I'm Back... and ready to go, Saturday November 5, 2011...Hours for Interstate Tire, on Saturday, are 8 to 12 noon, sharp. We got here before eight and already there were several cars in line ahead of us. Soon enough the morning sun had peeked over the hill and shone straight into the waiting room windows. The frost is burning off except for places still in the shadows, like behind the signs, bushes and trees. The air is crisp and clean no pollution here, in rural New England. The shop is still on the fringes of civilization; near the Connecticut River and across the river from White River Junction. This side is West Lebanon, NH. The historical district of West Lebanon, which I always think is mispronounced, is still small and quaint; with its old buildings along Main Street. Businesses along the street level and apartments above. I resolved when my children were young never to get an apartment here, there would have been no place for my children to play.
The tiles here on the floor are nice, they are a mottles brown with lighter tans in it. The grout is an off white tan color. The molding around the ceiling and doors are what I affectionately call Welfare Brown, and the walls a lighter blend of the same color.The windows here look like they have used for some sort of target practice. Not bullets assuredly, but probably rocks or something.
A couple of women are discussing some sort of teams and one of them repeats the phrase Team Gary and Larry several times, it stuck in my head. People come in knowing what they want, knowing that they need winter tires but not knowing the time frame here. I always come to these sorts of places with a crochet project, a book or better yet a notebook and pen, like today. I would read but already I feel my eyes wavering and trying to close. One cup of coffee was definitely not enough, we will get more at breakfast, which is where we are going after this.
I love watching the traffic drive by; seeing the diversity of people, most of whom are squinting as they drive up the hill into the sun. The colorful flags or pennants hanging from the building set off the showroom tires, displayed in the windows; more than one of them broken or cracked in some manner. The shiny new tires never have touched the asphalt. There are fine little nubs of rubber sticking out of each, like hair, caused by the molding process I expect. A lone Pepsi machine offering your choice of cold beverages graces an alcove set between two windows where you can watch the hard working mechanics as they change your tires. Advertisements pepper the walls, trying to up-sell and remind you how and what you should have done to your car. A rack of magazines hold a diverse array of periodicals, suited to the diversity of customers. A Mormon preacher studies his bible, while a couple with three cars discuss how the two of them will jockey the three cars to reach home.
Finally, we are finished and are off to Friendly's for breakfast. Two Frenchman, Canadians I am sure, are speaking to each other at a table off to my left. It makes me wish I had learned more French in High School. I can catch a word here and there, Maison - home, is one I remember, Pourquoi pas? - why not is another one. However, I do wish I were fluent in French. The ceiling in here is an old appearance with few sparkling white tiles where something happened and one had to be replaced. I sit with my back to the traffic which is more exciting then the view from the windows of Interstate Tire was. All three of us, Mom, Dad and I ordered omelets, them ham and cheese and I a western. Near where the ice cream case sits there are several balloons, pink, baby blue and yellow. The colors look good together. There is a group of three behind me, and the father and daughter have loud unrestrained voices, but from the look on my Mom's face, the mother is looking at her apologetically.
After breakfast, we went to staples and then to the airport. A tradition that began when us kids were little; before they installed picnic tables and garbage cans and continuing now that we have all grown up and mostly moved away. I am now old enough to appreciated being able to get away from the hustle and bustle of the Town, and enjoy the relative quiet of the airport. Other families bring their children here too, to eat their lunch, or just to watch and marvel at the small planes taking off. After this we drive home and my Father, Mother and I put up a fence to keep the chihuahuas in a specified area this winter. It is fun to work with my dad, helping him with anything he feels needs doing. Towards the end of the fence it was getting a little chilly and my hands were cold, but it was fun and I felt like I had accomplished something.