The Dauntless Princess

Something Old

Posted on January 30, 2015

I’d been asking locals on the south side of Indianapolis where to go antique shopping. Midlands Antique Mall, they said, is a four-story building and you’ll love it! So early this morning I set my GPS and drove off.

“Exit 111 on Washington Street,” my GPS instructed, and so I veered off the highway. This wasn’t the kind of place you’d want to be on foot. Old brick buildings painted with graffiti. Broken windows. Skulking pedestrians. The rough pavement and almost empty streets gave me the feeling I was one of the only souls brave enough for this jungle, especially at 10:00 a.m.

“Your destination is on the left,” the GPS informed me, pointing down an alley between two huge factory buildings. Shaking my head, but determined to at least see my destination, I turned into the alley.

At the end of the alley stood a massive four-story building, and I knew without a doubt: this was Midlands Antiques! But… This was nothing like I imagined it! The building was an abandoned factory, complete with rusted loading docks on one end and a huge tangle of vines on the other. I couldn’t see another living soul anywhere. There were exactly two cars in the expansive parking lot.

Well, the internet had said Midlands Antiques opens at 10:00, and it was that time now. So I parked my car, glanced all around for muggers and thug-type people, and looked for an entrance.

Neither of the front doors looked like they’d open, but the one covered with a resolute iron grate had a sign which said “please use other door” so I pulled it open… And walked into wonderland.

No offense to adorable Southport, but I could tell I’d finally found where serious antiques came to live. These pieces had been carefully valued, selected and traded… And there were four stories in this building. I started giggling.

In the end, I limited myself to one small purchase: a letter-opener for my collection. About nine inches long, gorgeous engraving on the handle, shaped like a miniature sword, I’d fallen in love right away. The effervescent Greg, at the counter wrapping it, sassed me: “All these amazing things, and you just take home one little letter opener?”

I grinned at him. “Oh, I’ll be back,” I said.

I’ll call it paradise so that when I say, “I’m going to paradise again” everyone knows exactly where I’ll be: time traveling through relics of bygone decades.

A New, Slimy Friend… Meet Roger!

Posted on January 26, 2015

I watched the rainfall from my window. Another cold, rainy afternoon with me indoors yawning. Then I heard a knock on my door. Mail!

It was a small yellow envelope. I thought it was for another occupant of my house, but when I saw the handwriting on the outside of the package, I knew. This was an ambassador from the magical kingdom of gastropods. Roger had arrived.

I tore open the package quickly. “Hello! Welcome!” I said.

Roger climbed out slowly. He was almost the size of my hand with a smooth brown shell and undulating, slimy flesh. The large eyes regarded me from the end of the stalks on his head. “Red isn’t your color,” he said.

Ah yes. The famous social graces of snails. Anyone who’s ever talked to a snail knows: they’re crotchety. But I didn’t ask this slow-moving creature here because he makes me feel good about myself; I asked him here because gastropods are wise and give good advice. Better than Google Maps on its good days.

“Are you hungry?” I asked.

“Yes. Terrible journey. Take me outside, put me down on the nearest fallen log. And carry me, this shell is heavier than it looks.”

I fetched my umbrella and we went out to the nearest fallen log, a nice rotted one. Roger almost sighed with contentment but caught himself. “I almost didn’t come,” he said to me, digging in to the nearest organic matter.

“How come?” I asked.

“I forgot my magnifying glass and my pocket-watch. That watch is the only timepiece I trust. My great-grandfather made it!”

I opened my mouth to wonder why he didn’t trust satellites, but changed my mind.

“Anyway,” Roger went on, “that Prince of yours found me wandering Atlanta looking for the nearest post office drop-box and someone to help me with the envelope. It’s not easy downtown, for a snail.”

He chewed thoughtfully on a bit of moss, then spit it out. “Gross. Always try it, never like it. So your Prince fellow got me all packaged off.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here!” I said. “I’m honored.”

“Hm,” he said. “I’m overdue for another nap. I’ll see you tomorrow, or maybe the next day. Don’t wake me.”

And with that, he crawled inside his shell.

I could send him back. But as snails go, he is on the personable side. The last one I had, Richard, didn’t talk about anything but food… Snail food.

Roger will like it here with me. I’m happy to have such a small, wise companion. Making sure he doesn’t insult someone who’s never met a snail… Well, that’s a different story.

The Art of Asking

Posted on January 21, 2015

The sun hadn’t been up for long when I wandered into Hobby Lobby today. I wasn’t there on a particular mission; I’d just never really examined the insides of a Hobby Lobby before. Being a consummate shopping princess, I believe in knowing sources from which all things may be obtained. (Just in case, say, my life depends on a scavenger hunt someday.)

I was loitering in aisle 18 when a lady pushed a buggy up beside me and addressed me. “Do you like to do arts and crafts?” She had brown hair, short and curly. Her shopping cart was full of small A-frame chalkboards.

“Sometimes,” I answered truthfully. “What are you looking for?”

She rolled her eyes. “You can never find anyone to help you in this place! I just want some erasable pen I can use on these signs.”

I had no idea. “Have you tried over in artist supplies?” I asked, and could tell by the dazed look the threw in the direction I was pointing: she had no idea either. “I’ll show you,” I said, and so we started walking together.

“I’m new here,” I said, and that started loose a flood of conversation. Had I been here? Had I been there? By the time we’d reached the calligraphy pens and paintbrushes, we were laughing like there was no age difference, no agenda, and no hurry in the world.

Finally, she found what she needed. It was past time for me to run my next errand. “It was so nice meeting you. I’m Bethany,” I said, extending a hand.

“I’m Susan,” she said. “Oh, and while you’re in town, make sure you shop at Kroger. I own fifty of them, located all over the state.”

Really?

I had to stop for a moment and respect the vast amount of energy this woman had. Also, and more importantly, I had to respect that she was someone who would ask a stranger for help finding something in Hobby Lobby.

It wasn’t that she was inept or incompetent: she knew that when you aren’t getting anywhere, you stop and talk to someone. Even a perfect stranger will do. Sometimes you get more helpful strangers… sometimes less. But you always make a new acquaintance, and usually you help the other person feel involved and essential.

Leaders aren’t always the ones helping other people. They’re also the ones asking. It’s an art of getting things done AND drawing people in… It’s the art of asking questions of strangers.

Ladies and Gentlemen, Welcome to……

Posted on January 16, 2015

I’m in Indianapolis.

My alarm rang at 4:15 a.m. and it felt like I’d barely closed my eyes. Time to go already? Yes it was! My first big flight of the year departed at 7:33 for INDIANAPOLIS!!

The next few hours were a flurry of coffee, packing, more coffee, and goodbyes to my host family… I’d miss them. The Prince, who valiantly rose with me at four o’clock to drive me to the airport, helped put my suitcases in the car and we were off.

“I’ve never seen traffic on 75 look so sexy,” the Prince remarked as we raced down the highway. The road was practically empty. Unlike New York, Atlanta does sometimes sleep. When it does, that’s when you want to be catching a flight out.

I left the Prince with a quick hug and prayer at security, trusting that time apart will fly as fast as the jet I’m leaving on. As Winnie-the-Pooh said, it’s a wonderful thing to have people so special you feel sad about leaving them. Farewell, Georgia.

Time was ticking, and I made it to the gate just as boarding began. Everyone stood docile in line, disinterested and half-awake. On the plane, my seat was taken by someone with the same seat number. We fought to the death and I came out triumphant… Actually, I waited politely and the stewardess found me a window seat: my favorite! The middle seat beside it was open, too. I opened the window to see the wing and immediately felt the joy of being on a plane going somewhere new. I was here! It was happening! The pilot taxied onto the runway and we pulled up, up, up through the dismal January day to the beautiful sunshine above us. As far as the eye could see, brilliant blue sky and puffy clouds stretched. It was a perfect flight to start off the year and before I knew it, the pilot was announcing, “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Indianapolis.”

The fields stretch wide south of Indianapolis; even though I’m only minutes from downtown, there’s still a small-town feel in the air. It’s like my hometown in Georgia, but a flatter landscape. There’s so much to experience! I’m going to enjoy being here.

What a wonderful adventure… What a wonderful LIFE.

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