Blog : 228 Habits (March 1, 2022)

 

I get desperate sometimes. It's a craving. Time. Expression. Humanity. Productivity. Coffee. I crave it all. And it begets more because inevitably there is some sort of forbidden fruit. In this case, it's forbidden non-fruit. It's also a miniature escape.

There's a pattern in this picture. If smart phones had existed, I could have taken a very similar photo in the late 1980s. For some reaons, a patty melt was the golden go-to for an impromptu excursion for decades. Book. Notebook. Water. Coke or coffee (then and now). Greasy burger. Midnight and beyond.

I remember a night at Perkins Restaurant & Bakery. Oddly I don't remember the location, but it had to be somewhere between Willmar and Minneapolis, my common route during those days. I spent hours in a booth. Writing. Thinking. Observing. Talking to God on paper. It must have been near the Twin Cities because I remember having a conversation with a group of guys, some of which were African-American. Towards Willmar, which was also close to my home town, Montevideo, it was rare to see any black culture.

I also remember a night when I was in the Twin Cities for some sort of school-related conference it seems, but maybe I was just a guest of someone else. I don't remember doing anything other than being there. I was dating someone from the area, and I waited in the hotel lobby for him to arrive for a visit. I was reading a book that I recall being titled Black Like Me, and not long into the waiting/reading, a big group of young black men came through the lobby and noticed my book. We struck up a conversation. They were a part of a performing group going through Minneapolis. I was fascinated! One of them was particularly interested in the story of the book, which was relayed from the experience of a reporter who posed as black in the south. I gave the book to them. I think they may have been from Portland, Washington, because I felt like I sent my book there.

Looking back now, I wonder if he is out there telling this story to someone else.

Two quick notes about that. First, I ran across that book again! Not mine originally, but that book itself. I never finished it. I think I will soon. Maybe this summer. Second, that night so many years ago was exhilarating for me but not for my boyfriend. His first response when he saw his girlfriend surrounded by a group of black men was a protective fear. I remember trying to introduce him, and felt like he was rude. These guys were fascinating! He just wanted to whisk me away. We talked afterwards. In his suburb, there were no black people. To me, it was ridiculous. But I had the benefit of colored family members. It was one of the things that I talked about with those young men. They were intrigued to see a white girl reading Black Like Me. I was intrigued that they were intrigued! I wonder now if it was actual fear? Or jealousy? Maybe both. I experienced jealousy later in our relationship. Oh the situations of the past. Some wonderful. Some remarkable in ways that can be a little scary. I am thankful for God's protection over my oblivion.

Through the years, I disappeared to 24-hour restaurants from time to time. Often I had an agitation of some sort. It's the flip side of the craving coin. In a way it was an escape. Akin to taking a vacation on my bed, it was a miniature adventure that I could afford. I never thought of it in the way that I couldn't afford a "real" vacation. I was comfortable using my imagination. But really I see it now as being mindful. I stepped aside from the flow of life and stopped myself in a booth somewhere accompanied by the Spirit of God, a book, and a notebook. In those days there was no phone with Bible apps or ebooks. Real books on real paper. I do that today. I escape. I attempt to tune in and tune out. I crave connection in my heart. I want the world to stop. But I also want it to go on without me so I can stand aside and watch.

Not long ago I read that notebook from the night in Perkins. When I read it, I remembered. I loved seeing how much I noticed and wrote. I want to do it more.