The morning dawned like every other morning in Elkhart, Indiana. The sun peeked through the heavy taupe blinds of the Sleep Inn, and we trooped across the parking lot to our neighborhood Cracker Barrel for breakfast. Can I just take a moment here to officially endorse Cracker Barrel, and say that I freaking love it? Yes, the pecan pancakes, scrambled eggs and turkey sausage are all delicious, but more than that, there's such a comfortable, homey vibe. I love all the faux-farm decor, from the Farmer's Magazine posters to the rusty old eggbeaters stuck on the walls. I love the sage green walls and gingham curtains. I love how it's always full of ancient couples on dates, and how the waitresses always ask where we're from and fill up my diet coke before I even ask for it. And keeping pace with my rate of consumption is no mean feat. Ah, good times.
But you can't stay in the Cracker Barrel forever, and we went next to Goodwill, then to the Big K. In the checkout line at the Big K I realized we had just done...EXACTLY WHAT WE DID YESTERDAY. I kind of started to tweak out a little. I felt sort of trapped. Trapped by the Big K, trapped by Indiana, trapped by the tour, by the endless cycle of Sleep Inns and Comfort Inns and Quality Inns.
So I decided to run away. Not literally - I didn't pack up my leopard print Betsey Johnson tote and hitch a ride on the first pickup headed the hell out of this godforsaken town. I went jogging. Like outside. In the air. Which is really unusual - usually I can only perform any sort of exercise if it's in a frigidly air-conditioned gym while watching Lifetime, reading Cosmo, and blasting Miley Cyrus on the ipod (yes, I need a lot of distractions to keep my mind off the fact that I'm exerting myself.) But the minute I headed away away away, I felt so much better. And, as per usual, I had judged this latest state too harshly as well.
Once I was away from the strip, it was actually really beautiful. Sunny, beautiful blue skys, a gentle breeze blew the orange autumn leaves across my path. I crossed a lazy river, rounded the bend, and took off past farms and endless fields behind white fences. And totally unexpectly, behind one cute white fence just like all the others, there was something magical: a miniature horse and donkey farm.
Miniature horses are not ponies, or foals (baby horses.) They're even smaller than both, just completely grown up little fat horses about as tall as your waist. They are absolutely adorable, and one of my favorite things in the entire world. I couldn't believe it. It was some kind of sign. Or metaphor. Like even in the midst of something as horrible as Elkhart, Indiana, there was beauty. Wonder. Fourteen fluffy nuzzly wonderponies. I leaned over the fence, and they trotted over on their cute little legs, and nuzzled my hands as the sun started to set over the old red barn.
At the risk of sounding trite, it was sort of a profound moment...I wish I had some kind of witty turn of phrase to express it, but I don't really. I'd just had a terrible week - let's just say that in the grand tradition of all theatre troupes drama begets drama, and I was starting to hit the I'm-homesick-and-I-miss-my-friends-and-I-want-to-eat-thai-food-and-wear-heels wall, and then boom, there it was - salvation in the form of mini-horses.
Like I said, beauty can be found in the most unexpected of places. Even in Elkhart, Indiana.
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1 comment:
You really are a great writer. And I say let's find some Thai food soon--I love it as well!
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