I live in what most people know as a laid back hippie slacker town. Some call it a city, and in many ways it is a city, it feels like a town to me.
The truth is, there is a hint of patchouli in the air when the wind blows, but I have yet to meet a slacker. Most people work very hard for what they love. They work during the week on their paintings, jewelry, dog snuggies, and poi sticks.
The weekend comes and they have to (with their permits attained) pack all the goods so nothing gets damaged and figure out which place is the best to try and sell their wares. Some markets are good for some weekends, sometimes they drive hours for others. Does not sound like a slacker to me.
The other day at the grocery store while in line, I looked through the contents of the person in front of my basket. Oh come on you all do it. And you end up feeling superior, inferior, indifferent, or as if you found your soul mate buying bulk millet.
As I looked I saw all organic locally grown vegetables I had never even heard of. My girl friend and I have recently started juicing (note to self do not let girlfriend watch any more documentaries with me, or I will be packing for Mount Everest).
We have not been militant since day one and made an agreement not to proselytize what we are doing. No matter what. Even if I drop 100lbs in three days and am able to walk on wire between the UT Tower and the Coop (girlfriend has not seen that one yet), I would not brag of juicing.
Juicing has been going well. There are days I look at the expensive blender and want to throw it crashing out the window while I eat a Snickers bar.
Mmmmm Snickers.
I have been guilty of doing the occassional McFast Food. I have a 14 yer old that needs to eat and it is really hard to cook when juicing (even more so when you actually hate cooking).
I started taking my daughter to Starbucks. It's liquid, it must still count, and a Grande Mocha peppermint whatever has to be better for you than mcFast Food.
All this went through my mind as I perused the contents of the basket in front of me. Then I looked at the woman.
She fit the contents. Lean, Yoga mat in cool Indian case, slight sweat indicates it must have been Bikram yoga. Her hair slightly long and held back in a hemp headband. Her shoes, expensive, but okay because the company donates a pair for every one you buy. He tee shirt had an OM on it,
I was sure all her chakras were perfectly aligned, and she truly believed kale tasted good and not like the contents of my dirt devil.
Then I saw her face. She was not smiling. She looked unhappy, unaligned. I wondered if she was just in a hurry or if she needed a McFast Burger.
I loaded my groceries on the conveyor belt, she looked and smiled. Many were the same, because, well, I am juicing. She smiled as if I too were one with the kale. I smiled back and broke the bond when I loaded the tub of prefab potato salad my daughter loves to eat.
Bond broken.
We are a no bag city now, and usually I forget my bags, this time I had them. I was quick to follow Miss Chakra out to the parking lot and saw her get into her mini cooper. It made me miss my Suburban.
Then I saw it. She smiled. She exhaled and smoke came out of her mouth. She was lighting a cigarette! Granted it was one of the all natural ones that supposedly has no tar or sugar or the fun stuff I like in mine. But she was smoking!
It was her version of the McFast Smoke.
She was gloriously happy and I could not help but smile as I loaded my groceries knowing I found a friend in this hippie slacker town where it is sometimes so hard to be perfect.
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