Fall leaves 2022
Recently, my son and I had breakfast at a neighborhood diner. We're well-known there. When we walk in, one of the servers (all of whom we know by name) greets us and gestures us to a section. They call out "the usual?" The whole experience is a little like that old television show "Cheers" but without the laugh tracks and obnoxious jokes.
One of the owners usually comes over to chat with us between cashing out customers. During one such transaction, we closed an embarrassing gap in our knowledge. The owner introduced himself to the people at the register. FINALLY, we know his name. Eavesdropping to the rescue!
Generally, I have no problem asking people their names but there is a point after which it is just weird to ask. For me, that point seems to be somewhere around the time we've begun conversing with people about their holiday traditions and the family they're welcoming to the dinner table.
BLOOLB
I walk to the coffee shop as often as possible, as long as walking doesn't subject my person to freezing cold. There is nothing – temperature-wise – worse than being cold and this is a hill I will die on, as long as the hill is approximately 74F and sunny. I'm not standing on any freezing cold damn hill to argue about whether being cold or hot is worse.
Anyway, one of the many delights of the walk is the opportunity to discover wonderful minutiae. It's my personal opinion that the world is full of tiny treasures. It's also a hellscape of brutality, of misused power, of cruelty for cruelty's sake, of money taking priority over humanity. For today, I'm going to focus entirely on tiny treasures, on the things we miss because we're caught up in the minutiae inside our own heads.
One of my favorite walking activities is spotting the overlooked: things that are out of place, sometimes because they've been dropped (the phone I found last week, for example, though that was more of a rescue than anything else). It's far more fun to find things that someone else placed. By the way, we're not talking geo-caching here. That's too structured to appeal to the chaotic neutral such as myself. The objects to which I refer were put in places deliberately by people who hoped that like-minded individuals would happen upon them. And I'm ALL IN for that.
Buckeyes before the fall
Last fall, I was walking to the coffee shop when I noticed a buckeye on top of a traffic light control unit. The next day, there was a second buckeye. The day after, there was a third. And so forth. Someone – in my internal story, it's one person but it would be equally delightful if multiple people participated – was placing those buckeyes deliberately. Every morning, I checked to see if there was another – there was! – until the day they'd all been knocked onto the ground. Probably by a person who doesn't like fun things.
While I treadmill (ugh), I listen to audiobooks – stay with me, here, it's related. I particularly love the books "included in your membership" on Audible. I downloaded a new-to-me book recently whose author, I discovered in the course of my walk, clearly modeled their protagonist – Caspian Tiddleswitch – on Benedict Cumberbatch. It's delightful.
A coffee shop in my community – not "my" coffee shop – is completely invested in the very definition of minutiae. Against one wall is a toaster on top of a long metal pole. Pamphlets are inserted in the bread slots (this is one of those things you have to see because the description doesn't really capture the artistic insanity of it).
If you look up in this coffee shop (you should always look up, wherever you go), you'll see, in addition to the paintings on the ceiling, a single black swim flipper – yes, on the ceiling. On the wall by the door hangs a crucifix with a doll's head in place of the usual Jesus. The wood of the cross is decorated (rather gaudily in my opinion) with babbles and flowers and twining vines.
Eye see you
Behind my seat – the day I was there – was a wooden shelf that lines up perfectly with the back of my head. I know this because I have, in fact, hit my head on it multiple times. The shelf holds books, a chess board, and several large wooden heads. Just heads. Nothing more to say about that.
It's supposed to be quirky – it used to be more so but the architect of the experience is no longer associated with the coffee shop (he's moved on to other projects) – but I find it frustrating. The objects aren't interesting to me, though perhaps they are to others. My found minutiae preferences run more toward the unplanned than the intentional.
The Van Gogh Chair
The mechanic I use is, perhaps, a mile and a half from my home. Again, go with me, here; this is still thematically relevant. Usually, if I have to drop the car off, I'll take it over early and walk to the coffee shop from there. This isn't the suburbs, you know? It's a city and each little community has a personality all its own. The mechanic is located in an older neighborhood, with big houses, some converted to apartments, some rather down on their luck. There are many delightful sights to see when walking by the old houses. The Van Gogh chair. The painted American flag that is fading on the brick porch. The doll heads stuck on posts in the front yard (though that one makes me think there might be something darker going on in that house).
Candy for the stair fairies
For reasons irrelevant to my story, I was recently walking up stairs in an older parking garage when I noticed that someone had placed a tiny gift to the stair-fairy. I hope it was accepted in the spirit intended. If the stair-fairy is feeling unappreciated, stair stumbles result. I speak from experience here: No one enjoys a stair stumble.
There's an older man who walks the streets of our community after dark. He calls himself "The Watchman." I'm not joking. He's part of the joyful minutiae, an important part. He checks in on people who are alone late in the evening – filling a gas tank, walking home from class, waiting for a bus. I've met him. My eldest son has met him. The Watchman doesn't want anything. He's just there, making sure that people are safe.
Minutiae is really defined by the finder. People are included in my personal definition but I don't share pictures because that's such a violation of the human contract, isn't it? Items, in all their various forms are fair game for picture-taking. So are animals.
Much love.
What's for lunch?
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