Tuesday, March 23, 2010

Being Awake

I am, at the moment, secretly and illegally (I'm sure) typing this blog at my desk at the slow end of the work day. The process is made slower each time I hear commotion in my boss's office like he's getting ready to come to my desk and tell me something and I have to minimize the Blogger window and pretend like I'm working. It's a very, very tedious and nerve-racking enterprise, writing for myself at work. I shouldn't do it I suppose, but it gives me a little extra rush of adrenaline that makes blog-writing seem tantalizingly forbidden.

My boss just walked by. I have to finish this sentence by the time he starts back from the copier.

Speaking of the copier...my old friend. I spent the rest of the time after lunch yesterday and the whole morning today at the copier printing 200 copies of a 48 slide Powerpoint presentation. Now, it wasn't that bad, at least I had something definite to be doing on which no one could question the utilization of my time. It is obvious in our office why I have to stand at the copier the entire copying session - the damn thing jams all the time and you have to open it up and pull out the crumpled, masticated papers - culprits of the copier sabotage. At least I had my iPhone with me and played Epic Pet Wars until I couldn't level up anymore. Then I started getting really bored and began looking up game ideas for my sister's bridal shower I'm throwing her this Sunday. If you know me, you know this is a dangerous sign of severe boredom.

I wanted to write yesterday about the small adventure my husband and I had this past weekend (I was prevented from doing this by being chained to the copier). As I am now somewhat comfortably seated and somewhat unbothered at my desk, I can properly tell the tale.

Friday morning we lazed in bed, dozing in warmed folds of blankets and each others arms while the room colored to the sunlight. We didn't turn on the TV, but dressed and drove to Cracker Barrel for a late breakfast of French toast and jellied biscuits. That first meal, like the waking, was free to do as it wished, meandering and taking its time. Despite this, we were packed and leaving the apartment by noon, leaving a key over the doorframe for my mom to feed the dog.

I didn't know where we were going, and I suspect Daniel didn't know either at first, but we headed towards the mountains, always a good start. Daniel used the maps application on his iPhone. He doesn't like to type in a starting point and destination, rather he enjoys spreading the map with his fingers and finding a route manually, even accidentally.

"Am I allowed to know yet?" I asked, trying not to act too curious.

"Thought we'd check out Saluda."

His parents had talked about Saluda, a small mountain town where they sometimes went to visit a favorite restaurant. I'd wanted to visit Saluda when I heard about it. I wanted to feel the smalltown-ness, walk through the antique stores and hear the quiet between the foothills.

We stopped in Saluda and lingered aside the sloped main street, making our way from the tiny elementary school building, past the eateries and shops, towards a forlorn playground and small skatepark blown through with debris. We thought perhaps a storm with strong winds had visited the town a few days before.

As we closed our car doors and crossed Saluda's railroad tracks, relics or technology we could not tell, I didn't have to ask him before he gave up the answer like a hidden bouquet.

"We'll drive through Landrum, then to Tryon," Daniel's mouth was stitched up at the corners, he was giddy with the opportunity to please and lavish upon me.

Sometimes we go to a restaurant in the private-feeling town of Landrum, the Hare and Hound. We passed through, stopping for fishing licenses at a hardware store across the street from the restaurant. Daniel's never been fishing, and seeing as how my Dad took me every year from a very young age, I plan on teaching him this Spring.

Tryon, to me, means horses. I rode when I was a kid, going to shows in Tryon. Daniel, being the serendipitous navigator, sniffed out a horse show going on at a park. We parked to tresspass and onlook at the show, where riders were mounted on tall, muscular mares and geldings. Mostly the sun had incubated the different smells into a singular, langourous odor of horse hide and shit, which wafted down to the wide creek where we sat on rocks in the shade and watched a little girl try to catch tadpoles. I leaned on Daniel's shoulder and stared at our shadows on the water below us wavering, a single shadow lump instead of two separate figures. You couldn't tell we were two different beings by looking at the shadow. You couldn't even tell we were human.

I took pictures with my phone since I had forgotten my camera, and we packed ourselves back into the car where it sat, its leather baking in the raw spring sun.

On to Columbia, where we always knew we'd end up. We arrived a few hours before Dave Bazan would climb onto an already-humid tavern stage, and walked the streets of Five Points below USC Columbia. Later, we met Daniel's older brother and some of their friends to eat a bite at a Mexican restaurant and watch them get blasted on Dos Equis.

After the show - which was too long - Daniel and I got a room at a Holiday Inn Express outside Columbia. It was 1:30AM now, but we made love until we fell asleep like we awoke that morning, holding each other.


Few pictures I took with my phone:


This is the girl at the creek. She kept asking her mom, "How do people catch tadpoles?"


Daniel inside the hardware store in Landrum where we got our fishing licenses. He looks like he is brooding over the tiny hats below his face (which are really normal-sized hats on a wall beyond him). PS - An old lady won $8 from the lottery when we were in the store waiting for our licenses. She couldn't stop bragging.



This is a horse at the horse show in Tryon. A girl was letting it graze a bit away from the riding rings and I asked her if I could take a picture. I'm sure she thought I was a little creepy.

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