Oktoberfest

DSCN0356Last weekend my honey and I decided to go to the Oktoberfest in Germantown — that is, I decided and he went along. Other than having the distinction of spelling October with a “k”, what’s the difference between an October fest and any other fest? Well, to tell the truth, not much. A few tents with crafts and T-shirts, and a few with food and beer — which made honey hungry as soon as we arrived.

This Oktoberfest is a street festival billed as the oldest ethnic festival in Nashville; however, I only found out about it this year when I saw it in the paper. It’s in the oldest residential area of Nashville’s near northside with homes and cottages dating back to the 1800’s. Some are still residences; many have been turned into art studios, restaurants, or other business ventures. In the olden days, the area was populated largely by German residents, hence the name of the area.

DSCN0365editCapitalizing on a historic past, many cities are trying to rebuild blighted urban areas. Germantown is in the process of urban renewal, attempting to revitalize the area by updating and remodeling older, dilapidated residences. My honey was less interested in history than in finding a good parking place on the narrow back streets. The most ethnic part of the festival was the presence of several polka bands dressed in native costume and entertaining with lively music while visitors did the chicken dance. There seemed to be an unusual amount of sauerkraut available, a dish that I’ve always been able to pass by without regret — but I guess it wouldn’t be a German fest without out it.

DSCN0344What was most interested to me was the tour of homes. I dragged honey past the beer tents and we followed the map through the walking tour. Can you imagine anyone letting thousands of people walk through their personal residence? Some houses were in early stages of refurbishment. Others look like pages out of a home-decorating magazine. Even homes that were not open for public viewing had been refurbished in antique colors with appropriate fall decorations on the doors. In spite of a few jewels, the overall area still has a long way to go before totally successful development. Its strongest point is the location, within walking distance from the heart of the city.

Several homes were remodeled especially well and furnished with collections of antiques and memorabilia that would excite anyone even halfway interested in home decor. An especially interesting detail was use of bright paint on walls; some were red, and others featured various deep hues on different walls of the same room. While it sounds rather strange, it seemed to accentuate the older character of the homes. It also provided a perfect backdrop for the various collectibles of the owners. While I was visualizing my own walls painted in various bright colors, my honey was visualizing more food. I visited the arts and crafts tent while honey visited his favorite vendor for refreshments.

DSCN0358I’ve always found that the best way to become acquainted with a community is to attend local events, and to join in the spirit of the fun. Often the funds raised with these activities go to further upgrade a community. So, we sat on the street curb to rest and cool off while deciding what to do next.

As population and new construction have moved further and further from the places where people work, many people have become disenchanted with the daily commute in rush hour traffic, and cities have turned inward trying to reestablish the charm and convenience of older neighborhoods. It is interesting to see the possibilities and the lifestyles of those who have moved toward the city instead of away from it.

My honey was just happy when we figured out where we had left the car.

(c)2004 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor | 3 Comments

Howl-o-ween Party

dog

Just when you think you’ve seen it all, you find out you “ain’t seen nuthin’ yet.”

The other night we went to a Halloween party. Now I’ve been to Halloween parties before and have seen some pretty weird sights, but this one was strange in a different way. It was a Halloween party for dogs.

Yes, you read it right — dogs!

We have a pet store in town over in the new shopping plaza. It’s a cool place as they have gourmet dog food that helps our dog with her digestive problems, and cat litter that attracts cats who have an aversion to the litter box — all kinds of good stuff.

But that’s another story.

I’ve seen the pet clothes and pet costumes there and wondered who in the word, except maybe Paris Hilton, would put a dress or a costume on a dog. Well, at the party the other night, I found out. There are a bunch of people that do.

It seems that parties for dogs have been around a long time. I’ve just never been to one before. I really need to get out more.

There were all kinds of dogs and all kinds of costumes. There were princess dogs, bumble bee dogs, dog witches, and devil dogs. There were pirate dogs, clown dogs and even my favorite, a hot dog.

The dogs waited in line to get pictures taken (of course). Then they received their trick or treat bags, a much bigger hit with the dogs than the costumes. After the picture taking, there was a judging contest for the best dog costume. I felt really bad because our dog did not have a costume.

Wait! Am I nuts? I feel embarrassed because the dog does NOT have a costume?

At least she had Halloween bows in her hair, complements of the dog groomer. Actually the dog is more pampered that I am. Where are our priorities anyhow?

Pets are big business. People spend a fortune on pet products, an estimated 43 billion this year. I saw row after shinny row of food, all flavors for pets of all varieties. And that’s not to mention every pet accessory and toy the creative mind can imagine from beds, to leashes, to shampoo, to purse carriers.

Did I mention that there was a snake at the party? And I’m not speaking metaphorically here. It was a real snake, a really big snake, and the stupid thing even had a costume on. It’s as if dog parties are not bad enough. I suppose he came because he didn’t get invited to a Halloween snake dance.

Anyhow, I guess our dog had a good time. The treats were her favorite part, of course. When we got home, she ate them all up and then proceeded to try to pull the bows out of her hair and eat them too. I’m afraid she just isn’t going to make it as a party-dog.

There’s another dog party for Christmas. Don’t know if Santa Dog will be there or not and I’m not really sure if I want to know. Our dog is probably making out her wish list already. With all the dog toys she saw, it will probably be difficult for her to decide what she wants in her Christmas stocking.

New hair bows and a gift card might do it.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Holidays, Humor | Tagged , , , , | 2 Comments

Great Pumpkin Test

jackolantern

Most people don’t know this, but when my kids were small, I became rather adept at carving jack-o-lanterns. I thought that I could put away the carving tools when I became older and just make pumpkin pies or pumpkin bread, the way a respectable grandma should.

That’s what I thought.

“Do you want to go to the pumpkin farm and get a pumpkin?” I asked my grandson, envisioning the colorful photos I would take among the pumpkins, gourds, and Indian corn.

That’s what I thought.

But when arrived there, he ran from one thing to the next so fast that there was no hope of getting a picture of anything but a blur. He petted the farm animals, and ran through the corn maze where I got lost on the muddy path. I thought I’d never find my way out of the thing.

We now would select a nice child-size pumpkin to take home.

That’s what I thought.

He choose the largest pumpkin he could find off the $12 table, while I looked longingly at the smaller $3 pumpkins all the other children were carrying away.

We could just set the huge pumpkin on the porch for a harvest decoration, I figured.

That’s what I thought.

We were hardly inside the door until my grandson was ready to carve. “I want a scary face!” he declared.

We surfed the Internet looking for designs. Such artistic creations I’ve never seen in my life! I thought jack-o-lanterns were just a mouth, nose and two eyes, not masterpieces of vegetable creativity.

That’s what I thought.

My grandson had his own idea of the perfect pumpkin and drew a picture of what it should look like. Thanks goodness, his idea was closer to mine than to the more elaborate stuff.

“Grandma will do the knife part. Get a spoon and you can help with the inside.” He assured me that he knew how to use a knife. I assured him that he didn’t.

We decided do the honors outdoors so we wouldn’t have a big mess in the kitchen. After much cutting and tugging, I finally managed to cut the top off. Now he could scoop out the pulp inside.

That’s what I thought.

“Yuck! I’m not touching that stuff!” he proclaimed. How a boy could like snails and frogs and not the inside of pumpkin, I’m not sure, but I got to scoop out the pulp too.

Bees were attracted by the fresh smell of pumpkin and began buzzing around my head. I swatted bees away with one hand and carved with the other. This job should be completed in about half an hour.

That’s what I thought.

“You’re not doing it right! Carve this part! Where are the eyes? There’s still three seeds left inside!” proclaimed the pint-sized critic. Big pumpkins have extra thick and extra tough shells, I discovered. We labored on into the long afternoon, me carving, him supervising.

The neighbor across the street decided it was the perfect time for a bonfire, and the smoke drifted over into my yard. “Where’s the smoke coming from?” Surely it wouldn’t continue.

That’s what I thought.

We inhaled smoke, scooped pulp, fought bees, carved pumpkin, and wiped sweat until the last feature was carved, the last plug removed, and the pumpkin was finished – one tooth on top, two on bottom, just like the picture. By the time we finished cleaning up pumpkin seeds and hosing down the patio, I was ready to retire from the pumpkin carving business — forever this time.

That’s what I thought.

I may have to change my mind because I don’t know whose grin was the biggest, my grandson’s or the pumpkin’s.

Copyright 2004 Sheila Moss

Posted in Crafts/Hobbies, Family, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Good Samaritan

flat

About halfway home from work, there was a loud bang like something had hit the side of the car. What was that noise? Then the car began to drive funny and was hard to control. By the time we got to the right lane, it was obvious we had problems. The tire had blown out and we were riding on the rim of the wheel, barely able to get off the road.

The tire was in shreds. So much for “drive flat” tires.

Here it was about 988 degrees and we were sitting on the side of the Interstate with a flat tire. I called AAA for emergency roadside assistance. “Are you safe?” They asked. I guess that’s a routine question. “About as safe as you can be stranded on an Interstate highway.” At least we were off the road.

AAA would make us a priority, they said. Somebody would be there in 90 minutes. 90 minutes? Good grief. That’s priority? If it takes that long in a populated area, I wondered how long it would take if we broke down in a remote location.

Nothing to do but wait.

We left the motor running so the air conditioner would work and watched the $4 per gallon gas slowly drain away. We put on the emergency blinkers. Cars roared by us at a deafening 70 mph, and we hoped no one would swerve into us.

The police flew by and pulled over a speeder up the road, but didn’t come back to check on us. Not that they could have done anything but call a tow truck anyhow, which we had already done.

Then a car pulled up behind us. The driver said he worked in the automotive field and offered to change the tire. He found the jack under the back seat, got the tire from under the car, jacked it up and changed the tire.

We were soon out of the heat and on our way, thanks to the help of a stranger. I called AAA back to cancel the tow and I told them a Good Samaritan changed it.

Do you know why people who do kindnesses for strangers are called Good Samaritans? It comes from a story about a man who was attacked by thieves and left by the side of the road. Others passed him by without stopping, but a man from Samaria stopped and helped him.

Anyhow, I had planned to go get a haircut that evening, so I went on to the beauty shop after the incident was over. While I was waiting, a lady was there trying to get a haircut and take care of two little kids who were wriggling and crying. Where’s her husband? He should be babysitting the kids.

When finished, the lady tried to pay with a check, but the shop wouldn’t accept checks. After she left to go to the bank for money, another customer who had seen the problem paid her bill as well as his own.

That’s weird! Another Good Samaritan? Two in a row?

Then I realized that I had messed up. Guess I wasn’t paying attention when that last urban legend was forwarded by email. Someone did a random act of kindness for me. This was my opportunity for payback and I let someone else do the paying.

In the legends, someone helps you and then you are given an opportunity to help someone back unknowingly. Undoubtedly, that was the stranger’s wife and kids who didn’t have the money to pay for a haircut. According to legend, I paid her bill and then found out the reason she was there with the kids was because her husband was helping someone with a flat tire on the Interstate.

I never was good at urban legends. I guess that’s why they are called “urban legends” instead of urban realities. In reality, things just don’t happen that way.

Copyright 2007 Sheila Moss
Posted in Automotive | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 4 Comments

The Art of Storytelling

jonesborough

It’s hard to believe that a sleepy little town like Jonesborough could come alive the way it does once a year. But come alive it does with so many people that you can’t imagine where they all come from or why they are interested in something as simple as storytelling.

Often we trek to East Tennessee to the tiny town of Jonesborough. It is the oldest city in Tennessee, but is better known as the storytelling capitol of the world and the home of the International Storytelling Festival.

Many in the crowd are seniors who remember the days when rocking on the front porch or sitting around the pot-bellied stove, telling stories and listening to those told by others was splendid entertainment. The ability to spin a good yarn was a highly regarded asset and good stories might be passed from generation to generation.

Stories may be true or embellished with the imagination of the teller to make a good story even better. Sometimes it is difficult to tell the truth from the fiction. In fact, a good liar with an obvious exaggeration might be considered even better than the truth and telling tall tales is a skill of its own.

At the storytelling festival there is a little bit of everything. Some folks specialize in traditional folk stories passed down for so long that no one really remembers where they came from. Folk tales may be told while wearing colorful native costumes and the oral history helps to keep heritage alive.

Most visitors have favorite tellers. After all, it is not only the story that is important, but the delivery and the way that a particular story is told. Jonesborough began in the tradition of the great southern humorist, Jerry Clower, who could spellbind an audience with his funny stories of the rural South.

Modern favorites seem to be tellers such as Donald Davis, a teacher whose story of riding a mule to the bottom of the Grand Canyon puts you right in the saddle and on the edge looking down hundreds of feet from a mule so bored that he might go to sleep at any moment and walk off the edge.

Bil Lepp is another audience pleaser who uses redneck humor. He came from the tradition of liar’s contests and his stories carry you right along with him painting a house on stilts, being chased by gophers and catching on fire from a bonfire. The situation gradually becomes funnier and more absurd until you realize he is skillfully pulling your leg.

Another beloved teller was 90-year-old Katherine Windham, whose sharp wit could still charm an audience with true tales from her life as a southern journalist. Her moving stories of a segregated south brought smiles and tears. One moving story was about a barefoot child who never forgot the gift of a pair of shoes and as an adult law enforcement officer still visited the benefactor to thank her.

Stories are told by many different voices. Great stories make you laugh or cry, sometimes both in the same story. Music is sparse and mainly consists of folk music with a guitar or autoharp. The real music is not from instruments, but the music of the human voice and the harmony of souls sharing a common listening experience.

Every year when the leaves begin to change color in the fall and the hills beckon, folks return to sit shoulder to shoulder with others in the great musty tents, to hear the stories, to share the laughter and emotion.

We return to a place where stories come alive, past becomes present, and legends become art in the tiny town of Jonesborough, tucked away between hills in the autumn splendor of Tennessee.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Posted in Entertainment, Humor, Southern Humor, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , | 7 Comments

My Cat Can Fly

Less you be confused, my cat cannot fly like a bird. Misty flies more like Superman, minus the cape, that is, leaping tall buildings in a single bound. All cats can jump, of course, but Misty seems to have extraordinary abilities in this particular feline skill.

Misty has always preferred high places. As a kitten, she climbed to the top of the living room curtains, where she paced back and forth with the cat-footed precision of a tightrope walker, surveying the mortal world below.

As she became older and stronger, she simply bounded in a long graceful leap from the back of a chair to the top of the curtains. She then took her afternoon power nap on the top of a nearby hutch that could be reached in an easy jump from the curtains.

Misty had an instinctive love for the top of the world. She looked at even taller places with longing eyes, wondering how she could surmount the distances.

Her next conquest was the kitchen china cabinet. It was simply a matter of leaping from the table, a place she was not allowed to be. But risking human wrath was of little consequence when aiming for a lofty goal. The china cabinet quickly became a new favorite nesting spot for her afternoon nap. But even in the lap of contentment she became restless and longed for taller mountains to climb.

The living room had an entertainment center so tall it was nearly to the ceiling. Misty surveyed it with squinted yellow eyes, but the leap was too far, the risk of embarrassment too great. She could see the Promised Land, but could not enter in.

Then one day, she discovered that by bouncing from a low wall by the doorway, she could, maybe, accelerate herself to the top of the coveted piece of furniture. It was a miraculous feat, a leap that required gliding over 6 feet in the air. Unafraid, she sailed to the top of the entertainment center, landing with sure-footed precision.

Once she found that she could do it, there was no stopping her. She now soared to the top of the china hutch from newly found, and more challenging, jump-off spots. If a human happened to walk by when she was ready to leap, she would jump right over the top of their surprised head.

From the entertainment center, she flew to the drapery rod. From there she soared to the hutch, and finally to the one remaining place where she had not yet set foot, a twin hutch on the other side of the fireplace. Mortals could scarcely believe their eyes the day they saw her defy gravity to leap over the entire width of the fireplace and land on new terrain.

The top of the refrigerator and the top of kitchen cabinets were minor conquests for a cat that could fly. She hardly bothered with them at all, preferring more challenging places where she could soar from furniture top to furniture top, aloof and safe, high above the earthbound world of mere humans.

Misty spent her days lounging on her back, sometimes precariously close to the edge of disaster, while daydreaming of rooftops, hot air balloons, para-sailing and rocket ships to outer space. If NASSA accepted cats, it’s certain she would apply to be an astrocat.

Being a young and daring cat, Misty possesses the strength and prowess that enabled these miraculous leaps, along with the fearless spirit of youth that has not experienced failure. She has not yet learned what is impossible and, therefore, should not be attempted.

Downward plunges when she jumps from top of her lofty perches are merely a fast lane to the floor. She defies gravity as she glides through the air with a graceful feline confidence that eludes earthbound creatures who can only watch in awe.

My cat can fly.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Posted in Creatures, Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Nature’s Bounty

apples

“Can I have any apples off your tree that you are not going to use?” asked the neighbor.

“Sure, you can have them all.”

I have an old apple tree in my yard. When I planted it, I didn’t know about spraying, pruning, and thinning. I thought apples grew large and red, with wax on them like the ones in the supermarket.

Through the years, the apple tree has become somewhat of an annoyance. The apples fall on the ground and draw flies. Every year I have to rake up the mess. I long ago gave up trying to take care of the tree. But the apple tree doesn’t know this and it just keeps blooming and having fruit year after year.

The neighbor was picking apples to make applesauce for military families who are on a small budget. Apparently, apples in the back yard are still a novelty to some people.

She had neighborhood kids all organized to help pick. One day I drove up in the driveway and they were there with ladders and bags swarming all over the tree. Oh, goody, they will pick them all and I won’t have to rake. The apples are small, but otherwise in pretty good condition considering they had no spray, fertilizer, or anything else.

When I planted the apple tree, it seemed like such a good idea: Apples, jelly, cobblers, pie, fried apples, apple sauce, apple cider. In my younger and more ambitious days, I picked apples, made apple jelly and even froze apples for later. Nowadays, apples pies and cobblers are too fattening. I’m trying to diet.

So the apples just hang on the tree until they fall. Last week I raked up about five trash bags full that had fallen and spoiled. It was about 90 degrees that day. I thought I would die of heat exhaustion before I finished.

The kids picked about a 100 pounds when they were here, but there were still a lot of apples left. They are still falling, falling, like red hail. They keep on falling, an avalanche of red balls, too much of a good thing.

As it turned out, the neighbor had more apples than she could use too. That figures. You can only make so much applesauce, and coffeecake. The leftovers ended up going to the local food bank.

Then they got the idea of picking more for the food bank. I applauded their efforts and ambition and then hid behind the kitchen door.

Bushels more have fallen on the ground since I raked. I will have to go out there this weekend and see what I can do about them.

“Does anyone want apples? They are yours if you pick them.”

That’s what I figured. I like the ones from the supermarket better too.

Actually, I planted four trees. Thank goodness, only one thrived. If all had lived and done as well as the one that is left, I’d be up to my chin in apples instead of up to my knees.

I hope the kids come back soon to pick the pick the rest, or I may have to declare a state of apple emergency. Nature’s bounty is about to overwhelm me.

In the meantime, my daughter was going to the store for groceries. “Mom, do you need anything?”

“Just milk and orange juice.”

“No apples?”

“Don’t say that word outloud to me.”

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Posted in Food, Humor, Plants/Gardening | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

The Heaven Eye

IMG_1397 (2)

I didn’t like it. I ordered it over the internet and when it finally came, I didn’t like it. I had found necklaces with a pendant called a “Heaven Eye.” They were Oriental and took their unusual name from the design that looks somewhat like an actual eye.

“A Heaven Eye amulet will keep away the Evil Eye and bring you good luck,” said the description. I could always use more luck, but mostly I liked the unusual exotic design.

I had decided on a blue-grey traditional design when I spotted one made of rustic looking clay with the eye design scratched into the surface instead of being molded. It was only a bead and not a necklace, but I thought I could put it on jute string myself. So, I bid a whole 99 cents.

Naturally, I won the auction. Who else would bid on such a strange item? It was a bargain if you didn’t consider the $7 shipping charge from China. I waited weeks until it finally arrived and now that it’s here, I don’t like it.

Sellers will usually return the selling price of an item, but not the shipping charge. It wasn’t worth paying postage to return a 99 cent item to China, so I figured I was out of luck — what the Heaven Eye was supposed to bring me in the first place —  remember?

When I looked at the picture again I could see the imperfections in the design. I had not looked closely enough and had seen what I wanted to see instead of what was there.

I decided to write the seller and tell him I was disappointed. I tried to be as polite and businesslike as possible, saying there were numerous imperfections and a chip that could not be seen in the picture.

Then I received a reply email. He was sorry I was disappointed and was selling the items cheaply to let people know about the Tibetan Buddha culture. It was more for friendship than business, but he would return my monies.

Oh, no, why does he have to be so nice? I could picture a monk with a shaved head sitting cross-legged, chanting and selling a few Heaven Eyes on eBay to earn money for the poor.

Why are Oriental people always so polite?

What a jerk I am, I thought.

“I will keep the pendant as a gesture of friendship and not worry about the small flaws. Friendship and good luck are more important than money,” I typed back.

The front side looked pretty good and might be able to cover the chip with the knot in the string, so I could use it even if it was less than perfect.

I was feeling much better when another email popped up. “If you want buy two more items, I will combine shipping and give you $8 discount.”

That seemed like a very good deal until I thought about it. I looked at the items and they were much nicer than the one I had ordered, but I really didn’t need three Heaven Eyes. I had one too many already.

Besides, he was beginning to sound more like a merchant than a monk.

When you buy something you don’t need because it is on sale, are you really saving money? I decided to pass on the offer, but I didn’t have the courage to email him back. I didn’t want to seem rude after he had had been so polite.

I am still waiting for the pendant to start bringing me luck. I wonder if you have to wear it or if it can bring luck from the dresser drawer?

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
Posted in Humor, Shopping | Tagged , , , , , | 3 Comments

The Great Drapery Hanging

jez-timms-iotaVuS6laQ-unsplashI’ve had a drapery hanging ordeal at my house this week. You see, I have these wonderful draperies that are loosely woven. They have a separate lining that can be drawn to let the light though in day or can be closed at night for privacy. They were made for another house that I lived in and when I moved, I kept them.

Of course, draperies made for one house never work in another, so they have been stored in my attic for years, waiting for the day when I would take down the cheap tiebacks in the living room and hang them. Though the curtains on the windows were cheap, they had one great advantage — they were already hung.

Eventually, I redecorated the living room and decided to wash the tiebacks. Sun and age had done their job, and what came out of the washing machine was a bunch of strings. When something is that old, it is best just to leave it alone, I found.

But wait, I have other drapes! They were in their plastic wrap, covered with dust in the attic. Though old, they had not been subjected to wear and were almost like new. Since couldn’t find a rod long enough to hang them, I ordered one off the net, and finally did the detested task of putting them up.

End of story? Hardly.

My new kitten took an instant liking to the drapes — or should I say to climbing them with little claws digging. After saving the drapes all these years, now they were being destroyed by a kitten.

No one had much advice other than to take the drapes down until she was older. Take them down? I had just put them up. The idea was to not buy more cheap drapes, and I could not leave my windows bare with all the world looking in.

Meanwhile, the kitten learned to climb to the top of the drapes and sat on the rod, looking down at the me. I must admit it would have been amusing if we were not talking about my best drapes.

As soon as the cat was fully grown and much stronger, she simply by-passed the climbing part and leapt from the back of the chair to the top of the curtain rod. Old habits are hard to break, and cats apparently can walk a tightrope — or a curtain rod.

The size and weight of the animal eventually took their toll, and the curtain rod broke. The beautiful draperies hung sadly, dragging the floor and refusing to open. Each time the cat decided to play king of the world, things got worse.

Nothing to do but buy a new rod and rehang them.

Every time I hang curtain rods, I think of the classic story by Tolstoy, The Death of Ivan Ilych. You probably read it in college lit. Ilych died a prolonged and painful death during which people became alienated to his suffering and eventual death. It’s a terrible story, but just as terrible is that the injury that led to his fatal condition was a fall while hanging draperies.

So here I am jumping from lamp table to chair hanging draperies and hoping I don’t end up like Ivan Ilych.

As it turned out, the rod was not broken — naturally — since I had already bought a new one. The rod had just somehow slipped out at a joint. I could have fixed it months ago instead of putting up with sagging drapes due to my fear of hanging curtain rods.

I’m not sure who to blame this particular ordeal on, myself, the cat, or Leo Tolstoy.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss

 

Posted in Humor | Tagged , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Progress Comes to Town

construction

My one-horse hometown finally got too big for its britches and started to grow. They’ve been working on the new shopping center over by the Interstate for some time. I didn’t really pay much attention. After all, there seems to be a bulldozer digging dirt somewhere every place you look these days.

Then it opened.

New stores, a discount store, a department store, all kinds of little shops. It’s like another whole city over there, only two miles away. Other people seem to be like me, though. They can’t get used to the idea of shopping somewhere else. You still can’t find a place to park at Walmart while the aisles at the new Target are like a bowling alley.

I guess we will all adjust sooner or later.

I went to Target the other day. It was my daughter’s birthday and I wanted to get a gift card. I looked around a little bit, but it was like any other new store. I couldn’t find stuff, didn’t know where to look, and had to ask someone. It was annoying.

Some people are freaking out about it. “It’s killing the old downtown,” they say. “Need to support our local merchants,” yadda, yadda. I’m not against people making a living, but, face it, this town has been dead for a long time. It just didn’t have enough sense to shut its eyes. Maybe a few new stores will rattle the cage and wake up the economy.

Yesterday my printer cartridge ran out of ink. “Oh, rats! Have to go all the way to Staples in Murfreesboro to get a new one.” Then I remembered. We have a Staples store here now! So, I hopped in my shoes and took off for the new shopping center. I could park right by the door. The crowds haven’t found it yet.”

I just hope they have what I need, I thought. I didn’t need to worry. All the shelves were fully stocked. Wonder if they could have that jump drive like I’ve been looking for? I need some printer paper, and some photo paper, and well, you get the picture. By the time I got out of there the printer cartridge cost me $200 with all the extras. This new shopping center may be a little bit too handy.

“I love your store!” I told the checker at the cash register. “You have everything that everyone else is sold out of!”

She looked a bit surprised, but soon came to her senses. “Do you have our Rewards Card?” Ah, yes, the impersonal, “personal touch” of these big box stores. She found my card on the computer faster than I could find it in my wallet.

Yeah, it’s going to take me a while. I’m just not used to the Big City being in my front yard. It’s always been down the road a bit, just inconvenient enough to keep me at home.

History has a place and sometimes it can be revitalized. There are examples, usually where there is high-density population and little place for growth — or a lot of tourists. But I think we are stuck with the inevitable. People are going where they can shop conveniently, find what they need, and most of all where there is parking.

Me too.

Now if I can just figure out how to get in and out of the danged place without turning at the wrong light, on the wrong road, or the one that doesn’t go anywhere.
At least I knew where I was in the old town, even though I might have to circle that stupid roundabout three times before I could get out of it.

The bull dozers are still digging and more stores are going up all the time. You can’t stop progress, they say. Newer is better. Asphalt will surely inherit the earth.

Copyright 2008 Sheila Moss
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