Laura
Image by justmakeit
Laura is the proprietress of a coffee shop in a small town in Iowa. When I stepped into her shop, it was a bit like walking into “It’s a Wonderful Life”. The hours on the door said that they close at 2, but I got there at 3. Two tables were filled with older women playing cards, and I asked if the shop was open. Laura said, “Well, since the ladies are here, I suppose it is”. She apologized for not having any food available, but I said that was fine and asked for coffee. She went to get it, then realized that she’d already shut the coffee machine down as well. She said, “How about a glass of iced tea, and you can sit and read your book for a while?” She wouldn’t take any money for the tea.
I discovered that Laura helps out some of the kids in her small town. If one of them comes around and asks for work, she’ll set them to sweeping the front walk or washing the windows for “five dollars and a cookie”.
Laura’s also an amateur photographer, and her shop is hung with photos she’s taken, some from her travels and some of her grandson (can you believe she’s a grandmother?!) She’s close friends with her son’s first girlfriend, who was 15 when they met and now, at 28, is an artist. Every year she and the ex-girlfriend go on a trip to a different part of the world to do photography. This year they’re planning a trip to the rain forest in Costa Rica.
In the interests of full disclosure, I should mention that I’d seen Laura before this and knew she ran the coffee shop. In addition to helping out the kids in town, she also runs an internship program for the students at my daughter’s boarding school. This was the first time I’d ever talked to her though, so I hope she still counts as a stranger.
Laura is #20 in my 100 Strangers project. Find out more about the project and see pictures taken by other photographers at www.100strangers.com
giveUsOurDailyBread
Image by kleer001
Give us each our daily bread.
By: Clear Menser
Jan-Sept 2007
Thursday Night.
9-20-07 23:21
Once upon a time there was a man in a dark blue suit in a bright yellow taxi. It was night time. The city outside gave way to the eventual suburban sprawl.
The man rubbed his eyes and yawned. It had been a long day with a long flight at the end. He felt the full weight of it. With the money they made from the last contract he could afford the damned expensive taxi ride home.
Then he was in front of his mirror brushing his teeth. He was wearing his shorts with little hearts on them. He didn't remember getting out of the taxi or undressing, but with all the stress it was an understandable lapse. He ignored the discontinuity and finished brushing his teeth. He checked out his stubble. Verdict, execution. He shaved and then redressed the fresh cut on his hand.
Then he was lying down in bed next to his homemade alarm clock. Sara had made it for him. The numbers read 00:13 in simple red neon. He didn't remember finishing his toiletries. Again he thought nothing of the jump in time. He though of Sara and her urgent kisses at the end of the work day. He turned off the light and went to sleep alone in his own apartment.
There was darkness, soft, warm, dry and familiar. Home sweet home.
He had technicolor dreams of small iridescent ants and light blue clouds. They were both silent. The clouds swam by faster and faster still. Fast clouds and slow ants. The whole thing sped up to a blur. It ate its self and melted into shiny brass gears and a high pitched whine. He felt a full body bubble form, wet and loud and nasty popping out of both ends. He felt his dream body lean back and to the left in a crescent.
Friday Morning.
9-21-07 03:00
He woke up with bloodshot eyes. It was still dark outside. The cut in his palm wailed like a digital nightmare crashing. It pulsed a few times and ended. Something vague itched his face. He went to switch off alarm clock, but it had not gone off yet. It's face read 03:01 in simple red neon. He staggered to the bathroom mirror in his underwear with little hearts on them. He shaved off his new beard and went back to bed. He tried to sleep but the wound started to scream again. He eventually sunk into a black unconsciousness.
A few hours later his alarm went off at its designated time. He got ready for work, strangely refreshed. He was thankful that his beard didn't grow back. He thought, "Ha! What a nightmare."
He took the bus to work. The sun was shining. Birds were singing. The pain in his hand was dull and pulsing.
He swiped his card at a large glass covered building. He walked past security with a short hello and wave. He entered the third door on the left and got to work.
He saw a close up of a deep field of micro organisms swimming. His name tag said "Dave McGregor". Dave pulled his face up from the microscope, rubbed his eyes, and yawned. He pushed the microscope over a little, and laid down for a short nap.
It was the same technicolor dream of ants and clouds with sound, a rushing river and bird song.
Dave found himself at a meeting with 3 other people in dark gray suits at an oblong table. Everything was blurred and slow, out of focus. He remembered a white door in an empty hallway. It had a single doorknob, no keyhole or card reader was visible. It was closed.
Dave was sitting at the head of the table. He looked around, confused for a moment, and then continued with what he was saying, something easy, but he couldn't hear what he was saying, couldn't even feel his tongue or the sound in his jaw. He began to sweat profusely. He felt he had lost something, but couldn't remember what it was.
In blurred slow motion someone from his right came over. It was a woman. He can't read her name tag. He didn't know who she was. She said "Dave, Dave, honey, are you okay, you alright?"
Everything faded out for Dave.
8 days earlier
Wednesday Morning:
9-12-07 10:45
The microscope showed him a deep field with large gray cells rolling around. Dave adjusted the microscope and made notes. He had his favorite black ball point pen. Rock and roll was on the radio, some electronic ballad, "Take the Veil Cerpin Taxt" by the Mars Volta. He hadn't heard that song is ages. It took him back to the college radio station when he could play whatever he wanted.
Out of nowhere he thought 'Oh, it's Sara'. He rolled in his chair over the computer and turned down the music. The music was silenced. The phone rang. He hit the speaker phone button.
"Hey honey, we got the new account out in Texas."
"Oh, Sweet. Thanks for the call, babe, I know you were on pins and needles over this." Dave paused "But do we have to fly again? You know how I hate flying. Could we just road trip to the site?"
Sara giggled. "Oh honey, it's just faster by plane. And, hey baby, if you come with me this one time we'll be set for the next quarter. It's just smart."
He thought for a few moments, "Right. I'll do it, but you owe me a few beers. This job is the Level 4, right?"
"Yup."
"Meh." Dave groaned.
Wednesday Afternoon:
9-12-07 13:10
In two hours Dave and Sara were on a plane heading to the site. He was half asleep, drunk on magic brownies and cheap beer, with head phones on blaring his own recent DJ set. A mashed up Marshal Mathers and 8-bit theme lulled him to happy la-la land. He dreamed insects, golden roaches and small black ants dancing in concentric circles.
He was sober enough by the next morning to do the job, but Sara insisted that she do the dirty work.
There she was in a yellow chem suit with orange boots walking though a field of burnt grass. The suits were an enormous pain in the ass, but Dave always thought the suits were so damn sexy. The effect was tactile and visual, something forbidden and yet so close. He mulled it over a little and kept an eye on Sara.
She was using long chrome tongs and filling a transparent bag with dead mice. The mice had apparently all come to the field and spontaneously combusted. This wasn't a regular round-table of vermin. They had formed a single line one and a half kilometers long spaced out every two meters, to the dot. The subsequent brush fire had died out quickly. It was late spring and the grass still had some moisture. The fire damage wasn't extensive, but the feds were still spooked.
Dave on the radio, "You got the remains, babe? Let's get out of here."
"Almost, Dave, yeah, this place is giving me the creeps" she said "And remember, lunch is on me, right?"
"I want a big fat cookie!" he bellowed gleefully and clapped his hands in joy.
She grinned and snickered. The last bit of unburnt mouse was contained in 15
minutes.
They cleaned up, packed up, and headed out. They returned the van at the airport and got into their civilian clothes.
The food at the airport was decent and they had a full hour before the flight. He had a small salad and a huge chocolate chip cookie. Sara sat across the small table with her black coffee and croissant. They played footsies, stared longingly into each other's eyes and held hands. They went to the gate and got on the plane. There was some mechanical failure, parts had to be express shipped out and the whole flight was bumped. The airline handed out flight vouchers and a photocopied list of nearby hotels.
Wednesday Night:
9-12-07 19:23
Sara scanned her card and entered her hotel room. The company had rented them rooms. Since they weren't married they got separate ones.
Dave scanned his card and entered his hotel room. There was an electronic door connecting the two rooms. It was locked. He picked the lock in a couple minutes with simple Russian technique he had learned back in Detroit. It was easy enough but the screwdriver slipped and gashed his palm. He cleaned it out in the sink and she sewed it up with thread.
Night fell on the city. The lovers laid in each other's arms in post coital bliss.
He slept and dreamed of insects, ants and cockroaches, termites, sowbugs, and
Jerusalem crickets, they rolled over each other in large piles.
She slept and dreamed of clouds. They were cumulonimbus, white and red and orange, the white foaming from underneath. They threatened to rain something fierce on the landscape.
They slept well.
Then, in the morning, after a cuddle filled shower they each got ready in their separate rooms. Sara was in front of her hotel bathroom mirror making herself up for the day. Brown dress, khaki blouse and perky tits. Dave was in front of his hotel bathroom mirror, blue suit, smart tie, and shit eating grin. Life was good.
He sat on the toilet and clipped his nails. They were black under the nails and itched a little. He could have sworn he did a full scrub down after the job. He tended to the cut in his palm. It was red and fresh. It hurt in a deeply romantic way, the pain of rightious sacrifice.
Thursday Afternoon:
9-13-07 12:45
Dave was in a white chem suit with orange boots walking though a redwood forest. The call for the job had come from an old student of his. The kid had been eager, but not very clever. The year before he had barely passed Dave's pathology course. It was his final essay on the integral roll of mycelium across biota that turned a D into a C.
Dave was using his gloved hands to fill a baggie with large blue mushrooms. They were spongy and spread their light colored spore all over the place.
Sara on the radio, "You have a large enough sample?"
"Yeah, let's blow this nickle pop stand, babe."
"Thank god. I can't wait to get on the road. It's a monster drive." she paused. The phone static chopped out. "You know you can sleep if you like, Dave. I'm good for a while."
"Aww, you're too sweet, thank you. I'll give you the biggest kiss once I get out of this thing."
Sara drove the car on the open road. It was a blue cloudless sky framed by flat fields waiting and fertile. Dave was fast asleep in the passenger seat and snoring lightly. A large wave of love crested through Sara. She bit her lip and looked over at her man. She lightly caressed his head. She drove for three hours before taking a road side squat and stretch break. She continued for another two hours after that. Then they were home.
She took the dark gray car into the rental garage. Sara walked out and Dave followed her and rubbed his eyes.
Sara and Dave went home in a greyhound bus. They were holding hands. She leaned over and rested her head on his shoulder. He stroked her cheek and sighed, "I love you."
Friday Evening:
9-14-07 18:30
Three men in dark gray suits and one woman in a navy suit sat at an oval table. Sara was at the head of the table. She stood and picked up the remote control. With a soft polite beep the lights turned down and the projector glowed. The glow was blue.
Sara began, "The mycelium is a pale white, barely yellow. Just like nearly every other mushroom in the world."
Click. Image of a mass of thin off white tangles.
"We didn't find a real visible difference between the hypae of this and your garden variety small brown mushroom. The fruiting body, however, is shockingly different..."
Click. Image of a blue mushroom with pale flesh and dark gills against the dark backdrop of a forest floor littered with soil and pine needles.
"This is the neat part, um", she paused
Click. Close up image of dark blue gills.
"It has thick gills in concentric rings and spirals a lot like fingerprints. No other mushroom has a gill structure like this."
Click. A closer view of the gills.
"Dried samples of these mushrooms were sent to our main office last December. We were unable to place the species. Our initial tests confirmed they're not a known species and if I'm right they may even prove to be a new genus. More testing is necessary which is why we'll be heading out next week to the site."
...
Once upon a time, after the meeting, there was an open door to a closet in an empty
hallway. Sara and Dave were giggling and holding hands. They ran into the closet and shut the door behind them.
Vote for Sophie!
Image by kuddlyteddybear2004
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Original photo
.53 with .43 saved [thank you preferred savings], oh how I ENJOY [sarcasm] grocery shopping in the city
Image by Chapendra
The chips and cookies were on sale, not originally on my list. I splurged on the [count up my horrible health points] Starbucks drink and babybel as a treat to myself, too.
I used my new gift card and trying my hardest to budget but just generally grocery shopping in the city is expensive.
