Pittsford, N.Y. Meets Gwangju, R.O.K.
It’s amazing how hard bakers work, the way trumpets still
blow jazz, the interplay between street peddlers and birds, the
look on the face of the young couples strolling the day after
their first night together, the hundreds of tornadoes that
visit the U.S. in this, the time of global disaster on a
multiply-local scale, the softness of a plaid velour shirt over
terrycloth sweats and flip flops on a comfortable woman
who can move slow in a world so fast palm sized computers
can’t keep up. Even one square meter of shade is sought
on a 20-minute walk in this heat. The shady side of the street
defies Johnny Mercer era, attracting everyone once summer
hits. Sincerity, so hard to find in the info-overloaded now, is
natural in Gwangju, Korea, the city that suffered for the cause
of democracy, only to see its fate pushed down repeatedly by
elected officials who ignore the fact that their seats in power
were enabled by the very place they withdraw funding from.
It’s why laughs and friendship last forever here, why it
reminds you of your grandmother’s four-mile walk to teach
in a one-room schoolhouse, or Uncle Ken’s Pharmacy/Mayor
combo back when he knew everyone’s prescription and name.
Copyright, Doug Stuber, 2011. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.