I
know why Snow White was too willing to let the evil queen in disguise dig
a poisoned comb into her scalp and refusing to learn her lesson, take an apple
from an unassuming old lady. She
was desperate for a simple act of kindness and gratitude, after living with
seven thankless little men who never acknowledged how she cleaned up after them
all the frickin’ time. Oh believe me, I’ve lived it and though I once
thought Snow White to be the most annoying of the Disney princesses, I have new
found respect for her.
It
didn’t take much to pull a Rose Madder.
If you’re not familiar with the Stephen King novel (get a copy, quick!),
Rosie was a battered housewife (understatement) who saw a spot of blood on the
sheet, sat in her chair and then just walked away from it all with nothing but
the clothes on her back. She moved
to another city and started a new life there. Believe me, if it were that easy, I’d have done it a long
time ago. I’ve got stuff that
Rosie didn’t. I have money (not a
lot, but enough to tide me over), a relatively new car, and Google. But I also had a dog that I adore, lots
of books, clothes, shoes, grandparents, a new job waiting for me… baggage. For one weekend, however, I could feel
how she felt… that initial whiff of freedom before reality sets in that
somehow, you have to survive.
I
just got fed up. So I took out my
phone, searched Google to find a nice little place that would welcome me and my
dog, found one, made the payment and started packing as much as I could fit
into my backpack. Then on a Friday
afternoon, I left work early, picked up the dog and started driving.
You
know what I realized on this trip? That I found kindness in strangers. Kindness that I had expected but didn’t
get from the people who, typically and by the laws of nature, would give to you
– your own blood. I guess that’s what hurts most… that I had to seek comfort
from strangers but not my own family. It’s pathetic that I desperately wanted
to hug the motherly innkeeper for welcoming with a smile instead of a
problem. I enjoy conversations
with the innkeeper’s daughter more than with my own siblings. I look forward to seeing the nice lady
who brings my meals more than I want to see my own house. I joke around with the trusty errand boy. I think the food here
is more home-cooked than the ones I eat back home. Good Lord, even my dog likes it here… he’s got a lot of room
to run around although he’s been coughing because he’s not used to fresh air.
And then he’s got the chickens that he could bully. I know I paid for the accommodation but their hospitality is priceless. They're obliged to treat me like the paying customer that I am but they don't have to be as nice to me as they already are. Meanwhile, the people who should be biologically compelled to ask if I'm okay don't even sense that there's something amiss. If these aren’t signs that anything’s wrong then I don’t
know what is.
Looking
out the window with the pretty view of the garden and the top of a mountain I
so desperately loved, I can understand why Hemingway needed that cottage by the
lake (I’m not sure if I got that right) and the necessity for the existence of
a writer’s colony. I would so love
to come here every weekend but I don’t think I could afford it, cheap as it
is. And like every other good
thing, I’m afraid of being here too much, I might lose my appreciation for the wonder
of the place and I don’t want it to wear off. I want to be able to come back here and appreciate it.
Song of the Day: Waitin' for a Superman (by The Flaming Lips)
Tell everybody
Waitin' for Superman
That they should try to
Hold on
Best they can
He hasn't dropped them
Forgot them
Or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift
Song of the Day: Waitin' for a Superman (by The Flaming Lips)
Tell everybody
Waitin' for Superman
That they should try to
Hold on
Best they can
He hasn't dropped them
Forgot them
Or anything
It's just too heavy for Superman to lift
