glasses. He looks older than he is. I liked him.

We saw a family of raccoons against the tree line . I ate barbecue bologna stuffed with jalapenos.

I want to remember these times.

I had a couple of beers at the local juke joint and we spoke of Bigfoot, of a man who visited me (I think he was on meth from how he was jittering) who reported he’d seen a UFO over the local trailer park. I told him I would check into it.

I listened to the local workers at Goodyear that realized that their union had let them down. They are looking at a work stoppage. There will be little pay. I watched two guys make a wager on a Nascar race while we watched the Olympics. I don’t know anything about Nascar, so I kept quiet.

I headed out driving and looking at this town. Each crack in the road, each building filled with people living their lives as best they can. I will miss it, I have no doubt. But I need more.

I am learning to live in each moment. It’s taken me 42 years to figure that out.

And the horizon beckons me.

Advertisements

Actions

Information

5 responses

17 08 2008
Russ

I think it’s only at the age of 42 that we can handle living life in the moment. At younger ages, that mindset tends to lead to careless decision-making.

You’re on the right path, ‘Coma, and I hope the sun shines on you every step of the way.

17 08 2008
Frank

Follow your bliss. Sounds corny and cliche but it’s the truth.

17 08 2008
holly

And I, in turn, say to you:

beautiful.

I cannot wait to see how things turn out.

17 08 2008
Lesley

Some days, you might find yourself wanting to go back. Go, but don’t make it permanent or you’ll resent the place forever. It’s easier to love a place when you don’t live there.

18 08 2008
Dan

There’s a lot of this going around. I look forward to hearing more soon.

CONGRATS on WHATEVER!

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: