Friday, April 25, 2014

Blown

One of the best parts of growing up in a small town is all of the stories you can tell. You have a solid collection of familiar characters. You have a timeline of events that everyone knows about and remembers by heart. And then you have several key locations that resonate with anyone who grew up around you. Given those elements, it's not too hard to tell a good story.

A lot of classic stories about North Bend start or end at one location: The Pizza Place. Anyone who played baseball or soccer in the Valley will tell you about the end of year parties they celebrated in the side room. A table loaded with pizzas and several pitchers of your favorite soda, along with a trophy, were the rewards you got for the sweat and tears you sacrificed out at the Complex field. It was a big deal when my family headed to the Pizza Place for dinner. I have fond memories of the strange Chicago photos on the walls and the Andes mints we all got when they brought out the bill. Sometimes my mom wouldn't want her mint and I would get two.

In high school, I took my first big job as a cook there. Even though I could now eat as many Andes mints as I wanted, it was tough at first. I spent many school nights and weekends scrubbing dried pizza sauce off dishes that just kept coming and coming. Most of my Friday nights were wasted waiting for late dinner parties to finish their food and beer so we could close. The sound of the receipt machine printing out several orders at a time on a busy Saturday night still gives me nightmares. But the stories are endless. It was there I learned many key lessons about responsibility and reliability. It was there I first learned how to work hard to perfect a skill. And it was there that I fell in love with pizza.

I worked at the Pizza Place through high school and even during breaks in college. I eventually parted ways for good, but in the end I had so many good stories. The restaurant closed down a few years back, and nothing really happened to the building. Every time I drive by while visiting, I look up at the Pizza Place sign that still advertises some deal we had on pizzas a long time ago. It always brings me back.

Recently, someone finally bought the place and was remodeling it to open up a new restaurant. But early this morning, a massive explosion destroyed the building and all those surrounding it. The photos are heartbreaking. The Pizza Place was an important setting for many great narratives, but now it's just a pile of debris. The explosion shot debris about three blocks in each direction and flattened just about everything. It woke up almost everyone in town. But despite the force of the blast, there's one thing still standing: that Pizza Place sign. Maybe they should leave it up as a reminder of what used to be and what still lives in the hearts of everyone in the community: a great story.





Wednesday, April 16, 2014

April


"Tomorrow is April." Many people reading this blog already know this phrase we used all the time back in Florence. The program ended in April, and saying it reminded us that time would slip away far too quickly. We needed to make the most of every moment because before we knew it, it would be April. It would be over.

The motto dictated a lot of the choices we made.

In October 2006, I debated booking a last-minute ticket to Rome to watch the Italian national team play in a friendly against Sweden. It was awfully expensive, and I was on a budget. But tomorrow is April. 

During midterms, I remember sitting in my room preparing for an upcoming exam. Some friends asked if I wanted to join them at the Triangle Bridge across from the Ponte Vecchio to drink some wine. I still had some studying to do. But tomorrow is April. 

In February, we finally walked into the fancy suit shop we had been eyeing all year. The Italian tailor excitedly fitted us with our "perfect suits," urging us to make the purchase. My mom will kill me for spending this much money on clothing, I told her. But tomorrow is April. 

On March 31, 2007, a huge group of us had a party in Piazza Santa Maria Novella. We ordered a giant cask of wine and celebrated the night away. Tomorrow was literally April. People were dancing in the streets, even jumping in the fountain. I didn't understand all the happiness. I had dreaded this moment all year, and now it was here. The next morning I woke up, hoping it wasn't true, but my watch confirmed it: 4/1/07. April was today. It was over.

But the strangest thing happened. The world didn't turn dark. The joy didn't expire. Even when I departed Europe later that month and returned to the U.S., the party continued. Sure, I missed Florence deeply, but the adventures, friendships, and beauty were still just as present as ever before.


This past Monday, I headed up to Mokuleia with some friends to catch the sunset and then watch the lunar eclipse. Out at Ka'ena Point, we watched giant albatross hover in the wind above us. Less than 100 yards out to sea, a couple humpback whales dove down, their huge tails breaking above the surface. The sun gave way to the stars, and then the moon.

Bright at first, a shadow started to overtake it, and the moon got smaller and smaller. At about 9 p.m., only a sliver of light remained. You could almost see the sun fighting to shine its last, dwindling light. It made me think about my time here in Hawaii. Within a few minutes, the last of the light disappeared.

But instead of vanishing, the moon turned a captivating shade of red. The stars grew brighter than ever before. I saw a shooting star flash over the ocean. Instead of darkness, the eclipse brought new light.

I never should have dreaded April. I won't dread July. I carry all the good things with me wherever I go. Love, joy, and wonder don't have an expiration date.