The first thing you notice when you walk in to Centrally Grown is the repurposed wood on the walls, followed by the quirky raw pipes holding the toilet paper. Hey, it’s the details that make a place so special. Big improvement. Change is hard, but it is the only constant we can count on in our lives.
Several more friends have returned to the earth and released their energies into the collective universe. Life after death, while not in the biblical sense, does happen. It’s so damned painful, sometimes you wish it didn’t but, somehow you plod through and suddenly you realize it’s only the positive memories you allow in. This is what happens to me, anyway, whether they’ve passed on or just moved out. I choose the good times for my mental scrapbook. This Easter, I chose to rise again.
Sitting in the as-yet-completed bar and restaurant area with my good friend, we waxed poetic about life — and death. It’s easy to do while staring out large, plate glass windows, watching whales spouting just off shore. Vines, repurposed and wood slab furniture are not only rustic and artistic but cozy. How do we carry on?
I attended a friend’s bridal shower in that little building out there, then did massages in it when it was a spa and now it looks to be a very hip little retail shop. I’d be very pleased to have some of my wares there. I am comfortable with the transformation.
Obviously, bottomless mimosas soften one’s defenses against, well, displaying emotion. My friend and I dove into different pools of thought with every nook we explored — the amazingly appointed kitchen with dumbwaiters and top-notch cookware, sitting in the former stairwell-cum-reflective area or hanging in the earthen alcoves around the edible garden.
I was friends with the former owner, one of the earliest acquaintances I’d made in 1981. I attended the 90th birthday of one of my mentors in those dark wood rooms. A girlfriend had a lovely array of birds at the edge of the property, beautiful furniture was galleried, plants that suited our natural climate were sold, weddings, memorials and music happened. Change can be hard.
Redefining ourselves — we fight it and others often try to keep us from it, but it is a tide we cannot turn. The more you struggle in the riptide, the more likely you are to suffer. Breathe and let go. Escape from the chatter, tear open that proverbial box, find a high mound of dirt and look around. Not down as in “down on others” but around. You are still part of it. The peak cannot exist without the dirt holding it up. But rise above the dust and see what needs to be done. What can be done.
Change can be hard. Employees here joke about it. As a patron, I’ve already noticed a couple of redesigns in décor, people working different positions. The more we cling to things as they are, the more we take them for granted and the scarier life is when it does come, that change. I’m sure it’s an unintentional lesson. But the concept of sustainability comes not from keeping things the same, but being able to cope with the devolution of the world. Does that make sense?
And now a big change has come to the north end of town and it feels like it’s being embraced. I’m glad. I think it carries on the untold mission of longtime residents to be creative, to serve well and to march to your own drum. I’ll play the fife.