2015/06/02 - Tuesday (Sahagun, Spain)
... repetition... after checking into the inn yesterday... my slew of orchestrated questions ensues...is there a grocery store, barber or laundromat nearby... 2 out of 3 ain't bad... there was a barber and if I hurried I can get a haircut before he closes up for siesta time which lasts from 2 to 5 pm... no luck for a laundromat...so once again I place my clothes in the shower while I bathe and my feet act as a washing machine... stomping the clothes into cleanliness... funny thing, as the barber trimmed my beard, the touch of his hands on my face made me feel human... I'm a person of flesh and blood and not just thoughts...
...the pulse...as I walk down to Plaza Mayor for breakfast...it's an open square with bistros of all kinds gracing the perimeter...a waitress is sweeping her area of the plaza/esplanade... she was here last night serving me supper and now at 8 AM is serving me breakfast...I gestured with my hands placed together, next to my cheek, do you ever sleep?...her smile was a term of endearment... with her motherly hand on my shoulder she guided me to a table... she stands a little over 4 feet tall of feistiness...in her 50's with very dark hair and pale complexion which emphasizes her red lipstick gloss...whatever task she is doing, it is done effectively fast except when she speaks to me...
...with routine...breakfast with sunshine just on my table as it is unprotected by the awning's reign of cool shadows... trivial as this may be the OJ is freshly squeezed and not bottled as the one on the table next to me... can you sense motherly love from the waitress, I know...I'm adorable...pilgrims walking thru the plaza in search of a morning meal... with their oversized and over stocked backpacks... who cannot and will not discard anything to lighten their burdensome load for fear of losing something of themselves... as if the t-shirt with a message slogan to BE CALM blah, blah, blah...sitting at the bottom of the backpack which has yet to see sunlight is an extension of who they are... are we ants in colorful and matching clothing but with backpacks too...
...zoom by... the cigarette leaves a dust trail as a young mom pushes the baby stroller... just like a blurred photograph the cigarette smoke leaves her face unfocused blocking my view of her anxiety... still the body posture of heaviness cannot be masked by the smoke...another mom running late with 2 small children struggling to keep up with her... a daily ritual it seems... perhaps the mom should be the one behind her children and appreciate their small pace of life...
... visible longevity... the two city workers sweeping the plaza wearing navy blue pants with reflective yellow bands below the knees...methodically dance their brooms into every nookie dragging out any dust particle from where it does not belong...as if the plaza is their pride and joy, even an extension of their being...with so much respect for the plaza as they sweep about with cigarettes dangling from their chapped lips... their own self-worth is short lived unlike the plaza which was there before them and will be there after them too... their efforts are an investment in concrete durability...
...on the other side...the still quiet of the plaza is disrupted by the metal chains being removed from the stacked aluminum chairs... as the chairs are being distributed and reunited with the also recently freed tables...a delivery van with a picture of bread on its' side pulls into the plaza carrying with it morning freshness...the faceless driver steps out and opening the back doors of the van saturates my sense of smell with the neatly stacked crates of breads and sweets...this may be just a job for him... for the rest of us it is a necessity of joy...
... without routine... students walking thru the plaza on their way to school... also carrying backpacks full of copybooks and maybe even some borrowed school books... eventually the copybooks will wilt in the backpack from the time summer vacations start and to the beginning of the next school year in the fall...at which point they'll look at their past homework and wonder where did time go and with the same breath of thought discard the scribbled paper into a recycling bin...time gone by and old copy books are of no concern, in fact they hinder their optimism of the future...
...reality...with no money to spare for a coffee a young woman opts to sit on a bench with a cellphone in hand and a cigarette on the other...she reads her morning emails/texts and in an executive fashion butts out her cigarette on the pavement with her foot... with her right hand now free she types out digital messages... filling the voids in her life with trivial mis-spelled words which only perpetuate the errors in her life...
YOU ARE READING
Paper Cigarette
Random...... ...Paper Cigarette (slices of life)... ...for better or for worse, what happens on the Camino does not always stay on the Camino.... .. it's a journal style novel (fiction)....... it's about a man who inadvertently finds himself on the Santia...
