Eavesdropping Continues.

Well, you know how I was saying I live in a town full of old people. Older, excuse me. Not only are they older, but a little eccentric too, like you have the gramps who looked like he was probably a mountain man back in the day, the trace being in his white bushy beard, but then he's driving some nice car with sweet rims--the kind I'd be jealous of if I had a thing for rims or knew anything about them.

Sometimes, I forget the eccentricities, and think just about the old part, which doesn't give me a lot of incentive to be outgoing, but today I was reminded how ridiculous I've been. I love older people. They have an infinite supply of good stories to tell and plenty of time to hang out. Me being one of the fewer young folks around here, if I'd be willing to give them the time of day, I could practically have all these stories to myself.

Like today I was in The Shelter from the Storm Coffee Shop, where I can be sure to hear a good dose of James Taylor (rumor is, who stayed at a healing farm himself at one point in his life) and Bob Dylan (do those two guys even like each other, I wonder) over the loudspeaker, while eavesdropping on good conversation, while the lady who works there, is always like "I know your name; What is it? Don't Tell Me; Oh I know you; Right?" (clear sign of Alzheimers) before giving up and letting me explain myself. And in order to include me in her coffee shop culture, she'll always try to induce me to enter one of her conversations.

Today it was that she had this friend who gave her this quote:

A man who works with his hands is a laborer.
A man who works with his hands and mind is a craftsman.
A man who works with his hands, mind and heart is an artist.

And she was in an argument with this ex English professor saying it was sexist and she needed to change it to make it more inclusive. So she wanted my advice about how, "They who work with their hands are laborers, etc" sounded? To which I nodded in agreement. Good thing I was there, right? She also had me hold down the shelter while she went down the street to the craft shop to buy a book on tulips that was on sale...I've really gained some trust.

And then this other grey-haired gal, who thought I was related to her German yoga teacher (I take that as a compliment) was kindly talking loud enough to allow me to eavesdrop on her conversation. She was asking to no one in particular, "What am I going to give up next?" Pause. "Love. Am I going to give up love. I've already given up wine. I don't have drinking anymore. Love is next." My life isn't so stormy as that statement, but it's interesting to see what storms these charming folks are seeking a shelter from. I think I'll stay in town more.

Although camping last weekend was fun. The weather here is PERFECT! It makes me sad to know it's not going to last. The chill in the air is soon to become winter. Phooey. Let the seasonal depression begin. Sour words to end on after such a peppy description of my day. Apologies.