Way too introspective. What a boring blog. Not to mention that I haven't written in it for almost two months. That's sort of a large time to...
leap over all at once. So much has happened; perhaps at least one of the things that has happened is life-changing, but I can't talk about it here. It's too private and internal at this point.
So here I am, on Christmas break, feeling as though I've just been spit from a whirlwind. I'm sort of sprawling at home, breath knocked from my body, a little afraid to get up and test my limbs to see if they work. I've completely shut my mind off from school... well, what am I saying? No I haven't. School and friends from school poke their heads back into my thoughts constantly. I very much enjoyed this past semester, despite of, or perhaps because of, all the pain it caused me at various times.
I guess I'm too dizzy still to know what I think. I'll stick with relating a funny story from yesterday's expedition to see "Phantom of the Opera" with my brother.
Joe and I gained permission to go see the movie quite easily. I mean, is my mom going to say no? He's 23 and I'm 21, for Pete's sake! So off we buzzed at 4:30pm or so. The movie didn't start until 7:15, so we first visited Borders and the library. At Borders I bought
Seven Habits of Highly Effective People and
What Color Is Your Parachute, two excellent books recommended by Dr. Hake, which I can tell already I shall very much enjoy reading. At the library we returned a tremendous mound of materials borrowed by our siblings, and I took out a single book:
The Plague by Camus. We already have far too many books at home that I should read; I don't need anything more than that from the library.
All that has no bearing on the actual story whatsoever. I just recount it because it is interesting to moi. The actual story began when we arrived 45 minutes early at the plaza where the movie theater resides. This seemed far too long a time to go in and sit, even with books to read. Much to our interest, we espied a new Coldstone Creamery at the farthest end of the parking lot. Being young and spry, and not wishing to lose our parking spot near the theater, we walked over to check it out.
If you have never visited a Coldstone, you are missing out. The ice cream itself is smooth and lovely, but the best part is that it exists in more than a dozen flavors, from peanut butter to cake batter, which they will combine before your eyes on demand and will mix with extras such as crumbled mint patties or Reese's peanut-butter cups. Further, the teenage workers with the alive, self-deprecating faces will sing to you. They have various little ditties with which they regale their customers.
This all is what we were expecting to find. Instead, as we peered through the door, we noted with dismay the stepladders, the chipped paint, and the lack of ice cream. The only person inside was a tall, gangly man who sat on one pink-bottomed spoke-backed chair with his leg draped over the back of another. He was talking on a cell phone.
Confronted with the unexpected sight of a half-finished store and the knowledge that the man inside had seen us gawking curiously for several seconds before we had noticed him, we drew back and prepared to walk away as if really we had had no intention at all to go in, and as if we had known all along of course that the Coldstone was not yet ready for customers. Something in the gangly man's grin stopped us, however, so I knocked on the door. He swung his leg carefully off the back of the chair, stood up to a tremendous height, shook out his pants legs so that they appropriately covered his socks, and came to open the door.
"When are y'all opening?" I asked.
"Next Wednesday - but I have something for you two. Come in, come in!"
We exchanged a wary look. The entire front of the store is clear glass, therefore rendering its innards visible to the public; I'm a black belt in Tae Kwon Do; and my brother has taken significant self-defense training at the Coast Guard Academy. Threat level was low. We followed the guy inside.
He began to talk to us in short spurts as he fished around in his pockets and on a table piled with white, official-looking binders of various sizes.
"I'm Clive, the area manager..."
(left pocket)
"...we're actually opening seven stores in the area..."
(right pocket)
"...Next Wednesday we're having an opening day party here..."
(lifts stacks of binders and peers underneath)
"...it should be fun..."
(frowns and scratches his nose, then extends his long, skinny left leg over the top of the ice cream counter and steps completely over it; carefully pulls his right leg after him; looks behind the counter)
"...I would like for you two to come..."
(doesn't find what he's looking for; frowns again and steps back over the counter; pulls more binders to the side on the table)
"...because you're peering in the window and being curious and all... Ah!"
(finds a box of business cards, apparently the goal of his search)
"Here!"
He scribbled his name and a note on two business cards and handed them to us.
"If for some reason you miss the party, give these to anyone at the store in the first few weeks we're open, and they'll give you a free ice cream creation."
We both started, then looked at each other and grinned. We had been completely silent the whole time, watching the man as if he were some sort of curious animal. It's not every day you meet such a tall, friendly, awkward, puppyish person. We took the cards.
"Thanks," I said lamely, "Coldstone is one of my favorite chains."
He beamed.
"And one of the fastest-growing," he announced.
We admitted that it must be so, thanked him again, and escaped.
"God bless!" he called after us.
We giggled all down the sidewalk for no apparent reason. Christmas. I love this time of year, and I love the One to whom the day, and in fact every day, belongs. It brings out the worst in people sometimes, but also the best.
