Yarn Shop Tale # 2

      ~ Something I have learned since moving here...  The more I think I know, the less I realize I do.  I thought I was open minded about different cultures since I grew up in the Chicago area. The last two weeks have shown me, I am incredibly narrow-minded, as well as spoiled...  - Sybil's journal ...


    The town of Peaks ville had a population of about two thousand.  Set in the Pacific Northwest, it was made up of mostly lumberjacks, part farmers of grain and cattle, and another part, organic flee to the mountains type citizens.  There was an Native American Reservation on the outskirts of town that remained small since the beginning of its history.  A broad, curving river flowed through the north end of the small town.  The river provided entertainment for boaters and fishermen alike, but seasonally, since spring through summer the snow melt from the mountains filled it once again.

Ben and Sybil Brody owned a newly, acquired, family restaurant on Main Street; a block from the Yarn Shop and catty cornered from the Pawn Shop.  They had arrived in town two weeks prior and had been working at fixing up the restaurant Ben's Uncle, Brock, left to them in his will.  Brock passed away suddenly, one weekend after dinner hours, the month before.  When they had received the news, Ben held a high paying job, in the Chicago area, working as chef in a famous restaurant called, "The Rock".  In two weeks time they made the decision to move across the country and start their own business doing what Ben already knew how to do.  They had been wanting a change of pace, a different experience, and more adventure.  Being married a few short years, they had no real ties keeping them bound to the same area all their life.  Both, having been brought up in wealthy, good homes, they had the money and education for whatever adventure they wanted to pursue.

 Ben believed there was a God, but had lived a successful life thus far without spending a lot of time thinking about that side of things. Sybil was a little more resentful of Christians in general.  In her opinion, they said one thing and lived another.  The few she knew in college were pushy and opinionated; cloaked in being kind and loving. She and Ben, were good people with high morals.  They seemed to get along better than most couples that claimed to have a better way; both felt comfortable leaving religion out of the picture all together.  The common virtues were important to them, like: honesty, kindness, and good manners, but they were adverse to mixing it with a group of believers of any set order.

Moving into the apartment, a floor above the restaurant, had been quite a shock on Sybil's orderly, pampered life.  They worked frantically at cleaning and painting, enough to make it livable; and planned to open for business on Monday morning.

Sunday, before opening, Ben and Sybil slept late into the morning.  When the sunlight hit their bedroom through the skylight above, they were both awakened at the same time.  The two weeks of grueling, hard work had given them deep slumber as payback.

Ben groaned as he raised his head to look at the alarm clock. Ten a.m. Sybil snuggled deeper into her pillow trying to shut the world out.  "Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," Ben lightly tugged on her hair. "I'll make you my famous egg omelet."  There was no response.  He tried again.  "coffee?"  One eye opened.  "with cream?"  Both eyes now.  Ben's grin was rakish and his curly, dark hair unruly.  Sybil wanted to clobber him, but didn't have the energy.

As Ben prepared the promised omelets and coffee, Sybil sat at the kitchen bar watching him and trying to wake up.  Everywhere she looked, there was more work staring her in the face.  Boxes still lined the walls.  They had managed only, at unpacking the few essentials needed for fixing up the restaurant; putting off their living quarters till they were up and running.

"So, what do you think of the new name for the restaurant?"  Ben asked as he deftly capped a few, red strawberries; arranging them on the plate next to her steaming, hot omelet.  Uncle Brock, had previously called his little establishment "The Peaks ville Diner".  Ben took the sign down three days after arriving in town and repainted it to say simply, "The Peak".

' I don't know," Sybil admitted.  '"Everything so far, with this adventure, has been a big surprise.  Maybe it'll change the atmosphere."

"What's your dig about the atmosphere?"  Ben prodded.  "I'm kinda getting a kick out of the laid back approach to class and culture as we know it.."  He always went overly positive when Sybil was feeling insecure.  It seemed like he felt he could change her opinion if he was confident and upbeat in uncomfortable situations.

Sybil thought about it awhile before answering.  She really didn't know what her insecurities were about.  Maybe a combination of the work of the past two weeks and then not having time to make the apartment homey yet.  "Have you met Doreen and Dale Olsen from the Pawn shop?"  This was the response that finally formed after a few minutes of introspection.

Ben's face cracked with amusement. "You liked that kind of culture did you?"  He was grinning wickedly now and Sybil knew was trying to help her lighten up.

Sybil, was truly confused by her own attitude, having prided herself in her ability to accept new ways and different kinds of people. She had carefully saturated herself with what she deemed "culture" by listening to a broad variety of music and reading poetry old and modern.  In choosing the arts for her career path, she was familiar with all things "artistic" yet, in all her learning and acceptance of the many different forms of art, she had never encountered a person like Doreen Olsen.

A big, red headed woman had pounded on the locked restaurant door one afternoon during renovations.  She had a casserole dish in both hands, and was using her head to signal, "Open the door,"  Sybil wondered how one person could make all that noise with both hands full.  When she finally got the door unlocked and opened, the woman breezed through the the doorway uninvited.

" I thought you kids could use some nourishment; so I made you a Shepherds Pie, my special recipe.  Your Uncle Brock used to love this stuff.  Don't worry about the dish; I'll pick it up someday when I come in for lunch, after you open."  Frizzy, red hair moved while the lady talked.  "Names Doreen,"  she continued, "We loved your Uncle Brock.  Feels real terrible having him gone."  She batted a few tears from her eyes.  "My Dale and  Brock used to get together most every Saturday night after closing and play rook in back of the Pawn Shop. Sure do miss him.  When you kids planning to open?"

All Doreen's sentences ran together and Sybil didn't have time to answer before Doreen plowed on to the next.  Ben had taken over the conversation that day, by taking the casserole to the kitchen and returning to stand with Sybil.  He had answered the most obvious questions and eventually, saw Doreen to the door.  It had taken Sybil a full ten minutes of scrubbing tables, chairs, and booths to calm down; her mind was whirling with a loud boisterous voice and visions of big, red hair bobbing up and down.

"Any Shepherds Pie left?"  Ben dryly asked, interrupting Sybil's train of thought.

 "No," Sybil answered "You know we ate every bit of it on the spot."  They had too and had discussed how good it tasted.  The conversation from that point turned to comfort foods and the menu Uncle Brock had used, which one they were planning to use, and if the two different worlds would mesh with their new revised version.

                                                                                 Too be continued...