Tuesday, September 30, 2008

over the mountain

the proud buck and doe wink at me from the bar-top as i swallow another local lager, the only beer i can drink in these parts. my brother walks by as i'm laughing at something crystal said, he there to brush up his pool game because the league is starting this week. there is no other place i feel as comfortable, even though to those who know me best it would seem an odd place to find me.
later in the night we're driving to dubois, a town just 20 miles away, and as we pass 18 wheelers on the highway i think i could be 19 again, freewheeling out of control, no seatbelt, no caution, no worries. my girls in the car, all of us happy to be together, not much makeup, no high heels, no pretense or judgment, this is what it's like in the small town when you go way back. for a few hours we are invincible, inseparable, the center of the world.
the fog is familiar, the deer on the side of the road still haven't learned to stay away. the trees are beginning to show their colors, one last beautiful attempt to revel in pleasant temperatures before the wicked winter makes them feel like dying. it really is the same after all this time. like a puffy picture on a sweatshirt, yes, this is the scene we see every day.
we bravely try to have fun on a monday, though the steelers are playing and it's tough to draw attention away from the tv, we manage to get a bucket of beers delivered to our table from a group of hopefuls. but it would take more than that to distract us from our conversations. i'm in the mix of a hometown heart to heart and i wouldn't miss it...well, not for those guys anyway. the small town mind is easily turned toward codependency, and it takes a certain type to escape it either by strength of will, sheer social intelligence, or exposure to outside influences. i myself feel the latter is what saved me, and am grateful.
i made it home, i smell like smoke, and i'm glad i'm single.

5 comments:

Jack said...

Very evocative post. Enjoy your time home.

J

http://adventuresinvoluntarysimplicity.blogspot.com/

Shannon said...

Home is magical: it's a whole body, spirit, mind experience. Our poet friend, roseanne was here this summer to house sit for Claudia and write. She lived in Spokane at one point in her young adulthood and found all her inspiration for poetry to be centered around the experience of the familiar while she was here. the smells and feeling she had memorized but nearly forgotton. The experiences with her young daughter and the way thing had been and still were and the specific vocabulary that embodied the Northwest. Capitalize on how "home" inspires you. Drink it in as if you had never noticed home before. Walking with Geo this week I looked up to the horizon and saw all the mountain ridges. "We forget to look at our own town with the bredth of scope that we veiw new places with dont we george?" I asked, "lets make an effort to look up and open our vision beyond an objects and into the panorama of our daily life" Sounds like you are doing the same.
kisses
Shann

Sub Girl said...

Ahh...Dubois and 19 again. Good times!

carrot quinn said...

I like your blog. Thanks for writing.

Bon Vivant said...

"the small town mind is easily turned toward codependency, and it takes a certain type to escape it either by strength of will, sheer social intelligence, or exposure to outside influences. i myself feel the latter is what saved me, and am grateful." Very telling. Seems every small town has it's contingent of those who escape and those who embrace 'it'. I'm an escapee and have always be 'grateful' as well.

Bon Chance!