“Sometimes you only know a town by its store, passing through, with no close friends about, maybe once a month. I admit, that nothing of substance has stuck to me, in this town. I’ve wanted to find a connection to it, maybe be let in on some of its secrets, but the closest I’ve come is to have a gardening job, in the next town over. However, you can come to love a place, despite no one knowing you’re there. It’s not for lack of trying. I’ve written poems about my encounters in the store, during the dire winter months, for as an outpost, the store has saved me, when I was not in a good place. Reliably offering exceptional sandwiches, easy to order, with places to sit, inside and out, or, in a pinch, their grab-and-go items, were always a ten. Now, things have changed a bit, ownership seems to have shifted hands, and the old ambiance is not as quaint. I’m not as much at home, and everything they removed, deeming it unprofitable, has taken away some of the charm. None-the-less, we are still on track. I can’t really lament the loss of gummy fish in bins, or licorice sold in bulk. The new look is stream-lined, and I’m sure that during the crush of ski season, traffic flow inside has improved. At least one of the regular cashiers has moved on, the viking who never seemed to age, but who always affected to not recognize me, and certainly did not consider me his peer. I don’t miss him, although I’d certainly still like to know his backstory. Thirty years of my patronage was not enough, evidently, to budge his attitude. May we meet as friends, on the other side. I rarely went upstairs in the store, not that I didn’t want to, but I was rarely in a financial position to buy the amazing clothes, up there. I could have been much more fashionable, if only they’d catered to the working class. My kids grew up on pit-stops, at the store. Often a meeting ground, between our divided family, who couldn’t feel good pulling up in front, with a special treat in mind? So, excuse me if I lament a tad, that all that is pretty much water over the dam, now. Literally, I have thrown a wedding ring into the river, just about there. No matter, it’s a new age, and we are all digitalized now, with less concern towards the brick and mortar realities, of where we’ve been, and what we may have purportedly, done. On this particular day, I didn’t exactly aim for the store, but rather, was headed to do some photography, at a deep, off-season swimming hole. Yes, I was hungry, and needed coffee, I guess. Or I was hanging up business cards, because the store still has an old school bulletin board. Or I was just curious, to see if I’d bump into anyone interesting. It’s a strange mix, from my vantage point, including mysterious characters of legend, as well as ne’er do well types, who always populate ski towns. Who knows what might occur, mid-week? I was disappointed. I stood in line, while someone struggled with a card reader, which was totally understandable, but totally uninteresting. Because no one with any local flair was anywhere in sight. Just tourists, who can be hiding silver linings, but who rarely converse with shuffling bears like me. The rigmarole was tedious. I couldn’t wait to get back out to my truck. I finally got a coffee, and a boring pastry, and sat back on my cushioned driver’s seat, somewhat relieved. You don’t always get what you want. You often have to unpack your pride. What looks like an ordinary day, is something you have to put up with, if only because at any moment, your day is going to change. I may not have climbed Everest that day, but what I did do, propelled me into the unknown. What a huge unknown, it is. I feel silly now, having been disappointed by a scone. The fact that I’ve got a vehicle, and am able to get out into the wilderness, is a miracle, unto itself. I will look back on this day, and realize how lucky I was, to have an unscripted day to myself. May tomorrow bring as much joy.”
