Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Sometimes you remind me of a moonbeam

I composed some of this in my head as I drove through the dark, interrupting patches of fog, making my way to town.

I had things to do, a day to get on with and the earlier I got started, the more I could accomplish before my steam ran out.

Plus it's always best to get to the grocery store early on Wednesday, the first day of the sales' ad. It's full of savings promise and not just a little excitement as it's also the mystery penny coupon day and senior discount day.

Such a little life I lead.

More aware than I am in the oppressive glare of midday, I maneuvered the car around the curves, dimming the lights when crossing paths with other early risers. I was an intruder, an interloper taking up space on the roads where people with jobs sped toward offices, shops and plants. I could take my time, but didn't. I remember those days of having to be somewhere on time.

I didn't want to hear the news of the day, so loud music accompanied the whoosh of air cutting in through the open windows. A fingernail clipping of a moon was plastered against the inky sky. I dried my curls out the open window, the cool morning air a welcome change from the blast furnace I'm accustomed to waking up to during these unstructured summer days.

Call:  It was soooo early.
Response: How early was it?!?!

It was so early that the twittering of birds hadn't yet replaced the synthesizer pop of crickets and night peepers. It was so early that when I arrived at the grocery store, I realized my miscalculation - they open at seven, not six.

I contemplated the Starbucks across the street, but dismissed the idea. I'd arisen at 5:15 a.m. in order to save money on groceries. A $4 cup of coffee rather flies in the face of that, don't you think?

And so I sat in the Publix parking lot listening to the crickets give way to the birds, watching the store staff yawningly make their way inside, swallowing my envy of their purpose and their paychecks. I wearily eyed  other vehicles that came along because if those other early birds were coming to clear the shelves of the best deals before I got what I came for, I was prepared to cut a bitch.

I kid, of course. That's what rainchecks are for. But still.

The sky faded to something less definite, more like a Yankee blue. The heavens have no use for the Mason-Dixon Line, I guess.

The horizon turned milky and the salmon promise of sun spread between hills to the east. The streetlights blinked out one by one and I looked around for Dumbledore. Instead I saw two ghosts sharing a goodbye kiss at the end of the parking lot. They evaporated in the growing dawn and I went back to waiting.


  1. Nice. I feel it. I really do.

    We are saving money by going all energy aware. Went the whole day without turning on the ac. Gave up my blowdryer a week ago. Clothes line goes up this weekend. I miss excess....

  2. Yeah - I feel it too - I was there. You did that with words. Very cool. And I like the "nail clipping" and "curls" in the same paragraph, but both so yours and unexpected. That chimed like little bells and made me grin.

  3. This was beautiful, Lisa--really beautiful. You made a "boring shopping trip" into something very lovely. :)

  4. As much as I love your astute political wit, here, ahhh, here I see the woman who is writing a novel.
    This is beautiful. A trip to the grocery store, and yet...

  5. You're fine with us stealing a bunch of things from here, right? Right.

    Though I will admit to a tinge of disappointment at Zombie Charles Nelson Reilly not making an appearance.

  6. 5:15 comes twice a day?? Not in my world!!

  7. I love the image of the ghosts kissing, then evaporating. Good stuff.

  8. Oh, fabulous description. I love that you looked for Dumbledore. Kissing ghosts is better, even. Had you been outside of my house instead of Publix, you might have seen my possum.

  9. Yes! We call it a fingernail moon, too - cool!

  10. Gorgeous writing Lisa, especially "interrupting patches of fog", "a fingernail clipping of a moon plastered against the inky sky" and the sky fading to something "less definite"

  11. Beautiful, Lisa. I'm with Lyra. I love your wit but this is gorgeous in its somber expression.

  12. That was beautiful.

    I ended up trapped and waiting somewhere this week for nearly two hours. I kept kicking myself for not bringing a book with me. I sat there and agonized over the book I'd been reading and how it was waiting alone at home and how if I had brought it I probably could have finished it and actually returned it to the library on time. Then I resorted to the lowest of the low: texting people to keep myself occupied. I felt like one of those people who can no longer just be.

  13. Damn, you're good. Sometimes I read your stuff and think to myself, "Jesus, why do I bother?"

  14. Nice writing, Lisa.

    I find Starbucks coffee simply undrinkable, by the way.

  15. Aw, morning. You sure you were all the way awake?

  16. I have to go grocery shopping tomorrow. I wish you were here with me!

  17. You've painted a beautiful vignette of what I miss by not being a morning person!

    It's just like I was there...


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