Two Carpenters

Wish we'se sitting up in that Blue Bird. Mimicking country talk part of our patter. Thirty-six-degree January framing houses up around Trafton. Justin, my older brother by two years wearing Filson tin-cloth jacket, red felt crusher hat, denim, and wool; me in old school Hally Hansen bibs, Extra Tough boots ball cap.  Chilly damp weather makes a guy think about the comforts of life along main street back in town.

Aha,  The Blue Bird.  Cheeky waitress pours hot coffee, should I have chicken fried steak and potatoes or burger and fries. Window to the street fogged, rainy day lunchtime crowd. Me and Justin had our cold sandwiches relaxing on nail kegs on the job site.   

Something about a small-town main street cafe captivated our imaginations far beyond the blue plate special and restaurant wear coffee mugs. Heart of the community. Friends greet, colleagues compare notes, competitors keep an eye on one other.  Sizzle on the grill back in the kitchen, milkshake blender roars, coffee steams on the Silex, Bakelite dice rattle muffled in heavy leather cup, farmers rolling for coffee at the far end of the counter.

Everyone probably does this, creates an idealized version of reality, possibly softened around the edges, based on the outside world yet as distant from it as yesterday is from tomorrow.  Built out of the same experiences, my brother's world and mine mostly overlapped.  He got the southern genes from our mother's people in Georgia while mine tends to reflect dad's Norwegian heritage. Wool union suite red felt hat, fisherman's oilskins, and boots.