I’m sitting in the Starbucks in Newcastle. I’ve been sitting here wishing that I could write about what I’m thinking and hearing at the moment… And then I remembered that I put my computer near the edge of my suitcase, making it (relatively) easy to fish out. In front of me is a man… probably in his mid-40s, accompanied by a woman who is easily in her 80s. At first, I thought it was a son with his grandmother. (Normal). Then, I realized he was calling her by her first name, and thought that perhaps it was a date, as age is not so much an ‘issue’ for the Brits as it is for us Americans. (Weird). Naturally, I put my book down to better my listening skills as a nosy coffee-shop neighbor. I’m now realizing that I think that he might be something of a life coach, if you will. She’s in some sort of dilemma with her family, and he is forcefully instructing her how to make her way out of it. It is one of the most bizarre conversations I’ve ever eavesdropped on… and that’s saying A LOT. It is hilarious.
It’s 3:34 in the afternoon right now, and it feels like the holidays. It looks like it’s about to turn dark, but it definitely isn’t, as it’s 3:34, as previously mentioned. I cannot shake the feeling of Christmas. OHHHHHH SNAP. He just got REALLY close to her face. Maybe it IS a date and they’re just a really codependent couple. I think he was about to kiss her – when he saw the smirking at him. Busted. Dang. Okay – back to feeling like it’s Christmas. I think it has to do with the cold. It’s cold here. And everyone is carrying around packages. They’ve all just been to the shops apparently. And the music Starbucks is playing is very good. There’s a sign outside that said “Our Red cups are on their way!” When Starbucks gets their red cups, the days just get better, in my opinion. I realize that it’s ridiculous for my mood to automatically be lifted when I think and feel like the holidays are near… but I don’t think I’m alone in that phenomenon.
On the train ride here, I heard six, count em’, SIX people blow their noses. It sounded like the trumpet section of a band that is battling with another competing to see who can produce a more astronomical amount of volume. Sometimes it’s so violent a sound, I’m tempted to look over to see whether or not they’ve busted some sort of blood vessel in their eyes. I usually resist, though. I don’t understand it. Maybe it’s the same in the States, but I feel like in the South, that’s just something that isn’t done. I have to fight my reflex to automatically sneer and say, “Excuse me… but shouldn’t you go to the bathroom to do that?” It would need to be done in a polite and Southern way, of course, but it would still need to be done. But, I don’t want to be that ‘arrogant American’…. so I don’t say anything. I just bury my head in my book. But, as having just finished one and started another – I’m taking a break to write this before I really get into the next. I’ve just read 3 books by Murial Spark. My brother gave them to me a few years ago – and I’m just now getting around to reading for pleasure. (Stupid grad school). I like her work because every book she writes is different from the last. Every character has its own identity and idiosyncrasies. There’s no overlap. I just know that when I start reading it, there is NO TELLING where she’s going to take me. So I keep reading. I’m now on my fourth and final M.S. novel. (Odd couple update: maybe this guy is just a ‘close talker,’ as Jerry Seinfeld put it. He’s leaning forward – past the halfway mark on the table. But she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. Oh Europe….)
I like to play a little game I like to call, “Guess where they’re from”. It’s interesting. Especially in a place like Newcastle. I’m finding the closer I get to London, the more difficult it is to tell where someone is from. Their clothes are always my first clue. But It also makes a difference when they’ve been here a while. Even if they’re not from here, they can make you think they are. (I am attempting this now, by dressing the part, but I think my suitcase is giving me away). Tourists are easy. You can spot them from a mile away. They wear brightly colored rain jackets that make them look like they’re ready for a trek in the Himalayas. They also have on walking shoes or hiking boots, and they either sport a bag on their hip strapped diagonally over their chest, or they wear fanny packs, so as to reduce the risk of being pick-pocketed. (Side note: never say “fanny pack” out loud in public in the UK. It means something ENTIRELY different here…)
The odd couple in front of me is now discussing forgiveness. The man seems to be the leader in the discussion and the old lady continues to present him with questions on the matter. He has yet to mention Christ. No wonder she’s struggling with the idea. Forgiveness is difficult enough even when the power of God is present. But I digress.
I wish I could just have the Starbucks music channel playing all the time. I have no idea what they’re playing… and I can’t use my Shazam because I’m not using my phone here… but to always have access to their always updated and always good playlists… that would be amazing. Someone should invent that.
Sometimes I have to fight the urge to walk up to strangers and strike up a conversation with them. It is amazing to me how much time I spend thinking about it – and then the rabbit trails that my mind chases down the with the “what if” paths.
Yesterday, I saw a handicapped taxi van, and I wondered if all of the taxis here are handicapped accessible. Then I started thinking about how, if all of the taxis were handicapped accessible, and a handicapped person stole a cab from an able bodied person, and then the able bodied person sued the taxi cab company for discriminating against them because they weren’t handicapped, I wondered if they would win. (That’s an example of one of the types of rabbit trails I chase in my mind). They won, by the way, in my mind. The law suit of able-bodied persons vs. handicapped persons was a groundbreaking case, and it set a precedent that would be referenced in hundreds of cases in the future.
I’m going to stop now – because I think at this point, I’m just typing out my random thoughts… and I’m not sure what good that’s doing, other than revealing my true self to whoever choses to read. It could be good – it could be bad. It might not matter at all. I guess we’ll see. Guess I’ll get into the next book now. If you’ve read to the end, thank you, and I’m sorry that there wasn’t actually anything of substance in this one. I’ll write again soon! 🙂
For those of you who are interested: 