I took 11 items through the 10-item express check out lane today.
5 cans of Wolfgang Puck soups, 2 mangoes, 1 quart of Valencia Indian River O.J., 1 wrapped tri-head of broccoli, 1 5-lb bag of new potatoes, and 1 box of soymilk to be exact.
As my friendly cashier-clerk scanned my items, the bagger-lady spewed forth her lament of the weather, how maybe there would be snow, how it's possible, and that one time there was an icestorm right in her front yard. The electricity was out, and man! is it boring with no lights.
An image of me with a candle, some blankets, and a book hung a backdrop in my mind.
I took the bag of potatoes out of the plastic grocery sack and said, "thank you, but I won't need a bag for this."
I used to really be scared of the cold. It causes my body to tighten, though I've since found it to be similar to those '50's "exercising" machines where you just stand there and the bands around you shiver and jiggle, and somehow you feel like you've burned off some calories.
I'm a Georgia-girl, yes, born and raised in the South.
Yet you won't find this sun-loving gal griping about our cold.
See, I'm planning to move to Madison.
WISCONSIN.
In December.
Surely you've heard it said that cycles of life occur numerically. The most recent theory I've heard says that things turn over every 7 years. Now, I don't know who's holding the stopwatch or when they pressed go, but this morning I found myself calculating the events of my last 7 years...
I'll spare you the details of my travels and directionless adventure.
What I would like to point out is that roughly 7 years ago (ok, 8), I had just graduated from college, finished my 2nd performance with Athens' community theatre, Town & Gown (something I had put on the shelf for years, though it is something I have loved doing since I was in Kindergarten!), and was looking at a wide-open future.
I tucked tail and ran.
I was just starting to grow, and to meet people outside of my university experience. I began my own nannying service by hand-drawing signs and posting them in neighborhood corner stores. I was pretty much "my own boss," and I was acting again, and I didn't know what to do with my freedom.
So, I packed up and headed home.
With 3 mangey-pups in my backseat. (They had shown up on my doorstep in the middle of a storm. Mom warned me not to come to her house without finding those dogs homes. I showed up with them, anyway.)
Now, advance 7 (ok, 8) years: I am looking at a wide-open future.
But I can't go home to Mom's. I mean, I'm at Mom's, but she's dead and gone. Now it's just my stepdad, and that's awkward. Well, it should be. I'm nearly 32.
So, I'm looking at this wide-open future. The one I postponed running into. Sure, I had some amazing experiences along the by-way. I thing that's how life is... it won't abandon you in your maturing process. However, now I get a sense that my life is a plug, the movement is momentum, and what lies ahead is the socket. In me is dormant experience, ability, and potential.
I move to make something work.
Man, is it boring with no lights!
