i finally got anne lamott's latest book tonight at the library.
thank you multnomah county for putting libraries in the world, in my neighborhood, in my life.
thank you whomever, for buying the book so the library could let me read it for free.
and thank you, God, for making anne lamott so i could sit in my living room tonight, by my small and browning christmas tree, and laugh about thighs and cellulite and stumbling around in spiritual chaos.
speaking of thighs and cellulite, i've had about 2,000 peanut butter balls today. i just had yet another one, and then felt so guilty about it i had to remedy the mental anguish with just one more. speaking of spiritual chaos....
anyhoos, i went to bi-mart yesterday with mozie around 9 am. it was amazing. it was so amazingly 1950, just like it always is. bi-mart makes me feel good. like really good. better than peanut butter ball good. everything feels so simple once you're admitted past the swinging half-door. well, even before the half-door it feels simple, because of that smell. smells like tires inside. and everyone is old, amazingly old, and has big, puffy, thinning, 1950s hair with large boney glasses on over-sized noses. mozie and i flocked to the yellow number board with all the old farts and squinted our eyes, stared up, wondered if we could be a big winner on "lucky number tuesday". it was an amazing congregation below that blazing yellow god. all eyes were up, just like church, some people even had their eyes closed, but instead of praying i think they'd accidentally fallen asleep while checking their numbers. one woman with no teeth and a head scarf told me that her friend millie always wins on tuesdays, but not her, never her. she trailed off, in voice and stature, as her body disappeared behind a large display of detergent.
beautiful, say it again and again, i wanted to say.
where else can you go in portland at 9 am on any given day and feel so small? so confined? kept away from problems and bills and spooky thoughts about relevance or the existential crisis you are trying to un-friend? where else can you go where everyone wakes up at 4am just to eat toast and rub their feet and wonder about the day, wonder about what they will do until bi-mart opens at 7am? where else is "lucky number tuesday" the beginning, middle and end?
mozea and i pushed our miniature cart (also adding to the ambiance of the place) slowly down aisles that have products picked right off the set of "the price is right."
i looked at a motorized santa, santa all cheesy and corny and perfect, climbing up and down a ladder, smiling some saccharine and cheesy, corny smile.
our feet squeaked on the shiny floors and we moved to the side for an old man and his old wife, each one hunkering over the cart, over each other, talking about spatulas.
later, around 8pm, i rode my bike down woodstock and looked in all the windows. bi-mart was closed, since it has no clientele after 3pm--they've all gone to bed.
there were no cars out, just pink and blue lights from radio shack and a few wandering cats. a floral shop had a bunch of fake christmas trees in the window. some of them had spray on snow, others had big, floppy poinsettias with fake gems glued to the petals.
everything felt simple and small. bi-mart's spirit of "lucky number tuesday" was influencing the whole street, praise God!
no thighs. no cellulite. no spiritual chaos. no anne lamott.
i'm grateful it exists...bi-mart and woodstock and "lucky number tuesday"
i'm glad those people exist and their spatulas and their vicks vapor rub.
i'm glad for that tire smell and the mini-carts and even that smiling, fat-faced santa.
but back to life, back to the existential crisis and to anne lamott and to my browning christmas tree and those psychotic peanut butter balls piled in my freezer.