(My friend, Kessa, from Mt. Baker Gymnastics stopped in (who was very pregnant at the Valentine's meet) -and her newest little one - Eloisia or aka - Ellie Jean)
Working again makes me feel useful. I don’t know that I contribute in any big way, but I try. I do silly things like write people’s names and draw pictures on their sandwich bag. I make signs to advertise over-ripe bananas for banana bread and decorate signs that say “summer apricots”.
I pump gas and wash windshields, fill propane tanks, make Dagwood-sized sandwiches, give tastes of cheese and re-organize bookshelves, jewelry cases and fill cold cases. I’ve measured organic flame raisins into pound packages, cleaned out the deli case, packaged hunter sausage both regular and spicy, counted the till, swept, saved a hummingbird who got confused and made chocolate displays. I'm learning to slice aged cheddar as well as soft Havarti paper thin on a hundred year-old slicer, but I'm not always successful. Amy, my boss, says it's important to taste everything so I know what to recommend to whom. Needless to say, I'm very good at following directions.
There is an interesting mix of people who come in to the store. Some are locals coming in for a soda or a snack, most are travelers driving by curiously happen in and discover they like Mediterranean Jack and wonder how they ever lived with out Land Jaegers. There are those who come in annually, or every time they’re in the area. A few people I know have stopped in which makes me feel like I'm really part of the community. It’s funny; one guy came in dressed in slacks and a tie looking for the Acme Café. You could tell he was from the city. The strange part in this case is that “the city” isn’t Los Angeles, New York or even Seattle. The city is Bellingham. We directed the poor fellow with his hard shoes and tie to where he needed to go. (a paint foal in a neighbor's pasture)
Bellingham, cute and quaint a town that looks a lot like it’s part of the back lot at Universal at times and has a population of about 70 thousand is hardly a booming metropolis, yet it is the city compared to our much more rural world only about fifteen miles away. The world where Ben, one of my co-workers, and I commiserate about our goats breaking into the garden and their penchant for broccoli and blueberries. A world where people come in for stuffed grape leaves and jalapeno Gouda comparing vineyards in Maui where pineapple is added to the Chardonnay compared to vineyards on the East cost that added local cranberries all the while having this conversation dressed in coveralls. A place where the guy with dirty hands might be able to fix your well, as well as ask for a taste of the new basil goat cheese crumble. A place where upscale meets down-home, a place where I'm starting to fit in.
(flowers in the forest)
