Pink

Solitude is definitely conducive to writing. Were all the great reclusive writers reclusive because they were great or great because they were reclusive?
Working the closing shift at KWF solo this evening I found myself dictating vignettes to my mental secretary. She leaves a lot of the stuff I tell her out of the record, not sure why I keep her around. It seemed that every task I undertook took on new layers of complication, resulting in the overwhelming feeling of accomplishing nothing! Here's a funny story from the evening that is so very me!
A handsome man came to the back of the store looking for the owner. I put him in touch with someone more helpful and returned to dicing celery. A little while later I went out front for something and met him again serving himself some soup. "Hi again!" he said, "So are you running the cafe now?" Many people have asked me this and I humbly admit to being just part of the team. I do find the question awkward sometimes, like when the manager is standing right next to me, but there was no one around this evening. All the same, apparently I started blushing, because he started to apologize profusely for making me feel uncomfortable. Realizing that I was blushing, and being fairly certain it was more because this man was so handsome than because he had mistaken me for management, only made it worse and the only thing I could do as my face became one roaring bonfire was giggle and head for the safety of the kitchen. Oh, and somewhere in there there was an exchange of names. I am somewhere between dread at the certainty of more blushing when I see him next and hoping that I see him every day for the rest of my life. In my defense, there are a lot of skin irritants in the cafe that might cause me to be a little pink anyway!

Its What Citizens Do

When you move from one state to another, it is expected that your register yourself and certain significant belongings with the local authorities. While I appreciate societal order, I tend not to think about how it is kept and therefore comply with such regulations only under duress.
Today I spent the whole day getting good with Uncle Sam (I guess that's really the fed, so what's the state government? Uncle Bill?). I arrived at the Drivers License Center in Frazer around 10am, which was reported to be a slow time on their website, and took a number. 2 1/2 hours and a few new friends later, I went to the counter knowing full well I did not have all the documentation required for a home run, but just wanting to see if I could squeeze through a loop hole. Well, I couldn't, but going the full distance was less complicated than I thought. I thought I would have to go to the Social Security Office to get a replacement card for the one I lost 7 years ago when an old wallet accidentally went to Goodwill, wait 2 weeks to get it in the mail, go back to the DMV, possibly forgetting some other piece of vital information on the second attempt. Meanwhile I would have to go to the library to change my voter registration in order to be on time to participate in this fall's election (apparently there is some important local stuff going on around here).
But here's how it really played out. The woman said "Go to the Social Security office in West Chester, ask for the 2 page print out, not the 1, 'cause we can't help you with that, and come back here and be sure to have a check or money order for $26. And take a number on the way out and we'll probably be close to it by the time you get back". So I did. I sped through the SSA, got a money order at the ShopRite next door (most depressing grocery store EVER) as I had forgotten my check book, grabbed an americano and a sandwich and STILL had to wait about an hour when I returned to Frazer. And though it was as if an entire day of my life had been stolen, better that that several halves of several days combined with the weight of dread hanging constantly over my head.
So I am liscenced, registered to vote and newly carded by the ssa. Now I have only to get my car inspected and put my PA plates back on and I will be whistlin' dixie (was that a mixed metaphor?).