for writers' guild today - topic: life in marshall
I have spent the last two hours or so scrolling through the internet looking at people who wear corsets and bowler hats and brass-edged goggles out in public on a regular basis. I wonder how goggles would look propped up in my hair should I give in to the impulse and dye it to resemble a bush out of which a voice is expected. Were the world different I would even take my corseted self out with my wild hair and useless goggles to go grab a nummy latte at the local, most-awesome coffee shop. Yet here I sit, t-shirt and comfy pants, dark brown hair, and with bright red as a color for my tea kettle instead of hair.
I live in Marshall, Missouri. The location of my residence before heading to the Midwest was the oft-mentioned and little understood county of Orange in southern California. Before I go on I should point out that I did not usually wear a corset in public there, never have owned brass-rimmed goggles and.... well, ok I have had bright red hair and absolutely loved it. So my hair and I would go out to coffee shops and have a great time admittedly talking to no one or, more likely, listening to someone I didn’t like talk about something ridiculously inane.
And thusly comes the paradox of Marshall: I can’t do what all I want to here, but the people are much more interesting and sometimes even more emotionally stable. I should explain this a bit, I suppose.
While this town is ... defective for not having a single coffee shop in which two people can meet and chat about the best and worst in life, it is a more centered and balanced life than the one I left behind. Instead of spending forty-five minutes to an hour and a half driving to a stupid job that didn’t pay me a living wage, I now drive five minutes and can pay all of my bills. Instead of driving around for two hours to discover that every yarn store I attempt to find has slipped into the Bermuda Triangle of Google, I know that I need to just drive the hour to Columbia to find two or more excellent stores. Maybe with the distance that wasn’t the greatest example. What I can say, though, is that here I have a place. This is new to me what with all the moving growing up.
Granted this place isn’t always the most comfortable. Much of that has to do with my occupation, admittedly. Being the second female pastor in town while I’m not entirely sure what The Role of Pastor is anyhow keeps things decidedly weird and leaves me not knowing what is acceptable or not. Ok, so I’ve figured out that lava-hair probably won’t go down well, but I do not want to apologize for quietly declaring an expletive in an empty parking lot upon discovering, after a long and unsatisfying day, that I must go home to retrieve the cloth bags in order to simply buy some groceries. Pair this, however, with my very clean mouth around almost all people.
I walk two lines, and Marshall, in a way, represents those lines. What I barely admit, however, is that I’m not sure where I want or need to be on either of those lines. The state of my role in Marshall does not let them blend very well either. Too many people know me and know other people who know me and word gets out remarkably fast. Then again that whole being-the-representative-of-God-for-an-hour-every-Sunday doesn’t help my case for making frequent extremely off-color jokes or wearing pigtails, a hoodie and a t-shirt of questionable slogan to the store. I could pretend that I’m an enigma wrapped in a riddle surrounded by mystery, but I just prefer to think of myself as a moderately to high-functioning human.
Marshall has this straight-forward component as well. When looking for jobs I did Google Map searches for every location and was convinced that upon moving here I would need to buy satellite radio for nothing but fuzz would be available. Realizing that there are indeed radio stations and good ones to listen to does not lower my frustration at being forced to subject to The Mart of Wal. At least in Orange County I lived within walking distance of a Target.
But the people here pretty much really want to be here and have made it a multi-faceted environment. I miss organ recitals but go to the Marshall Philharmonic and Band concerts more frequently. Upon stating that I wished I could take a watercolor class, I have been informed that there are several artists in town with whom I should be in contact. And, really, who can beat pictures in the newspaper of high school students driving tractors to school? That’s just pure genius. I’ll commute for my Thai food and arugula, I suppose.
