storytelling

Just watched a couple purchase coffee and pastries, get into their car out front of the coffee shop, and light up their…er, weed stick. They passed it back and forth, back windows cracked, until they’d finished it. They got out of the car and walked to the Sephora, I think, though they pretty quickly returned to get her coffee out of the car. They walked on, out of sight, for a bit before he walked back toward the construction site down the block from me and she drove off.

The this-is-your-brain-on-drugs-propaganda version of me wants desperately to be all “you’re both impaired” blah blah blah. The version of me that watched a likely sober elderly driver nearly kill a pedestrian (by nearly I mean the pedestrian leaped backwards to avoid the car) in a crosswalk yesterday thinks the propaganda version of me should sit this one out because we have WAY bigger problems with driving than a young person toking in their car. This is not an attack on elderly drivers either. I nearly got killed recently, also in a crosswalk, by a young man in a mustang who just didn’t want to stop. Last week, I stepped off the crosswalk and stopped because there was a car approaching the intersection that was absolutely not going to stop for the red light. He didn’t stop so it’s a good thing I did. If I’d kept walking would he have stopped in time? City life is not car versus pedestrian but some days it feels like it.

There is significant non-automotive vehicular traffic in Shadyside: bicycles, motorcycles, scooters, unicycle ebikes, hoverboards. Just now, I watched someone ride a bicycle one-handed with a tray of hot drinks in his other hand. This seems somewhat of an over-reach in terms of balance, braking, steering, but I’ll never know the whole story. He passed the window in slightly more than one second and is long out of view.

I listened, today, to the Oklou Tiny Desk Concert. Their debut album is not acoustic but this tiny concert is and, my friends, it is a delight to hear. I am left wondering if there are any instruments lead singer Marylou Mayniel can’t play, as she demonstrated fluency on the acoustic guitar, recorder, piano, and marimba over the four-song set. The songs, in this form, are gentle, melancholic, and tender. Give it a listen when you would otherwise spend 20 minutes doomscrolling.

The shout-motivating runner is back. I haven’t seen him for a bit, kind of thought he’d changed running neighborhoods but he just gave a hearty “Woooo” as he ran by the coffee shop. Gave me a bit of a jump scare, if I’m being honest. Haha

It’s the end of the school day. A grandmother is walking with her 10 or 11ish grandson. They’re the same height, looking each other in the eye as they walk. I wonder if she thinks about how it will feel some day to have him reach down to hug her.

What is going on today? A man on a bike–a large storage container attached to the back–just rode by holding another, empty bike, in tandem. How does he steer the second bike? This, too, seems like an over-reach. He has also passed by in a second and the story goes on without us.

I know. I know. It seems, again, as though I’m just staring out the coffee shop window, documenting what happens. Not true, though. In fact, I’m doing some research for a project at the moment and occasionally look “off into space,” and by that I mean out the window, as I consider the approach I’m taking with this new and rather epically different story.

I looked up just as a woman walked across the street and dropped a long metal chain very deliberately. It fell to the ground as though it was heavy, though I can’t tell you why I think that. In my head, I heard the sound of it dropping but I’m across the street so obv I didn’t hear anything.

A teenager just walked into the coffee shop with her friends and said (too loudly), “Oh, this is aesthetic.” After that, she was thoroughly shushed. Lol Also, she definitely picked that up somewhere–I’m guessing tiktok–because…what does she mean exactly? It’s rather like she walked in and said “this has a floor.” Yes, yes, it does. Only she said this IS aesthetic. Pause for research…. My friends, I asked the interwebs for help. The yoots and AI seem to think “aesthetic” means pretty. It does not, in fact, mean that. I believe that it is entirely possible we’re raising generation after generation of people who have not learned any critical thinking skills.

I get that English is a fluid language but there’s a difference between “windshield” changing from “a shield from the wind” to “a window in your car” and just flat out misunderstanding what a word means. Now, get off my lawn.

A woman is standing at the coffee bar talking on speaker phone to someone who clearly does not know she’s on speaker phone. The volume is all the way up. We are IN this woman’s business. I’m listening, of course, because 1) I’m nebby; 2) she’s standing beside me; and 3) it’s so loud I can hear the discussion over my music. I’m also a little concerned, at this point, that this is a spam call. We can check in with Angela (the woman on the other end of the call) tomorrow, though, if we haven’t received the very suspicious bill that she has just sent via the email address that she didn’t have until the woman beside me gave it to her after not receiving the paper bill because they totally had the wrong address for her.

Not my circus. Not my monkeys. I have enough on my plate with the spam-vulnerable person (genderless and nameless for privacy yo) who, at one point, tried to text their license plate number to someone who texted them that they were at risk of losing their Alabama license that they definitely don’t even have because they live in Pittsburgh.

I hope all scammers have not just the day but the whole-ass life they deserve.

Battery ran out of juice and the only open charging space is being “saved” by someone. I could probably have been all “first come….” Instead, I’ve switched to the Starbucks. It’s very painful, as I strongly disagree with their labor practices. In an unsurprising karmic event, I immediately burned my tongue on my hot cocoa. Deserved. Also, I hate the music that they’re playing very loudly. The song right now is “You’re Dead.” Have I already said that I hate it? I really do. I can’t play music in my headphones loud enough to drown out their music without deafening myself. I definitely deserve this.

Much love.

This morning’s adventures started, just as Bilbo predicted, with the opening of my front door. Our house…this is all connected; just trust the process…faces east. As soon as the sun is above the houses, the front garden gets full sun for several hours. The neighbor’s cat knows this. See exhibit A.

Exhibit A: A cat sleeps in the middle of a late fall garden, a spot of white in a world of deep browns, greens, and reds.

Without disturbing the cat, whose name I have never learned, I began my morning walk. I am sans puppos currently because we went on a slightly too-long walk on Friday (just 2.5 miles but you would have thought it was a trek to the other side of the moon for all the post-walk dramatic sighs and groans as they SLEPT). I’m going to take them for a half-miler tonight but they’re sleeping in this morning (SPOILED!).

After leaving my own yard, I bumped into my next door neighbor who was waiting for me so he could ask me about the huge shipping crate that was left at our house on Thursday. (I bought a 55” Itchzak Tarkay painting.) See exhibit B. While we were talking, another neighbor arrived with his dog, Max, who sang for us. That’s not 100% accurate. He sang for treats from us. Details. Details. Max has met my dogs. He loves all dogs, except my dogs. He’s afraid of my dogs who combine excessive interest in personal space with excessive barking. Max likes neither of those things.

After adoring Max the appropriate amount, I wished both neighbors an excellent day and continued my stroll. It really is a beautiful day, sweater weather, as some would say. The leaves, mostly fallen at this point, are dry and crunchy under foot. The colors are still bright, almost glittering in the sun.

Exhibit B: An empty wooden shipping crate on the sidewalk, open side facing the camera. With its pallet, the crate is 5’6″ in height.

About half a block down the street, there’s a house with an Audubon-certified bird garden. They also have bird feeders. This morning, Woody Woodpecker was visiting. See exhibit C. Woodpeckers are commonly heard in our neighborhood but generally difficult to spot. The feeder is, I acknowledge, cheating but I play the hand I was dealt.

Less than a quarter mile later, I saw one of the neighborhood beagles. This one is the friendlier of the two. I bent to receive his usual dirty paw marks on my knees and slurpy lick to my chin. He couldn’t stay, though. According to his owner, they were headed to the college campus to soothe stressed college students. The beagle enjoys this activity immensely. The neighbor says that the college students are equally eager for his visits (the beagle’s visits, the man is merely the petting conduit).

Eventually, I decided to get breakfast at the diner, which was surprisingly busy for a Monday after what, I learned, was a Steeler’s loss. I don’t watch television, including football, and was unaware of the loss until a grieving server informed me. I tried to cover my ignorance with a “Devastating loss” comment and he rounded on me. “Infuriating,” he snapped. So, maybe, next time, I should go with the safer and more honest, “Didn’t watch the game.” lol

Exhibit C: Don’t let the bird decor fool you. The woodpecker is in the center of the frame, eating from the feeder.

After walking off a surprisingly mediocre breakfast, I arrived here, at the coffee shop. When I got here, it was staffed by a single barista who was working capably under tremendous pressure, though she confessed to me that she was internally overwhelmed. Since the line was eight people deep and growing, she was far more composed than I would have been. And so I told her.

A very attractive man, wearing an unnecessary camel overcoat and jeans, just entered the coffee shop with a young woman in what my mother would have called a car coat. It is pink and lovely. They stayed just long enough to determine they were in the wrong spot. They stood outside talking for several minutes before walking down the sidewalk back the way they’d come. Sometimes I wish I had the Weasleys’ Extendable Ears so I could feed the nebby girl who lives inside me. (Yes, jkr is horrible and less clever on further readings. I like the ears though.)

Behind me, two young women are working, their computers open on the table. They’re talking, too, though I haven’t been listening in–I know! It seems like I always listen. When they started whispering, though, my interest was peaked. I turned off my music, the better to hear them. Disappointment awaited. It was dull gossip, not even worth their effort to be quiet. I learned something though. The whisper is what drew my attention. If they’d have gossiped in their normal voices. I wouldn’t even have noticed.

Oh, dear. Two young people are standing outside fighting. She’s facing me, bundled up like it’s -5F. For context, I walked here in jeans that are cuffed above the ankle because they’re too short, a short-sleeved shirt, and a cardy that is now on the back of my chair. He’s wearing jeans, a sweatshirt, and a backpack. His arms are crossed over his chest. He’s mad. She’s sad. It’s a bad day (I’m stopping the rhyme here, before it becomes annoying), maybe for both of them, which, as I’m typing this, culminates in him shaking his head and turning to leave. She follows behind for a few steps, still talking. And scene.

So much happens if you just sit and watch. A young man just left the shop with a coffee. His beanie and sweater match. There’s a smile on his face. Is he smiling about the interaction he had with the baristas? Enjoying a memory? Absorbing the light and sweetness of the day? I think that’s for the viewer to decide as they experience that story from their own seat.

Looking for something to listen to? Why not turn up Bill Withers, “Lovely Day?” It’s just right for this moment.

Much love.

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