Thursday, May 29, 2008

Tales from the Glens Falls Rest Area

I am reading In Defense of Food by Michael Pollan & The Jungle by Upton Sinclair on my Kindle, resting from the road, spitting sunflower seed shells out the window, watching the people go by.

Hippy girl, hair piled high, wonderful buns rock to & fro in light cargo pants as she walks down the sidewalk. (sigh)

Two old ladies with creamsicle hair & flowery hats rise from a picnic table and wobble back to
their car.

Man stands at my front bumper and stares for a long time - I watch him in my peripheral vision hoping he'll move on - until I finally have to look up from my reading as he walks nearly up to my open window just so he can strike up some banal conversation relating tangentially to the company lettering on my Pathfinder. "So, you work in Saranac? Going camping in July? How's the fishing?" etc. etc.

Aw, hippy girl is leaving, and looks healthy from the front as well. She climbs into a small blue car with pink stripes with her tall, bearded companion, who, by the way, has jammed an McDonald's bag into the refuse bin - not exactly the granola diet of my hippy chasing days.
OK, I never chased any hippies. In college - UNH Durham - we had granola girls, but I wasn't exactly in their circle. Rumor had it that nearby Newcastle NH was the granola girl haven. In typical oblivous fashion, the potential love of my life was very much in my cicrle of friends & I didn't even know it -- shades of high school band all over again (and THAT is story for another day!).

(this is an expansion of several twitter posts from this afternoon - follow me at

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