Weird Cracker Barrel Nostalgia
(Day Thirty)
I woke up early this morning to make it to Cracker Barrel for a coworker's farewell breakfast. We're in the middle of that transition from winter to spring, where the temperatures are still low but the sun being out makes it feel like summer's a possibility. Somehow 27 degrees feels a little warmer than it did three weeks ago.
I felt funny walking from my car to the restaurant. Cracker Barrel incites strange emotions in me -- in the parking lot I suddenly felt like a teenager again, getting off the bus during a band trip, happy to stretch my legs and still feeling the novelty of being in a different state without my parents. I walked up the stairs and past the rocking chairs on the porch, taking note of the antique-looking metal signs in the windows, and then my brain shifted from high school band trips to family vacations with my grandparents. Stepping between the displays in the store made me think of my grandma and how she always thought I needed those bright yellow and green shirts with embroidered flowers and watering cans on them.
Then I walked past the fire in the dining room, starting towards my friends near the windows, but the smell of the cinders and smoke made me falter in my steps. I suddenly missed my grandpa so much, missed him with a solid ache that made me want to turn aside and abandon my friends in favor of sitting by myself by the fire. My grandpa's still here -- I saw him on Saturday -- but the longing to be twelve again overwhelmed me, to be eating pancakes and watching him play the peg game Cracker Barrel keeps on each table, or to be outside stacking up wood as he shows my brothers and I how to light kindling. It was like the passage of time was too much to handle in that moment. Was I where I was supposed to be? It didn't feel like it. Shouldn't I be with my family?
I sat there, making small talk and eating my french toast, and the feeling eventually went away. I went to work, had my meetings, worked on my projects. And now I'm home by myself, Clyde sleeping next to me. But I can't shake this feeling today that something is off. Maybe I need to stay away from Cracker Barrels in the future. Maybe I just need some time with my grandparents at the lake. There are some cracks in the soul that only time at home can fix, some moments where you need home to reorient yourself in your life. I think maybe my weird brain was telling me I need to go home, that all this thinking lately about happiness and the future maybe just needs to be put aside for some fresh air, some stories from my grandpa, and some time away from life.
So I'm not crazy, guys, I swear. But maybe Cracker Barrel is operating as my therapist. Or maybe just all this mopey writing this week is turning me emo. Either way. Writers are supposed to be emo, so it's okay.
I woke up early this morning to make it to Cracker Barrel for a coworker's farewell breakfast. We're in the middle of that transition from winter to spring, where the temperatures are still low but the sun being out makes it feel like summer's a possibility. Somehow 27 degrees feels a little warmer than it did three weeks ago.
I felt funny walking from my car to the restaurant. Cracker Barrel incites strange emotions in me -- in the parking lot I suddenly felt like a teenager again, getting off the bus during a band trip, happy to stretch my legs and still feeling the novelty of being in a different state without my parents. I walked up the stairs and past the rocking chairs on the porch, taking note of the antique-looking metal signs in the windows, and then my brain shifted from high school band trips to family vacations with my grandparents. Stepping between the displays in the store made me think of my grandma and how she always thought I needed those bright yellow and green shirts with embroidered flowers and watering cans on them.
Then I walked past the fire in the dining room, starting towards my friends near the windows, but the smell of the cinders and smoke made me falter in my steps. I suddenly missed my grandpa so much, missed him with a solid ache that made me want to turn aside and abandon my friends in favor of sitting by myself by the fire. My grandpa's still here -- I saw him on Saturday -- but the longing to be twelve again overwhelmed me, to be eating pancakes and watching him play the peg game Cracker Barrel keeps on each table, or to be outside stacking up wood as he shows my brothers and I how to light kindling. It was like the passage of time was too much to handle in that moment. Was I where I was supposed to be? It didn't feel like it. Shouldn't I be with my family?
I sat there, making small talk and eating my french toast, and the feeling eventually went away. I went to work, had my meetings, worked on my projects. And now I'm home by myself, Clyde sleeping next to me. But I can't shake this feeling today that something is off. Maybe I need to stay away from Cracker Barrels in the future. Maybe I just need some time with my grandparents at the lake. There are some cracks in the soul that only time at home can fix, some moments where you need home to reorient yourself in your life. I think maybe my weird brain was telling me I need to go home, that all this thinking lately about happiness and the future maybe just needs to be put aside for some fresh air, some stories from my grandpa, and some time away from life.
So I'm not crazy, guys, I swear. But maybe Cracker Barrel is operating as my therapist. Or maybe just all this mopey writing this week is turning me emo. Either way. Writers are supposed to be emo, so it's okay.