I ran into some friends in town today. They were gathering leaves from a particular tree to feed to their silkworms.
Suddenly chickens seem so pedestrian.
And speaking of pedestrians, they have dug up some of the pedestrian crosswalks here in Mayberry. I am proud to live in a town where apparently the foot traffic has worn out the pavement.
I encountered the crosswalk several times today, as I was on a mission to find a larger box for the chickens. The one they're in now is indescribably smelly. They are also in close quarters, now that they are the size of Welsh Corgis. And the Hirshhorn isn't ready yet.
I went a few places and finally ended up at a home supply store - you know, crown molding and dishwashers. They are good at figuring out what I mean when I don't know the correct technical term for whatever I need to fix my house. Or my leaking pool toy.
I went straight to the appliance department, where I found no one. And then a gentleman walked up and asked if I needed help finding someone to assist me. I stammer a bit and then say, "well, do you work here?"
"I'm the owner," he says, "but I don't work here."
I am abashed in the way I am when I discover that I've been sitting next to my Congressman on the plane. Surely one should recognize one's own Congressman?
I don't know why I should have known the owner of Ye Olde Building Supply Store, although I did go to a Chamber of Commerce meeting once.
I get over it, and ask if they can spare a large box. They can.
It's a refrigerator box.
Now way back a ways I believe I addressed the issue of not having a car big enough to haul things in. I called a few larger-vehicled friends, but no one was available. It was getting late and I didn't want to seem ungrateful and just leave the box there (it also looked like rain), so I went back and told them I'd go ahead and carry it home.
They look at me in that way I am becoming accustomed to.
I tell them, "it's a small town - I'll probably see someone I know with a truck in the parking lot."
So off I go, with a refrigerator box perched on my head. Lucy is maneuvering the stroller. There is no one in the parking lot.
Rather, there are a lot of people in the parking lot, but no one who is willing to make eye contact.
So I think, well surely there will be someone I know driving past. It really, really is a small town and you can't go anywhere without seeing someone you know.
Actually, you can.
I hear my yoga teacher's voice in my head: shoulders back and down, shoulderblades flat, move from the core. Blah blah blah. It was breezy and I felt like the flying nun. I make it home and stuff it in the enormous truck that I am too much of a pansy to drive - safe from the rain which has miraculously held off
I am still surprised that I didn't see anyone I knew. But since it is such a small town, my picture will probably be in the paper tomorrow.
Imagine if I had silk worms.