You know the feeling of being on the road, thinking snackage.
Crossing Maine, even at 75 miles per hour on the Interstate 95 system takes time to cover ground. Hungry, stopped at a gas station to fuel up the whatever you drive has to happen. The wheel you twist, turn. Iron you push up and down the highway. No restaurant options in many parts of our rural state. And thinking just stay on task. Get back on the road but still gee, I’m hungry.
Partly out of boredom. Not really starving.
Or half crazed thinking about eating a horse. But also because the clock says it’s here. The three sided triangle hanging on the porch of the Maine farm house kitchen is mentally ringing louder and louder.
Answer the call. The magic slot of the three or more opportunities in a day to strap, slide on the feedbag has arrived as if you were home. Not moving, becoming velocitized.
Something solid to go with all that coffee, energy, juice, soft drinks or just good old bottled something wet water you swill down.
You scan the C store glass wall to wall with door handles. Just barely off the Interstate exchange in pretty much the middle of nowhere. Podunk, Maine USA. MMMmmmmmm, saran wrapped or rigid plastic see through container pre-made sandwiches. Not like Mom, Grammy made. The morgue like lighting eerily cast on the dining selection makes your stomach queasy, uneasy. How many days ago were they assembled?
Don’t do it says one of the voices in your head. The one fatigued from traveling and just wanting to get home. But a snack, to eat on the run. Revolutions of the noggin on your neck shows no apples, bananas, or anything fresh. Dried out pizza slices on a carousel, hots dogs rolling for days on warming station stainless steel cylinders under the sneeze guard. Life is like that too in other ways.
What you snack, graze on and put into your system.
Not just open wide and down the gullet. But what is fed into your senses. Is it a current, fresh, real, raw and in the moment experience? Just plucked off the vine and succulent? Or pretty much like high quality vending machine food? Looks like food, tastes like cardboard, straw, nothing. Without a lot of dipping sauce.
Ordered up because not so handstand happy about it. But all there is for dining options, fast food, on the run. Maybe living in gentile poverty clears the table to prepare for the feast of life in other ways.
Maine is all about slow food. Take your time.
Quality experiences with home grown, all natural and take your time preparing it. Savoring it, enjoying it fully. Eating with an easy does it mindset. Slow down. The simpler living approach to life means being, staying in the moment. Being grateful for what you have and not lamenting what you don’t. Making the most with what is around you and not living life with an “if” attached. That involves something missing, but not needed anyway.
Maine is not “I’ll be happy if, when” this or that takes place.
That is in the future. Robs today and may not pan out like you wished for or hoped. Delayed, put off is not smelling today’s roses. Or just plain in season Maine wild flowers. The lupines, brown eyed susans, forget me nots. All arranged outdoors sans vase, four walls by Mother Nature. For a limited time that cycles in four seasons. But requires focusing on today. Or miss the Maine slide show.
Lop off that “if”. Just shorten it to “I’ll be happy.”. “I am happy”. Or without words, thoughts, just smile and radiate an inner joy. That telegraphs to man and animals around you this cat is content, at peace, in Maine. Get here quickly. Don’t you hear her calling your name? Don’t stand her up, keep her waiting.