Sunday, September 30, 2007
Saturday, September 29, 2007
Holy Shit
When the guides from Trekk Travel came in this week to ask if they could bring in their group of 26 bicyclists on Saturday, they assured me that they would all come staggering in between the hours of 11:30-1pm.
Come noon, all 26 bikers came tapping down the hall in their funny spiked shoes.... plus the regular Johnson Saturday crowd, plus a slew of parents and kids from JSC (Parent's Weekend at the college).
It's now getting on 5pm and I'm sitting down with a salad and taking a breath. The day has been a flurry of sandwiches, soups, dishes and register zone. I * am * so * glad * I * prepped * like * hell * for * this * day!
Hot damn.
Bill came in for a latte before heading across the street to get some work done and got pulled behind the counter to help prep some plates and catch up on the dishes. I think he got stuck back there for an hour and a half.
An hour or so after he left, Word Bob jumped behind the counter to do some more dishes. He got a free lunch.
I just don't think this place is cut out for that kind of volume.
But the tab for Trekk Travel came to almost $300 so I'm not complaining.
Looks like a record day.
Come noon, all 26 bikers came tapping down the hall in their funny spiked shoes.... plus the regular Johnson Saturday crowd, plus a slew of parents and kids from JSC (Parent's Weekend at the college).
It's now getting on 5pm and I'm sitting down with a salad and taking a breath. The day has been a flurry of sandwiches, soups, dishes and register zone. I * am * so * glad * I * prepped * like * hell * for * this * day!
Hot damn.
Bill came in for a latte before heading across the street to get some work done and got pulled behind the counter to help prep some plates and catch up on the dishes. I think he got stuck back there for an hour and a half.
An hour or so after he left, Word Bob jumped behind the counter to do some more dishes. He got a free lunch.
I just don't think this place is cut out for that kind of volume.
But the tab for Trekk Travel came to almost $300 so I'm not complaining.
Looks like a record day.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
Gateway
Pema Chodron, a buddhist nun, talks about Sim and Ripka. Sim is the Tibetan word for "clutter of the mind". It's the buzzing and random dialogue and come-backs one never thought to use on time. It's the hesitation and the passion and the disorganization of thought. A stumbling over and over of just too many things. Our best friends, inspirations and worst enemies all vying for our mental attention. It's the stuff that gives us headaches, keeps us up later than we want to be, and gets on our fucking nerves. It's the stuff that makes our shoulders hurt.
Ripka is space. It's the space between all that clutter. The doorway between the in breath and the out breath. It's the place where the water meets the shore, when it's neither coming nor receding, ebbing or flowing.
When I'm getting on my own nerves with all that fear and self doubt, when I'm lying in bed at night wondering if I'd forgotten to place a bakery order or file a receipt, wondering what I may have done taking on this shop, wondering about.... so much.....it's sometimes just a matter of remembering to repeat over and over again in my head~
and then stop
Ripka is space. It's the space between all that clutter. The doorway between the in breath and the out breath. It's the place where the water meets the shore, when it's neither coming nor receding, ebbing or flowing.
When I'm getting on my own nerves with all that fear and self doubt, when I'm lying in bed at night wondering if I'd forgotten to place a bakery order or file a receipt, wondering what I may have done taking on this shop, wondering about.... so much.....it's sometimes just a matter of remembering to repeat over and over again in my head~
sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim sim
and then stop
take a deep breath
notice the space between
and then
R*i*p*k*a
Ella was right...
Her new art teacher does look like Uncle Vernon from Harry Potter.A bit nicer, though.
Says Bean has some real talent.
We missed the jello molds... got there just as the principal was announcing that the parents could now take a look around and get the tour. Ella walked us through her classroom and their daily routine, we visited the book fair where she purchased a marker that smelled like buttered popcorn, and I tried hiding my many yawns... the thoughts of coming back to the shop after the open house just lingering like bad mosquito bites in the back of my head.
We came home, ate what little food we could find in the house (since mom has no time any more for things like grocery shopping and daily household maintenance), I read a bit of the first Harry Potter to Els, and said my goodbyes and goodnights.
I'll be back at 6am to open. I should have just brought my feather blanket and curled up on the couch.... have myself a one person slumber party. I could have brought our portable dvd player and Ella's buttered popcorn marker.
Blip
It's one of those rare moments where I have the laptop open on the counter during business hours. I figure that I'll get three sentences in before people come flooding in. We'll see.I'll have to lock the doors tonight and head out without taking care of any of the closing duties....come back late night to put it all together for the morning staff. Ella has open house at her school tonight. We'll miss the potluck segment, which I can't say I'm entirely disappointed about. One can only handle so many jello molds and macaroni salads in their lifetime. But we'll get there in time to take the tour of her classroom, meet the parents and teachers, etc. These events are always a little weird. I don't know if I'll ever get used to being the parent of a school aged kid. In my head I'm still trying to rush home in time to sneak the 'poor work notices' out of the mailbox before my folks find them. Those little pink pieces of paper haunted me viciously from third grade till twelfth. I'd have been a perfect candidate for either Ritalin or homeschooling.
Well, that was ten sentences. Forty minutes later. This is getting old.
Signing out.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Pullin' a Late One
It's ten after twelve.
A.M.
And I really should go home...but I drank a double latte around 7pm and I know that if I lay myself down right now my head will go abuzz till at least 3am. I'm sparing myself the misfiring wires and tossing and turning. People have a hard time believing that I only drink coffee two or three times a week here. I think I need to be a bit more selective about when I choose to drink it, though.
We close at 6pm and I'm usually able to start breaking things down around 5pm so that, come six, all I have to do is clean the brewers, bleach the boards, sweep, mop and count the drawer. Tonight, though, Helen came in around 4:30 to show me how to get online and pay the monthly Meals and Rooms tax and also how to pay the payroll tax. It wasn't until 6:30 that we finished with that. I still had a customer in the living room taking an exam on-line for a class and I realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day.
I bought smoked salmon today on my Costco run so that I could offer it as a bagel sandwich and I went ahead this afternoon and erased a big portion of my chalk board so that I could re-write the sandwich into the menu.
Whaddya think ~ smoked salmon, cream cheese, red onion and organic greens on a toasted bagel? Kind of typical but a good stand by.
So I erased the board right before I got slammed with a thousand lunch orders, which led me right into my meeting with Helen, which led me right past closing and there it was... 11pm... and I'm covered in chalk and jacked on caffeine and standing on the counters trying to be just the tiniest bit artistic in my penmanship... hands kind of shaking. And can I just say how very much I hate the sound of chalk on a chalk board? About as much as the sound of styrofoam. About as much as the sound of a napkin being rubbed together. (About as much as the sound of a hand on the fabric of the ceiling of a car??) Isms.
But the board is written, the dishes are done, the sandwich was tested and approved and I'm about five minutes away from a serious caffeine crash. G'night.
A.M.
And I really should go home...but I drank a double latte around 7pm and I know that if I lay myself down right now my head will go abuzz till at least 3am. I'm sparing myself the misfiring wires and tossing and turning. People have a hard time believing that I only drink coffee two or three times a week here. I think I need to be a bit more selective about when I choose to drink it, though.
We close at 6pm and I'm usually able to start breaking things down around 5pm so that, come six, all I have to do is clean the brewers, bleach the boards, sweep, mop and count the drawer. Tonight, though, Helen came in around 4:30 to show me how to get online and pay the monthly Meals and Rooms tax and also how to pay the payroll tax. It wasn't until 6:30 that we finished with that. I still had a customer in the living room taking an exam on-line for a class and I realized that I hadn't eaten anything all day.
I bought smoked salmon today on my Costco run so that I could offer it as a bagel sandwich and I went ahead this afternoon and erased a big portion of my chalk board so that I could re-write the sandwich into the menu.
Whaddya think ~ smoked salmon, cream cheese, red onion and organic greens on a toasted bagel? Kind of typical but a good stand by.
So I erased the board right before I got slammed with a thousand lunch orders, which led me right into my meeting with Helen, which led me right past closing and there it was... 11pm... and I'm covered in chalk and jacked on caffeine and standing on the counters trying to be just the tiniest bit artistic in my penmanship... hands kind of shaking. And can I just say how very much I hate the sound of chalk on a chalk board? About as much as the sound of styrofoam. About as much as the sound of a napkin being rubbed together. (About as much as the sound of a hand on the fabric of the ceiling of a car??) Isms.
But the board is written, the dishes are done, the sandwich was tested and approved and I'm about five minutes away from a serious caffeine crash. G'night.
Monday, September 17, 2007
Biography
The Grateful Dead played twice in Highgate, Vermont in the mid-nineties. In 1994, I was supposed to work that night and the following day at Katana... the local, mid-town sushi joint. Two hours before I was due in to work, I called in desperately sick.... and was on the road. I was living in an old, brick Sesame Street double block at the time, that my mom still has nightmares about..... I'm surprised I don't still have nightmares about it.
We made it to the show, got in for free because they just plain old opened the gates (gotta love Vermont) and then left immediatley afterward at midnite. According to plan, I would have been home with three hours to spare before I was due in for my shift at the sushi joint, but we took directions from our friend TJ, who happened to be way too high to give effective directions, and what could have been a seven hour drive from Vermont to Pennsylvania turned out to be a twelve hour drive through Connecticut rush hour traffic, where everyone that drove around us either beeped or flipped us off because a Volkswagon bus, with it's windows down in fast rush hour traffic on a Connecticut freeway, is not dissimilar to a woffleball in a wind storm.... and I had to call in almost four hours late and ended up bathing and changing and finally, after all that time, brushing my hair in the bus and they practically (whoever was driving, I think it was you, Dave) just dropped the thing down into second gear as I jumped out at mid-town in my black pants and black shirt.
The second year I drove into Highgate, Vermont I was in my bus again... but this time it's interior was sweetly decorated and packed to the gills, ready for some kind of cross-country venture. Our quack mechanic supposedly rebuilt the engine and my dad advised me to, "every time the oil gets low, throw in a quart or so of oil".....'
It was seven hours to Vermont. By the time we hit the Adirondack lakes, we blew our air filter from all that oil (we kept a whole case under the fold out sofa in the van).... We ended up sawing off the end of a broom handle and lodging it between the air filter and the roof of the engine compartment to keep that filter on through a basic, first-into-second acceleration. Our first, of many, chic McGyver moves.
It was after that Highgate show that we drove into Johnson for the first time. We pulled into Main Street, just across from the coffee shop, and went into ~ what was then ~ The Pie Safe... a gift shop/deli type joint that was once the big bank in town. I think the safe had been transormed into the beer cooler.
It's now the corner book store/yarn shop. A beautiful place. Makes me wish I actually bought books new. Or bought books at all, really. My walls are too full of books I've collected over the years, books I have yet to read, to allow myself the luxury of new books. And I have way too much going on to actually knit. Much as I'd like to.
From there we landed at the farm house... and it was there that me and my van spent most of the rest of the summer.... floating through the pastures out back in patch work dresses, drinking iced coffee, smoking cigarettes and figuring out the world on the front porch of the coffee shop... all in between the four or five swimming holes we "clocked in" at through out the afternoon.
It was that summer that Johnson became my stomping ground. It was that summer that the cops would slow down as they drove past the coffee shop... taking long looks.... taking notes. It was that summer that the big cedar flower buckets placed all along the Main Street corners kept gettting trimmed down by local officials because, in between the pansies and wisteria, weed kepting growing up.
It was the same summer I learned to swim naked, that I read Mists of Avalon, that I learned to hoola-hoop, play devil sticks and widdle. I learned that summer how to build a fire, how to fish, and how to walk across a log (or as Kalinas called it... do the "walk of faith"). The first time I walked that log, my ass was black and blue for weeks. Faith took me some time. The better part of the summer, really.
I spent the next summer in Johsnon without the bus. It was the victim of my driving.. a head on collission outside of Philadelphia... the frame cracked... poor girl ruined. I lived in a tent and all my books got moldy. We built a clay oven and baked lasagne, we built devil sticks in the garage, I hitch-hiked with girlfriends. Slept on the ocean in Maine, got ticks on the ocean in Cape Cod, wrapped my arms around a Redwood in the middle of the night on a new moon in Northern California, slept in the Sequoias in Oregon and in a van in San Francisco.
That was the first year that I came back to Vermont and watched the summer turn into Autumn. It was the first time that I felt the nights here cool to an early frost, watched the rivers build a great, long mist in the morning, and woke to snow on a mountain top in September. It snowed in the valleys on Halloween that year... the first snow.
The shop porch is starting to collect red and yellow leaves. When I arrive in the morning, everything still wet with early frost, the paper having barely arrived (if it arrives at all) and the Main Street traffic still a bit sporadic, the porch is covered like confetti with dry, colorful leaves.
I can hardly remember that first fall. I can just remember the smell of the air. The way it felt on the skin. The shock of shorter days and the pace at which they shortened. I can remember renting a small little farmhouse apartment and loving the taste of maple syrup on a spoon. I can remember not having a bookshelf and so stacking the books from the floor on up. I can remember the jet-liner sound of the oil heater in our living room and just how quickly we would run out of hot water. I remember the horses up the road and how I would not wash my hands for hours so I could keep the smell on them.
I remember the transition from iced coffee on the porch of the shop to drinking hot coffee in the fall. And now, here it is late-ish September and I've had the same half gallon pitchers of iced coffee in the fridge since last weekend and, kinda like wearing flip flops till Mid-November, I just can't bring myself to pour them down the drain.
All of a sudden, I'm running out of little tea pots for my customers, instead of running out of pint glasses.... I'm making an awful lot of hot tea and hot lattes instead of iced tea and iced coffee. I'm walking faster from my car to the front door in the morning and I'm wondering if the place came with it's own snow shovel and rock salt.
We had dinner tonight with friends. Yellowtail nori rolls and miso soup with a 1990 Jerry Band show playing on the TV in the other room.... the year Brent died and they moved from the regular tour into Jerry Band tour. A mean Lucky Old Sun..... like nothing I've ever heard.
Before dinner, Ella did her homework... which was just a free-write in her journal. After dinner we tried doing splits in the living room (the hosts were Bean's karate teachers and they had come straight from karate to dinner). When we got into the car to go home, after our splits and dancing in the living room, Ella said to me, "Mom, I think I brought out your inner child." We sang to Regina Spektor the whole way home.
She wrote a poem for her free-write.
A POEM FOR AUTUMN
A chilly evening
Underneath the moon
The thought of summer
Usually means fun
Many colors fill my eyes
Now that I'm back to fall.
We made it to the show, got in for free because they just plain old opened the gates (gotta love Vermont) and then left immediatley afterward at midnite. According to plan, I would have been home with three hours to spare before I was due in for my shift at the sushi joint, but we took directions from our friend TJ, who happened to be way too high to give effective directions, and what could have been a seven hour drive from Vermont to Pennsylvania turned out to be a twelve hour drive through Connecticut rush hour traffic, where everyone that drove around us either beeped or flipped us off because a Volkswagon bus, with it's windows down in fast rush hour traffic on a Connecticut freeway, is not dissimilar to a woffleball in a wind storm.... and I had to call in almost four hours late and ended up bathing and changing and finally, after all that time, brushing my hair in the bus and they practically (whoever was driving, I think it was you, Dave) just dropped the thing down into second gear as I jumped out at mid-town in my black pants and black shirt.
The second year I drove into Highgate, Vermont I was in my bus again... but this time it's interior was sweetly decorated and packed to the gills, ready for some kind of cross-country venture. Our quack mechanic supposedly rebuilt the engine and my dad advised me to, "every time the oil gets low, throw in a quart or so of oil".....'
It was seven hours to Vermont. By the time we hit the Adirondack lakes, we blew our air filter from all that oil (we kept a whole case under the fold out sofa in the van).... We ended up sawing off the end of a broom handle and lodging it between the air filter and the roof of the engine compartment to keep that filter on through a basic, first-into-second acceleration. Our first, of many, chic McGyver moves.
It was after that Highgate show that we drove into Johnson for the first time. We pulled into Main Street, just across from the coffee shop, and went into ~ what was then ~ The Pie Safe... a gift shop/deli type joint that was once the big bank in town. I think the safe had been transormed into the beer cooler.
It's now the corner book store/yarn shop. A beautiful place. Makes me wish I actually bought books new. Or bought books at all, really. My walls are too full of books I've collected over the years, books I have yet to read, to allow myself the luxury of new books. And I have way too much going on to actually knit. Much as I'd like to.
From there we landed at the farm house... and it was there that me and my van spent most of the rest of the summer.... floating through the pastures out back in patch work dresses, drinking iced coffee, smoking cigarettes and figuring out the world on the front porch of the coffee shop... all in between the four or five swimming holes we "clocked in" at through out the afternoon.
It was that summer that Johnson became my stomping ground. It was that summer that the cops would slow down as they drove past the coffee shop... taking long looks.... taking notes. It was that summer that the big cedar flower buckets placed all along the Main Street corners kept gettting trimmed down by local officials because, in between the pansies and wisteria, weed kepting growing up.
It was the same summer I learned to swim naked, that I read Mists of Avalon, that I learned to hoola-hoop, play devil sticks and widdle. I learned that summer how to build a fire, how to fish, and how to walk across a log (or as Kalinas called it... do the "walk of faith"). The first time I walked that log, my ass was black and blue for weeks. Faith took me some time. The better part of the summer, really.
I spent the next summer in Johsnon without the bus. It was the victim of my driving.. a head on collission outside of Philadelphia... the frame cracked... poor girl ruined. I lived in a tent and all my books got moldy. We built a clay oven and baked lasagne, we built devil sticks in the garage, I hitch-hiked with girlfriends. Slept on the ocean in Maine, got ticks on the ocean in Cape Cod, wrapped my arms around a Redwood in the middle of the night on a new moon in Northern California, slept in the Sequoias in Oregon and in a van in San Francisco.
That was the first year that I came back to Vermont and watched the summer turn into Autumn. It was the first time that I felt the nights here cool to an early frost, watched the rivers build a great, long mist in the morning, and woke to snow on a mountain top in September. It snowed in the valleys on Halloween that year... the first snow.
The shop porch is starting to collect red and yellow leaves. When I arrive in the morning, everything still wet with early frost, the paper having barely arrived (if it arrives at all) and the Main Street traffic still a bit sporadic, the porch is covered like confetti with dry, colorful leaves.
I can hardly remember that first fall. I can just remember the smell of the air. The way it felt on the skin. The shock of shorter days and the pace at which they shortened. I can remember renting a small little farmhouse apartment and loving the taste of maple syrup on a spoon. I can remember not having a bookshelf and so stacking the books from the floor on up. I can remember the jet-liner sound of the oil heater in our living room and just how quickly we would run out of hot water. I remember the horses up the road and how I would not wash my hands for hours so I could keep the smell on them.
I remember the transition from iced coffee on the porch of the shop to drinking hot coffee in the fall. And now, here it is late-ish September and I've had the same half gallon pitchers of iced coffee in the fridge since last weekend and, kinda like wearing flip flops till Mid-November, I just can't bring myself to pour them down the drain.
All of a sudden, I'm running out of little tea pots for my customers, instead of running out of pint glasses.... I'm making an awful lot of hot tea and hot lattes instead of iced tea and iced coffee. I'm walking faster from my car to the front door in the morning and I'm wondering if the place came with it's own snow shovel and rock salt.
We had dinner tonight with friends. Yellowtail nori rolls and miso soup with a 1990 Jerry Band show playing on the TV in the other room.... the year Brent died and they moved from the regular tour into Jerry Band tour. A mean Lucky Old Sun..... like nothing I've ever heard.
Before dinner, Ella did her homework... which was just a free-write in her journal. After dinner we tried doing splits in the living room (the hosts were Bean's karate teachers and they had come straight from karate to dinner). When we got into the car to go home, after our splits and dancing in the living room, Ella said to me, "Mom, I think I brought out your inner child." We sang to Regina Spektor the whole way home.
She wrote a poem for her free-write.
A POEM FOR AUTUMN
A chilly evening
Underneath the moon
The thought of summer
Usually means fun
Many colors fill my eyes
Now that I'm back to fall.
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