Life at 3 miles an Hour

This is my week to dream, to use my imagination, to get out of the weekly grind that my job can get me into if I’m not careful. I get to engage the artist role a bit more if I work things right. It’s started off well so far; early morning on the beach with two layers of the inside of my mouth scalded with Starbucks. It’s going to be a good one. I’ve already seen an eagle glide across the beachfront. The ferries have their snow covered backdrops in place and the sun is promising 80 degrees today. It’s going to be a good one. The usuals are here, catching busses and the morning news. One guy even came right out of bed, pajama shorts and furry slippers. I have to wonder about his judgment. After all, furry slippers and 80 degrees? Tall people, short people, espresso people, chai teas and frappucinos are all represented this morning. There are writers and readers, those on their way to work and those with work being the furthest from their minds…. And then there’s me. I’m just a...

I followed my daughter down to her shift at that “other” coffee company this morning. Life has kept me off schedule this week, way off in fact. It’s usually the other end of the week that I’m writing this blog. I’m okay with it which is a sign of growth for me. I’m at the “other” place staring at the label on my grande’ drip. It tells me that the cup I’ve just invested in is 100 percent compostable. This cup is one of the main reasons that I changed back to Starbucks in the first place. Well, actually not this one, but the original one that I bought way back when, only to discover that compostable meant that it would begin to become compost even before I reached my table to enjoy it. I’m not exaggerating. It began to disintegrate and leak profusely even as I was sitting down. Now I’m as “green” friendly as the next guy here in the Northwest, but for someone as cheap as I am, trying to stretch a cup of coffee over a 2 hour time span, this was very alarming. I think that they’...

I’ve always heard it said, when considering your past, that “you can’t go back”. I’ve never really been totally sold on that concept, at least as it might apply in my own life. Now, to be sure, I would agree that things change from your past the moment you leave the past. People die, property is sold, relationships pass, almost immediately. My wife and I certainly have had our share of past lives, living as we have in various parts of the country. My wife has been the most affected by whatever we haven’t been able to go back to. She puts roots down deep wherever she is planted, and when those roots get pulled up, so does a lot of other stuff, and things are never the same again. Still, I don’t think that it’s a universal principal. I don’t think that everything gets changed by time. Sometimes I think that the “you can’t go back” concept was created by people who wanted to run away in the first place. It was an excuse to not even attempt going back. It was the reason that the...

There’s a little blond haired cutie wobbling around here this morning. He’s got that bow legged, pants full of diaper waddle, wandering from person to person amidst thoughts ranging from “isn’t he cute” to “where the heck is this kids parents”. From where I’m sitting, the little guy is an orphan. I assume a parent is somewhere in the place, hidden behind a couch or this music display featuring Neil Diamond and Carly Simon releases. To think that I’ve lived long enough to see them cool again…. Anyway, back to the youngster. It doesn’t seem that fear is in his vocabulary yet. Neither is discretion. He goes from one conversation to another, one table to another, not merely willing to be a spectator. He’s hitting, poking and conversing as he goes. It’s interesting to watch this interchange. You can instantly tell who amongst us has children, and who will be sticking with dogs. Some avoid him as if even the minutest of contact will turn them into one of him, while others openly ...

There’s a little dog outside on the sidewalk this morning. It’s one of those little fox like puff balls, a Pomeranian I think, that get all excitable and yippy when their human comes near. This one is no exception. He/she, I can’t tell, has been staring, straining, longingly, almost painfully towards the doors since being tethered to the little green fence post a few moments ago. The only thing distracting focus from the door is when indigo hair guy stoops down and acknowledges the hyper little prince/princess. When the door opens again and the human appears, the excitement is pretty much uncontainable. I’m not sure which one has had their morning caffeine already. It’s quite obvious where the allegiance lies. Now that I think of it, there’s no lacking in obvious behavior around here this morning. The furry beast and its human are obvious in their relationship. Older guy is painfully obvious in his establishing contact with younger woman. Old couple is obvious in their desire...