I think I understand Mel Gibson's fascination with the book "Catcher in the Rye" in the movie "Conspiracy Theory." My situation is slightly different because I wasn't programmed by the government or chased by secret hitmen, but I think my desire for 'normal' is similar. As Doug at Carter's Transmission was poking and clanking around under my hood, compiling a page-long litany of necessary repairs, I desperately wanted something normal.
And normal ended up being a cup of black coffee with cream and Splenda at Kerbey Lane. There is something that happened when I wrapped my fingers around that faded white mug and exchanged pleasantries with the waiter. Nothing life-changing - just normal.
...and so enter I into my life in Poorland - that's the endearing term I've given to this year of service. Don't be fooled - I'm convinced it's going to be every magical and charming dream I have in my newly minimalist heart. When it comes down to it, living in Poorland really just means being creative. Let's be honest - people are living in far worse situations, but creativity (a marvelous thing about being made in the image of our Creator) has quite a way of bringing joy from sadness and hope from fear. and laughter. YES laughter! So, here are a few lessons I've learned in my first weeks in Poorland. I'm sure there will be many, many more.
Entertainment
My newest form of entertainment requires less than a gallon of gas ($2.69) and a certain level of stealth. I have always been a bookstore and coffeeshop junkie. I need no good reason or invitation to sit in an overstuffed chair and smell roasted coffeebeans mixed with new book pages. Now, living in Poorland, buying books and coffee is a bit of a problem - err, let me rephrase: it's not in the budget. So, instead of getting down, I drive to Barnes and Noble, pick a book from the shelf, scour the store for an unassuming hideout, and read to my heart's content (careful to not bend the pages). Then, when I'm finished (or the store is closing), I stealthily return the book and remember my page. I politely leave the store, always making sure to turn on the friendship vibes with all the workers. I'm not sure this is exactly ethical, but you've got to admit Barnes & Noble set themselves up for this! All the books - tables - comfy chairs - what did they expect? And, I can tell you there are others like me. Is this justification? maybe. In any case, I'm somewhere in the middle of Ted Dekker's RED (second in a series) and I'm thoroughly enjoying it.
Shopping
In Poorland, "shopping" is a very interesting word and it can have several definitions. For me, it means perusing thrift stores, yards, and verbalizing my needs in hopes that someone will say, "Oh, I've got one of those sitting around that I don't use - you can just have it!" Since moving here, shopping also means craigslist. Craigslist is a free, independent online market where people buy/sell items ranging from lamps to houses to carpooling (they even do personal ads!). Because I drove down with only a trunkful of furnishings, I needed to find a chair. But, not just any chair - a reading chair that would be my ticket up mystical mountains and onto philosophical freeways. After frustrating searches at IKEA, Target, and Walmart, I ended up emailing someone named Erin about a papasan chair. They wanted $25 and I eagerly moved to seal the deal. Thanks to the skillful mapping of my hosts Darin and Adela, we found Erin's house and without as much as a question regarding quality I whipped out the $25 and that was it. I am not much of a bargainer, to say the least. Actually, I'm quite the sucker when it comes to these things. I realize I probably could have offered $20, but the important thing is I have since spent hours in said papasan chair, to the content of my Poorland heart!
That's all for now. There will be more. Oh, yes - the stories just keep coming!
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Friday, August 10, 2007
long story... short?
Okay, now for a hopefully short explanation.
See, my car had developed a stutter since its arrival down here in Austin.
(By the way, I hate that this is the first story I'm writing since my arrival - I hope to follow this woeful tale with many more wonder and magic-filled ones that involve laughter and peaches, among other fuzzy things! [see other blogs])
Fortunately for my car, I am extremely cognizant of every shake and shinndle (I made up that word just now and it refers to a funny noise just behind the front tire and in front of the engine). I have my grandpa to thank for this. He doesn't own vehicles - he has a relationship with them. He talks to them, pets them, and is always provides for their needs, because he is convinced they will reciprocate. So maybe I inherited it or maybe I'm just modeling what a very wise man does. Either way, unfortunately for my car, I started to notice things. I noticed things about Bonnie (the 1995 silver Bonneville SE) after driving a week or so in the hot, humid, hotness of Austin, Texas.
So, being newly on my own, I decided I should have the oil changed - that always gives me a measure of reassurance. I would at least know that someone had looked at it and given me the roadworthy nod that you get from a friendly mechanic. I did what anyone with empty pockets in a new town does: I found a coupon for a $17.95 oil change on the back of a grocery receipt and tracked it down. When the young man walked into the waiting room and said, "Caroline?" I saw that he didn't have a bill in his hand, instead he said, "I've got some things I need to show you." Hmm. First clue that this first oil change did not go quite as planned. As we stepped under the car and he began pointing out this and that, I gave a knowing grin and a few, "umm hhmm"s to show that I appreciated his thorough assessment, but a detailed quote would do for the day. You see, I have been brought up to always take a mechanic's assessment as kind of the first step of a dance. They say, "You need to fix ..." and I say, "write up an estimate" and then we go on our merry ways. Well, come to find out those issues that I listened to very respectfully were actually problems. Which was when the shudder started.
So (because I'm remembering this was intended to be short), I ended up driving around unfamiliar Austin in search of an Auto Parts store that was open at 8 pm on a Thursday. No surprise, none were found and I set out to finish the task on my own (with no short of 24 phone calls to my dear father!). I found Automatic Transmission Fluid at Target without too much trouble. But before I could pour it into the right opening under my hood, I remembered that in order to open my hood I needed to first drive over bumps while pulling the release. This is one of those times where it's good to have that relationship with the car!! I managed to get the hood open, find the opening, and pour the sticky liquid through the funnel.
And off I went, amazed that the car hadn't exploded or broke in half. That's when I realized the blessing of things working!
Today was another story - finding a respectable shop (which I did successfully!) and then hearing their idea of estimate, to the dancing tune of way more than I could pay.
I guess I'll write next about my cup of coffee: the medication for normal, I've decided.
See, my car had developed a stutter since its arrival down here in Austin.
(By the way, I hate that this is the first story I'm writing since my arrival - I hope to follow this woeful tale with many more wonder and magic-filled ones that involve laughter and peaches, among other fuzzy things! [see other blogs])
Fortunately for my car, I am extremely cognizant of every shake and shinndle (I made up that word just now and it refers to a funny noise just behind the front tire and in front of the engine). I have my grandpa to thank for this. He doesn't own vehicles - he has a relationship with them. He talks to them, pets them, and is always provides for their needs, because he is convinced they will reciprocate. So maybe I inherited it or maybe I'm just modeling what a very wise man does. Either way, unfortunately for my car, I started to notice things. I noticed things about Bonnie (the 1995 silver Bonneville SE) after driving a week or so in the hot, humid, hotness of Austin, Texas.
So, being newly on my own, I decided I should have the oil changed - that always gives me a measure of reassurance. I would at least know that someone had looked at it and given me the roadworthy nod that you get from a friendly mechanic. I did what anyone with empty pockets in a new town does: I found a coupon for a $17.95 oil change on the back of a grocery receipt and tracked it down. When the young man walked into the waiting room and said, "Caroline?" I saw that he didn't have a bill in his hand, instead he said, "I've got some things I need to show you." Hmm. First clue that this first oil change did not go quite as planned. As we stepped under the car and he began pointing out this and that, I gave a knowing grin and a few, "umm hhmm"s to show that I appreciated his thorough assessment, but a detailed quote would do for the day. You see, I have been brought up to always take a mechanic's assessment as kind of the first step of a dance. They say, "You need to fix ..." and I say, "write up an estimate" and then we go on our merry ways. Well, come to find out those issues that I listened to very respectfully were actually problems. Which was when the shudder started.
So (because I'm remembering this was intended to be short), I ended up driving around unfamiliar Austin in search of an Auto Parts store that was open at 8 pm on a Thursday. No surprise, none were found and I set out to finish the task on my own (with no short of 24 phone calls to my dear father!). I found Automatic Transmission Fluid at Target without too much trouble. But before I could pour it into the right opening under my hood, I remembered that in order to open my hood I needed to first drive over bumps while pulling the release. This is one of those times where it's good to have that relationship with the car!! I managed to get the hood open, find the opening, and pour the sticky liquid through the funnel.
And off I went, amazed that the car hadn't exploded or broke in half. That's when I realized the blessing of things working!
Today was another story - finding a respectable shop (which I did successfully!) and then hearing their idea of estimate, to the dancing tune of way more than I could pay.
I guess I'll write next about my cup of coffee: the medication for normal, I've decided.
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
the city of live music
I've finally wandered to the ultimate of all live music scenes: Austin, Texas. And not just for a pit stop - oh, no - you better bet your best wurst (famous bratwurst vendor downtown) that I'm planting some southern roots... long enough to hear some amazing music.
I guess this is just a little update to say the music selections (not that they were widely publicized in the first place) will now be garnished with a little extra southern flavor.
:)
I guess this is just a little update to say the music selections (not that they were widely publicized in the first place) will now be garnished with a little extra southern flavor.
:)
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