Hanging at the Super Donut

The tables here at Super Donut, at the entrance of the Shadowglen subdivision where I live, off Route 290, are an afterthought. There are three of them, with bench seating for six people each. I'm the only person I've ever seen sitting at one of them. They're like the tables in a Chinese take out place in the Bronx.

At about six a.m. every morning, I ride my bike over here to convene with myself. I listen to my rather limited playlist on my iPod, write in my journal, drink a cup of coffee, and look at my reflection in the plate glass window, against the darkness of the pre-dawn sky.

The morning ride has become lovelier as the weather has improved. Even though it's still dark out, the birds are waking up, singing their tunes, and the air smells musty and bovine, like the countryside.

All that being said, I do admittedly sometimes wonder what the hell I'm doing here in this context. Cookie cutter property lots with similarly-colored houses on them. I flash back to when, as a boy, I had a nightmare that involved being stuck in a green and unchanging landscape. It turned out to be the Matchbox cars carrying case I owned that opened out into a gridded subdivision, where one was meant, I suppose, to fill the driveways with one's various Matchbox vehicles.

There was something eerie about the too-green green of the painted grass. It creeped me out. I told myself as a child that I'd never want to live in such a place.

And yet here I am.

There are many advantages to living out here in Manor, not the least of which is the price tag. We do have a nice little house, but what we're missing is the character of some of the many Austin neighborhoods. I'd love to live on a street lined by live oaks and other shade trees. I'd love to see a lime green house, next to a fuchsia house, next to a house with a cast iron sculpture of a giant rooster in the front yard. I dig the "Keep Austin Weird" style of those neighborhoods.

I'm reluctant to make any moves related to these feelings, however, because of the shit shape the economy's in nowadays. Our street, like many in our development, is lined with too many "For Sale" and "For Lease" signs. For now, the best move is no move at all. Ideally, the economy will right itself in the next five years or so, while Jeanette and I climb the salary ladder, so that we're able to get a decent return on our house, as well as afford a cute little home on a cute little street in Austin. There will always be some imperfection wherever we go, but I'm needing more variety, and more of a sense of community.