what do you want to do?

[beckstra]

I went driving tonight. I got that heartsick feeling that happens when you step into a situation you desperately want to be a part of. There's a little space in Old Towne Bellevue that used to be a dry cleaners shop...it's empty now. I want it. I want to take it, I want to stuco the outside, give it a tin roof overhang. I want to paint the inside, put a counter and tables and chairs and bookshelves in it. I want to fill those bookshelves with Willa Cather and JD Salinger and CS Lewis and TS Elliot and Ezra Pound and Flannery O Connor and local writer's published works. I want to offer those books out to customers for free while they sit in my little space, invite them to write notes in the margins. I want to take the back room and fill it with a large oven and a stovetop and a refrigerator and a cutting block and a sink. I want my sister and my father to cook for people. I want my brother-in-law to make the best friggin coffee ever. I want to put tables and chairs out front, give people room to breathe and collect and teach eachother how to live. I want to wear an apron and fill water glasses.

I want this space. I want to steal it. I want it to bring life to Old Towne. I want it to bring me to life. I want to grow old and own it with my own pocket. I want people to see my car out there every morning, all day. I want to close and lock it up at night with a smile on my face and a legally binding contract that says it's my space. I want to cry tears and bleed over this space...make it into something truely beautiful. "You know we all want something beautiful." I want to use it to give my family away. I want my niece to grow up and know everyone who passes through the front door of this space. Gah. I want it so much.