Tag Archives: North Carolina

Hello Styrofoam. I Think You’re Trying to Kill Me but I’ll Still Drink Coffee Out of You.

Styrofoam

Styrofoam

Before I start, let me be clear that I know nothing about styrofoam and its affect on my health. Everything I know about styrofoam comes from whatever liberal pseudo-science they put in the water in San Francisco and something my babysitter said to me when I was in 5th grade about how microwaving styrofoam can give you cancer. Since then, I’ve researched and learned nothing.

That said, styrofoam was a part of my childhood. I ate school lunches off of it, microwaved leftovers on it, and drank all kinds of beverages from it. I once tore up a styrofoam cup and put it in a shoebox for the famed engineering challenge of creating an egg crate that would protect an egg from a 20 foot drop. Styrofoam did not work, but it sure was staticky.

I moved to San Francisco about two years ago and had kind of forgotten about styrofoam. It’s banned from restaurants in San Francisco and styrofoam cups, plates, and trays are a rarity. Through an assimilation process that’s been going on since my arrival, I’ve gradually learned to associate styrofoam with Bible thumping conservatives, anti-education monsters, and death. At no point was any of this directly said to me. It’s just what happens when you’re in San Francisco long enough and drink enough locally roasted coffee (from ceramic cups of course.)

Now that I’m traveling in areas that are not protected from styrofoam, I’ve started using it again. I drink coffee from it and I want to say that everything’s fine, and that nothing has changed and I’m still the same woman from Oklahoma who doesn’t care about cancer caused by heating up styrofoam but I’m not and I do.

I think the styrofoam is probably killing me. I think it makes the coffee taste weird and dissolves into it when the coffee is too hot, and then those styrofoam molecules turn into cancer in my body that can activate at any point. I’m afraid of the styrofoam cup but I’m more afraid of how terrible I’ll feel if I don’t take coffee to go from breakfast. It’s a choice of two evils, and one promises death in the future, and the other promises a nasty headache until dinner.

I think the correct path is clear.

So I’m on to you styrofoam. I know you’re trying to kill me but you won’t get me before I flee back to my Bay Area styrofoam free sanctuary. Until then, I’ll see you for breakfast.

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This Actually Happened: Boy Playing the Banjo in a Tree for Tips

North Carolina Busking

North Carolina Busking

I had just purchased a terrible coffee with some not terrible chocolate covered espresso beans and was sitting outside in Black Mountain, North Carolina when a banjo started to play somewhere. It seemed to be coming from behind a tree, but I wasn’t sure so I continued to look towards where the sound was coming from. All of the sudden, I saw a jar of lowered from the tree itself.

At that moment, I realized something incredible was happening. A person was sitting in the tree, playing the banjo, and had tied a tip jar to a rope and hung it from the branches. I thought to myself that I must marry this person if they are a male. Maybe I could put my phone number in the jar and then he’d call me and we’d go have a secret beer after I escaped the Baptist camp and we could talk about feminism and how much he respects women and hates the idea that women must submit to men in any way shape or form and I would admire his jawline while he talked eloquently and with good humor.

Then I thought it would be better to look at the person first, make sure he was male and not too young or too old, and then proceed with falling in love.

I crossed the street to give the person a tip (which is the most effort I’ve ever made to tip anyone), and then looked up in the tree. Sure enough, it was some dude. Unfortunately, he looked high school age and like he was terrified of people. That would certainly explain the hiding in the tree at least.

I’m not into the underage thing so I moved on but still put that banjo-boy-plucking-in-a-tree experience in my back pocket. I’ve seen three camels in a truck, and I’ve seen a mad hatter biking down Market Street in San Francisco, but this was one of the stranger and more wonderful things I’ve experienced (and taken a picture of!)

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Scooping Ice Cream for The Lord: A Week at Ridgecrest Conference Center

retro ice cream chic

retro ice cream chic

I’m in Ridgecrest, NC, which is about 17 miles west of Asheville and a million cultural miles away from any other city I’ve lived in. To be more specific, I’m at Ridgecrest Conference Center, a Baptist retreat paradise that has operated for more than 100 years in the Swannanoa Valley.

I’m volunteering for the week, and in exchange for scooping ice cream alongside Baptist retirees, I get free room and board and a whole lot of culture you just don’t find in San Francisco. It’s a pretty sweet deal – terrible pun intended.

This place is not exactly on the beaten path, and considering I’ve never been to Ridgecrest before, am not Baptist, and am under the age of 70, the first thing people want to know when we meet is how in the world did I wind up here in the Nibble Nook (the ice cream shop)(but seriously that’s what it’s called.)

The answer is simple really: Google. When I was planning my 7 week long post-quitting-my-job celebration trip, I wanted to do something in North Carolina before heading to Washington, D.C., NY, and Boston while I was still in the Southeast U.S. I also didn’t want to pay for food or lodging while traveling. Go figure.

I don’t know what happened first, but one thing led to another and on a very productive night at Starbucks, I sent some emails to conference centers in the greater Asheville area asking about opportunities for work or volunteering.

Eventually, I got in touch with Ridgecrest and signed up for one week of service knowing nothing about what I would be doing. Cut to 6 weeks, two buses and a cab ride later and I’m checking into my guest room at Spruce, the volunteer lodgings.

As I found out at breakfast the next morning, the volunteer program is almost exclusively for senior citizens, most of them from Florida, Georgia, Alabama and North Carolina. As I sat down at a table with a tray full of eggs and grits with people who were at least 50-60 years my senior, I wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into.

Long story short (more details to come later), it’s been much better than I thought it would be, even though sometimes I’m afraid I’ll blow my brains out after explaining one more time that I am from Oklahoma, but I live in San Francisco and I’m a triplet and I want to be Tina Fey when I grow up.

I’ve realized that the people here are good even though they’re not like my other friends. One woman is on a mission to be the world’s most helpful person. Every time I see her she asks if I need anything and gives me advice on something. Another woman is trying to get me a boyfriend. Another man is trying to fix me up with his son. Another woman told me about how her mother-in-law blew herself up because she smoked a cigarette while using an oxygen tank.

I have to say that it’s been refreshing to be around people who are different than what I’m used to. Most of these men and women have had close friends or spouses die, are retired, and have large extended families. Their life stories are mindblowing and they don’t even know it.

I’ve still got 3 more days left here, which will include a hike and pizza with a woman named Mickie who is 77 years old and spent 8 years in Zimbabwe after her husband left her. I’m also going to Asheville with her, which I hear is like a woodsier and smaller version of San Francisco, so it’ll be fun to hear her take on everything she sees. She’s Baptist, so I’m guessing there’ll be no afternoon beer.

If I did get a beer though, I’d toast to experiences that surprise you.

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Why Does My Mouth Taste Like Garlic and Other Deep Questions Inspired by the Blue Ridge Mountains

Blue Ridge Mountains

Blue Ridge Mountains

Why does my mouth taste like garlic?

Who’s more of an animal, me or the black bear I saw this morning?

When I touch a rock on top of Rattlesnake Point, does the rock touch me back?

Is life an infinite amount of moments or one long moment?

Are all trees part of one big tree that is slowly spreading across the earth and will eventually sprout from our abdomens?

Do flies get annoyed by their own buzzing?

If the Blue Ridge Mountains are actually green but only appear to be blue, does that mean there is no truth?

If a straight line is the shortest distance between two points, and straight roads are impossible to find in the mountains, does that mean beauty is inefficient?

If I put my clothes into the dryer to make them less wet, and put a dehumidifier in my room to make the air less damp, does that mean that dryers are dehumidifiers for clothes?

Do the trees ever get tired of humans wondering if they make a sound when they fall down?

If someone told me that the Blue Ridge Mountains are the oldest mountain range in the world, and I believe them, does that make it true?

Can I control things with my mind?

If I talk to the trees, does that make them my friends?

If a woman falls down in the forest and starts screaming, but there’s no one to hear her scream, is she actually screaming?

What’s worse, dying by bear attack, or dying having never been attacked by a bear?

What’s for dinner?

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