So sorry for the long absence. I have been: road tripping to both grandma's, working and working, making Bee Bags, going to weddings, working, trying to be social, making more bags, working, and going to seminars on starting up websites - for the Bee Bags. Coming soon!
During all of that hubbub, I have been thinking about regular people. I don't consider myself a people person, I get frustrated easily with general idiocy and rudeness, and the crazy nasty things that regular people seem to do to each other on a regular basis - as the news would have us believe. But then, on the road trip home from my Indiana Grandma's, my dad and I were listening to The Unthinkable, Who Survives And Why When Disaster Strikes, which is a fascinating book all about the mindsets of people in disasters, and how it's the regular people in crises that turn out to be heroes while we're all waiting for the professionals.
In the website seminar this morning, one of the speakers was talking about the blogger who cooked through Julia Child's recipe book, and the speaker mentioned in passing that someone mentioned Julia to a writer at the New York Times. A regular person set a huge ball rolling. How many times does that happen with regular people, and half the time, no one is able to track the motion back. Who fired the shot that started the civil war? A regular, trigger happy guy whose name is lost to the history books.
And this morning I was sitting in City O' City, a neat little cafe/bar/restaurant in Denver, and their walls have tasteful collections of photo portraits of what looks like a random mix of people from all over the city. Looking from face to face, it's fascinating to see how much personality shows through in one small shot, how much their hair, hat, makeup or piercings can tell about a person. Regular people. I think there might have been 5 in the whole place that a talent agent MIGHT have picked out for modeling or film. But there were numbers of interesting looking people, with interesting stories.
And I realized regular people aren't so bad. I write about them. And - go figure - I'm one of them!
I want to go back to City O' City to see those photos, and get another mocha like the one I had this morning. And so that I can take a picture of the heart-shape in my mocha foam that inspired the following:
Signs
Mocha this morning,
topped with foamy white love
crowning the cup of
steamy, rich, inspiration.
The passion cooled, the cup
drained
and I saw
the shape had changed.
Two large white cheeks,
a long dark crack
riding the dregs,
unmistakable.
"Butt, I thought it was love!"
KEH
