The Gone CoCo Cap

Appalachian December

Photo Credit: B.E. Hobbs

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The weather outside is wonderfully winter this week so I decided to tell you the Gone CoCo cap story. I had just moved to Roanoke, Virginia which welcomed me with a big snowy, blustery first outing day. However, the buses were running and I decided to go down to City Market and see what Roanoke was all about. There was little open so I thought I'd browse as I was well bundled up and spiffy with my red ear muffs. I was looking at the window of Seeds of Light when suddenly a forceful wind almost knocked me down. Forceful? I'll say. It blew my ear muffs right off and around the corner! When I went to retrieve them, I saw a notice about Sufi Dances of Universal Peace. As I was reading it, a fluttering caught my eye. There were dresses outside a store called Gone CoCo Boutique. Open! A sign! I went into the store and said to the charming person behind the counter, "If you have a cap with ties, you have a sale." She had some caps from Peru and there was one with six ties. Nothing would blow that away from me. We talked a long time as there were no customers. I told her about my apt. and how I had met the landlord, Jim Fulghum, online in Durham, had called him up and ventured sight unseen to Roanoke. He was a distant relative of Robert Fulghum who had written a story I loved, the one with the mermaids. Susan, the owner of Gone CoCo was a fan of his and we talked about how I as a writer had been led to this place with a connection to a writer I liked. I spent a lot of my Roanoke days at her store and sitting upstairs eating Zorba's Greek salad. There was a man who waited on me I called The Regular Guy. He was replaced by someone I called The New Regular Guy. I understand Zorba's has moved to Salem and I wonder if there are any regulars in attendance. Today I was wearing my Gone CoCo cap as it was a windy day in Central Park. I stopped to listen to the Children's Aid Society chorus. This is an organization that supplies 50,000 children with such things as hearing aids and braces. I was toasty as the wind tore down Madison Avenue. Every time I wear my cap, I am instantly back to the magical Roanoke days.

Christmastide on the #51

"Happy Holidays" scrolls on the destination box.

There is talk of the Farmers' Almanac with its

predictions for tall tale snows; the early bird sales good for finding "something nice" to leave the paper carrier;

the schedule of events at Haven of Hope, and Kwanzaa.

"It's not religious. Each day for six days starting the 26th

you give a homemade gift'" reminiscent, I think, of

Twelfth Night and the festive, undulating journey of the Magi.

When did the "partridge in a pear tree" go out of fashion?

A quiet greeting. A wave. A young man laughs at my socks.

He is conversant on many topics. I tell him what I need fixing.

He smiles and suggest, conspiratorially, "I ask Santa."

I know about asking. I have asked before, of Someone else.

Long ago, in a stone sanctuary where ancient plaques hung

written in languages unfamiliar to me lit by flickering votives

in a country seeping from war, I asked. I asked

for companions to exhort and encourage me.

One prayer. One recurring answer.

The bell rings, "Stop Requested," lights up the screen.

and echoed cheerfully by an anonymous voice.

On. Off. Rejoice. Giving, receiving, asking,

we travel along. Emmanuel. God with us.

For diverse believers and non-believers alike,

Christmas rides the #51.

...may the blessings of the landscape be with you now...