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Thursday, April 5

that vision thing

When the young couple decided to start a bakery in the old building they bought on the edge of a pretty tough neighborhood, I was skeptical. They weren't alone. There were others who saw promise in the beautiful historic block and started a garden shop next door. Another bought a whole corner and has been slowly and surely rehabbing. A little park blossomed. "Extreme Makeover" came to town. The neighborhood became interesting.

The bakery offers a breakfast of toast. Their artisan breads with jam, or gouda with apples, or hard boiled eggs and gruyere. The facade is a grid of windows that pull in the sun. The tables are mismatched but beautifully worn. They have life in them.

Russell and I sat in a sunbeam, drinking coffee and eating toast. Outside, kids scurried to catch a school bus. An older woman walked a dog. We passed poetry back and forth from the magazines that were stacked along the wall. "look at this" "I love this one". The little brass Indian bells on the door tinkled gently whenever someone came in or went out.

It made me think of a Rumer song I have been listening to. She sings of all the ordinary life around here.The refrain is "I'm alive and I'm thankful for this time". Beautiful.

Maybe it is the privilege of the young to scoff at preconceived notions, to go fearlessly into challenge, ignoring the warning signs. Seeing only opportunity.

I thought of my little art business and how loathe I am to step even an inch off of my comfortable perch and try something new. And then when I do, it energizes me and brings such pleasure. You would think that it would encourage me to leap. Nah.

It's that vision thing. And that courage thing.

I'm starting to build my schedule for the coming season. I want it to be fresh and interesting. I want to have vision.

It's like the little Indian bells were a wake up call.