Ok, so it’s Sunday, I’m not at work, I have transportation and I have a sat-nav to get me where I need to go. Today is the day I make a house a home. With my friend Google Maps in hand I planned a list of 12 furniture stores. I managed to get them all lined up, so I could plan a route where I could quite easily drive from one to another so I am not Zig-Zagging across the city to find these furniture shops. I started at the one furthest away and thought I work my way in so I could get to this barn dance at 5pm (fashionably late) just after the shops close. Half a tank of petrol in the tank and directions to where I am going… let’s go! So I drive off and a bloke in a pick-up truck shouts, “get on the other side of the road!” to which I shout back “I don’t think they are listening to you!” Once I was on my way I was cruising (literally using the cruise control). I find it great driving here. It seems a much more laid back way of driving. In the UK there always seems to be someone in your mirror, ranting at you telling to get on. ..but enough of my reflection in the bathroom. A white van man on your tail, trying to push you out of the way is a common occurrence in the UK. Here the roads are straight, the automatic cars are keeping an eye on your speed and the GPS tells you were to go. Well, what is there left for me to do except sit back, enjoy the autumn scenery and watch the pedestrians bounce off my bonnet.
So after an hour’s drive I finally find the first store. It looked very promising, but ultimately it was closed. Come back on Monday, yeah right, I have no car then so, no chance. On I went to the next port of call. Now I don’t need to give precise directions here, but if I said it was the other side of the tracks you will know what I am talking about. I found myself in the hood. Bars on windows, supped up cars parked in the road with loud gangster music playing whilst partly disassembled cars with long grass growing around them in the front gardens. The gardens that didn’t have bits of car in them had old refrigerators. I went past the furniture shop with a notice in the partly smashed window saying “gone out of business”. Needless to say I didn’t the sat-nav to tell me to get the hell out of there!
The next stop didn’t exist and the one after that was closed. At this point I am getting a little p*#@ed off, as I am very aware that this is the last chance I will be able to get out of walking distance to see ways of furnishing the apartment ready for Sarah and the kid’s arrival later this week. I so desperately wanted it to be a nice home from home experience for them, but his is looking less and less likely. I carry on my merry way to two more addresses that turn out to be residential addresses. Houses that was VERY nice indeed. Image your stereotype of small town America in autumn, with its white picket fence and very polite people raking up their leaves saying good afternoon to just about anything that look at them. This was a total flip side to where I was not 30 minutes ago. Nice as it was, it wasn’t the furniture place I was looking for. Time is really marching on now and I soon realize I am going to be a bit more just fashionably late for this barn dance thing.
On to my final destination! A store, a store that is open… a store with very nice furniture in it, a store that is open with nice furniture and way out of my price range. “Good afternoon sir. Welcome to our store. This is a family run store where we only import the very finest of pieces, or commission hand crafted furniture directly to you, our valued customer. My name is Bob how you are doing today sir”. I think to myself “Er, thanks bob can I get in the door first, would that be OK?” We walk around the store with my considerate “strokey beard” face on, making sounds like, hmmm, “ooh I do like what you have done here”… hmm, the whole time thinking “The minute this guy leaves me alone I’m gonna leg it… but he didn’t! Come on man, time is running out I am looking hand crafted crap that I have no intention of buying. I am ashamed to say I did the “oh, my phone is vibrating, let me just get this… trick”, “yes I’m there just now, I’m speaking to Bob (is it?), Yeah Bob.. u hum, a ha, yeah… ok I’ll ask if Bob has got a card… u hum, a ha, yeah… well they are nice pieces at quite reasonable prices, u hum, a ha, yeah OK, we’ll both come back tomorrow to look.” I thank Bob for his card and swiftly get the hell out of there! There is another vital 45 minutes I’ll never see again.
It is now 5pm and not only are the shop all closed… furniture mission failed! At this point I am an hour late for this barn dance. “Sat-Nav, take me there!” I drive/cruise there, cursing Google and its shopping knowledge sympathizing with Dave Gorman and the journey that Google sent him on.
It would seem that I may have got the wrong and of the stick with this barn dance gig. It wasn’t a barn-dance. Dan, referred to it as a hoe-down. Hoe-down, barn dance, line dance, same thing right? Wrong! I arrive at a field (that I later find out to be Dan’s garden). There is a fire pit with a roaring fire going and trestle tables up with gas BBQ stoves going full pelt.
Although Dan wasn’t there and I knew, er, nobody at all, I thought I would wonder up to the nearest person and introduce myself. All I knew was that there was a tall man called Stu (Dan’s Dad) who would be getting dressed up the occasion. I turn around to see a 6’6” man dressed as Fred Flintstone. Honestly you couldn’t make this stuff up. “Hi Ben, Dan told me all about you. I’m Stu, this is my Wife Lisa, let me introduce you to the rest of the guys”. Lisa then said “We all dress up when we do these things. You can join in if you want to, we have some dressing u gear in the garage… You know Elvis, right?” I was so tempted to say “yeah they help Santa”, but thought better of it… “Who hasn’t heard of Elvis” I say, sounding like his biggest fan. I am them presented with an Elvis costume with a leather waistcoat, fingerless gloves, Elvis glasses with sideburns attached and a black leather hat. I put this outfit on and happened to catch myself in the mirror. Give me a handle bar moustache and I would have looked more like one of the village people. The cap and glasses stayed in the garage!
I left the garage and walked over to the tables in the middle of the field/garden. There were different shapes of wicker baskets with chips (or crisps as we know them), bubbling pots of chili. Apple Cider (non-alcoholic) with cinnamon and piles of sugar in it. Hot chocolate, marsh mellows and pumpkin lights surrounding the entire thing. At this point my tongue was hanging out of my mouth and I was starving. I did, for the record, wait until food was offered before diving in.
I finally got to meet some of the community of Carmel without the religious pretext. This was great! Community and helping each other out is really important to me. I met with Bob and Marge (who was originally from Liverpool with the best accent I have ever heard. Mid-west with a Scouse twang. I could listen to her all night). Then I recognized Auntie Leslie who donated the bunk beds, as well as here husband Gene. As the day turned into night I found myself trampling a line in the grass directly between the food table and fire pit. More and more people started gathering around the fire as time went on.
As we spoke two cars rolled into the long driveway, and Dan appeared out of the back with his bike. He had been cycling all weekend and has just finished a 100 mile bike ride over the weekend. It was quite a big deal here with around 5000 cyclists. He looked knackered, but he did come out and join in the festivities, once here had freshened up and recovered a bit.
I got talking to a guy called Billy (I’d say around 28 years old) who was both interesting and entertaining. He managed to rip an apple in half, wow! Then he showed me how to do it… and then I did. Not too shabby really for a weed like me! (Granted it was on the 5th attempt but don’t steal my thunder ok!) We stood by the food as it got darker, (the sky, not the food you understand).
As we spoke I could hear a twang of guitar strings being tuned in the background. People gathered around the campfire and started singing songs. None of which I knew at this stage. “Cum bi are my lord, cum bi are” a-oh, this feels a little awkward. I gently move away from the inner circle of the fire, humming “someone is getting their coat, my lord, cum bi are” and move towards the food table with the idea of helping to clear up a bit. It turns out, that Billy has a similar outlook to me with the whole religious thing.
My religious beliefs: the quick a simple version. I don’t think you can say categorically there isn’t a god, because nobody knows everything about the universe. That said, I can’t see how anyone can say there definitely is. I am firmly on the fence with this one. I simply don’t know, but I am alright with not knowing. I do believe in community, respect, love and helping each other out. That’s it… oh and chocolate!
These are very nice, generous people who would (and have) gone out of their way to help someone and the last thing I wanted to do was offend anybody by not clapping along and singing by the fire. At eight o’clock it was getting cold and the festivities and fire were starting to die down. People were starting to say goodbye and leave. I thanked them for inviting me and hoped to see them again soon.
I had to get petrol for the car before I took it back in the morning so I went to the nearest “gas” station to fill up. Ok, the tank is nearly empty and it needs to be half full when I return the car in the morning. We have/had a Vauxhall Corsa at home and a full tank costs about £45 to fill up. £1.09 per liter when we left, here it is $2.27 per gallon which, let me see, about, er carry the 1, equates to, chu chu chu…pfft F*#%ed if I know! I’ll just stick $20 in and see how far I get. Ding ding ding. I this one is broke! It stops a $13. I turn the key to make the dashboard light up and quickly see I have filled it up to the top. This car has a bigger fuel capacity than the little Corsa and I have filled it up for $13! No wonder they leave the engines running.
Back to work tomorrow.
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