A short memoir about time and the choices we make each day. Sometimes it’s best to just spend it quietly observing the moments as they pass.
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From the category archives:
Memoirs
It happens every once in awhile: I find myself slowly drifting back into a caffeine haze, jonesing for that next espresso fix. The once a week trip to Starbucks turns into a daily event, and I become so familiar to the baristas that they have my drink ready before I show up. My specialized gold card, with my name embossed in shiny letters, gets refilled, and espresso becomes a regular addition to the daily routine. I can walk through the door of any of several cafes in this town and be greeted by name. It’s nice to be known, but it’s also costly.
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15th in my series of 30 posts in 30 days. “So, I hear you’ve gone vegan!”, he says. “Yes, I have! I love it, best thing I’ve done for myself in years.” I reply. “Wow. You look great. You’ve lost a lot of weight, but you still look good. I thought you’d be all skin [...]
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It’s hard to believe that I’ve been in my house for just over six years. It will be seven in October of this year. Earlier today, I was looking at some writing I had done just prior to my purchase. I forgot how enthusiastic I was about it. There was a real sense of excited innocence about the whole deal. Yet, there was also a nagging sense of buyer’s remorse, a very real fear that maybe I did the wrong thing.
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I decided to venture out into public today. My jaw seemed to have settled a little, and my cheeks weren’t as swollen as the day before. I was still hurting, but I needed a little time away from this hobbit hole I’ve been keeping as my house lately. So, I shaved about 3 days worth of growth off my face, put a clean, public worthy shirt on and headed out the door for a little R&R at the local Starbucks.
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The bags travelled along the conveyor like chocolate confections. A crowd of us had assembled to watch as they slowly circled the baggage area before dipping back behind gently swaying, neoprene curtains. I folded my arms, waiting, as they reappeared on the other side, often trailing new ones behind them. We were each looking for our particular flavor, the one bag that held all of our personal belongings; our ticket to get out of there and leave all these strangers behind.
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Walking the dogs this evening, I noticed a particular tree along our path; a thin red maple, it’s bark smooth and gray with shallow fissures. A week ago, it’s leaves had turned a brilliant scarlet color, which stood out against the evergreens surrounding it. Now, however, all but a few leaves had scattered to the ground, which left it a barren silhouette against the deepening blue of the evening sky.
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“Let’s go sing karaoke!” she said.
Thump, went my heart.
A unified “Yes!” poured out from the group.
Who are these conspirators that taunt me so?
Someone else offered up, “We’ll go to Imperial Palace, they have a great karaoke bar on the second floor.”
Another finalized the deal: “Ok. It’s settled then. Karaoke at 10. Imperial Palace.”
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