burnt toast

Only occasionally do I experience moments in which Boulder actually seems like the Boulder I thought I was moving to. Two years ago, I pictured a small town, full of inhabitants that worshiped the earth, hugged trees, wore long skirts, and never wore bras or deodorant. And they do live here. But so do college students who litter the earth with beer bottles and cigarettes, wear very, very short skirts, and seem to only be wearing a bra. Surprisingly, there are three McDonalds, two Wendy's, two Taco Bells, and a lot of Starbucks. And a few times, I've witnessed hippies shopping at Target--even browsing the deodorant aisle. The idealized Boulder rarely manifests itself in a pure form. (Manifests is a word I started using only after I moved here.)

But tonight, I'm experiencing Boulder as I imagined it--exactly. I came to my favorite little coffee shop/ restaurant to work on a book I'm copyediting. (Of course, as usual, I'm procrastinating by writing this.) This little place is just a few blocks from my house. "Burnt Toast" is its name. In the mornings, they serve the most amazing homemade french toast you'll ever eat in your life. The building is at least 100 years old--exposed brick, wood floors, tall windows. None of the chairs match, and neither do the cloth napkins, the silverware, or the salt and pepper shakers. The baker is definitely insane, proven by his random 15-minute rambling explanation of why he used granulated sugar and not confectioners sugar in the piece of chocolate cake Jenna and I split last weekend. Also, the wait staff is usually very indifferent to customers--but in a cool kind of way, of course.

And tonight, I sit here drinking my coffee, picking at a brownie (the flavor of which has caused me to become tempted to ask the baker why he chose to use semi-sweetened chocolate over the other obvious choices), while listening to a hippie girl sing love songs to the "mother of creation" and "father of creation." She proclaims to them that she accepts their love. In between songs, she explains that the lyrics were channeled to her from God. Most of the audience consists of 28-year old women with long hair and long skirts. All of them smile and close their eyes as she sings about being a child of the earth. She encourages others to join her in mediation and invites them to come to her show next week. The music for that show, she says, will be more of a "devotional trance psychadelica" type of style. What this means, I'm not really sure. Afterwards, two men discuss playing the didgeridoo.

And I realize now that I am still incredibly intrigued by these people--by what draws them together, by their smiles and peaceful nature, and by their obvious love for one another and the earth. These are the true hippies--Boulder as I imagined it.

Also, I'm realizing how deceived I was in thinking that my move to this city was all about me teaching them something. True, I believe I do possess the knowledge of a hope, but now, more than ever, I know without a doubt that I can learn so much from them. I need to learn how to love more freely, smile more often, and pursue God more actively. They're good at these things. Really good. They may not do them the exact way that you or I would do them, but there's still a lot of wisdom there.