Journal Entry

Prose by Nichole Hastings

Journal Entry: July 2, 2010

Yesterday, my friend Maidie and I went to the Co-op in Hanover, New Hampshire to grocery shop.  After we were done, we drove the car to behind the gas station next door to eat the lunches that we had purchased.  There’s a short grassed road running along-side a field, we pull into it and park at the head.  We get out, planning to lunch on the corner of the grassy field.  I see in the distance, at the end of the grass road, a trail sign.  Maidie has walked over and sat down on the field and I head towards her.

There is a small sign planted on the edge and it warns of pesticides.  The field has been treated in the last 48 hours it describes.  We quickly remove ourselves and head over to the picnic table across the parking lot, on the backside of the gas station.  A pleasant couple says, ‘hello’ as they get up from the table to throw their lunch trash away.  We sit down.

Lunch is sushi and a banana.  This is my last time eating fish or seafood.  I have decided to go back to being a vegetarian so I savor each bite.  Maidie and I chat about this and that.  I’m feeling melancholy as she will be moving away soon.  This will be one of our last meals together.

We finish eating and she offers to throw all the lunch trash away.  My curiosity has finally gotten the best of me and I run down the dirt road to read the sign.  Indeed, it is a trail sign.  I see the familiar Appalachian Trail marking and the white blazes on the trees.  I can hardly contain my excitement and I quickly break out pen and paper.  I jot down a brief note saying, “Lakeshore friends, please go to the Dartmouth Outing Club on campus and read the Register.  Girl with Dog.”

Journal Entry: June 30, 2010

I sit here after crossing the Connecticut River from New Hampshire to Vermont, Hanover to Norwich and yet I find no escape. Even while gazing across the wind-chopped water, sitting quietly alone there is no sweet release. It is only away in Nature, hiking through woods and on mountain top do I feel completely free. Free from the prying eyes and tireless voices abuzz with concerns that are so trivial to me.
I sleep little each night, restlessly, since leaving the 100 Mile Wilderness and the comfort of the Appalachian Trail. My neck stiff with tension of being noticed, seen, even called out at as I pass by strangers. My head spinning with the whirring sound of machinery and Man. There is no recognition that I do not want recognition. It pursues me relentlessly, tiring me, seeking me out in mere mundane tasks.
I feel another perfect fork before me only this time it travels North or South. To head North to Monson means struggle, disappointment in unanswered questions and anonymity. To continue South will result in that very thing I wish to escape. That fame, that glory, that living of life I want others to pursue. It falls in my unhappy lap as a cat that persistently pursues that hapless person who does not seek its attention.
Is there no middle ground? Must it be a perpetual wave of extreme ups and downs? I shy away from the recognition, the fame, the glory because all too quickly such things can turn on you and thus subside. The positive and negative energies waxing and waning with the cyclical moon. Round and round and round to what reason? What end? I fear there is none and know that to be the truth. I feel too one with the Earth in this sense. For without rhyme or reason, a chaotic symphony of events occurs finding sometimes a sweetly harmonized or violent clashing of existence.
I curse in vain this knowledge, this thing we call free will, this fate-less existence. I admire, the trees, the water, the sky, the earthy soil. It does not rail and ask why or wonder. They simply are.

Journal Entry: June 29, 2009

Ezra and I were starved and had decided the day’s excursion into Hanover would begin with food. We were hungry. Ramunto’s pizza and garlic knots were on our mind. Though walking down Main Street we did stop and inquire if she would take a check at the hot dog stand. She said she would but we decided to move on and go with Plan A.
We walked into Ramunto’s and began surveying the selection. A woman behind the counter immediately came over saying, “No dogs are allowed in here.” I told her, “He’s a Service Animal.”
She retorted, “A Service Animal? I need to see papers saying that.”
I politely inform her, “I will happily show you my papers but realize that it is illegal, according to the American Securities and Disabilities Act to demand proof of a Service Animal.” and handed her the papers.
She looked at them and then me. She said, “Um, thank you for showing me the papers.” with a wavering smile on her face. I smiled reassuringly and said, “Your welcome.” then Ezra and I busied ourselves with deciding which pizza we’d be eating for lunch.
I suppose I could press charges, take advantage of another’s ignorance here in this situation. What she did was illegal. But really, what’s the point? Her ignorance of the details of the act, like the feigned ignorance incident of hot McDonald’s coffee being spilt, don’t deserve such pointless attention. Besides, her much mollified attitude and the very polite and friendly service we received afterwards…that was thanks enough.

Footnote:

AMERICANS WITH DISABILITIES ACT OF 1990
[(2) Specific prohibitions
(A) Discrimination
For purposes of subsection (a) of this section, discrimination includes
(i) the imposition or application of eligibility criteria that screen out or tend to screen out an individual with a disability or any class of individuals with disabilities from fully and equally enjoying any goods, services, facilities, privileges, advantages, or accommodations, unless such criteria can be shown to be necessary for the provision of the goods, services, facilities, privileges, advantages, or accommodations being offered;]

Measure for Measure – Act 1

An overview of a phone call at 7:10 a.m. Monday June 21, 2010 to the Hanover Police Department, Hanover, N.H.

I called in, identified myself and referenced the past Saturday’s ‘incident’ to the officer taking calls. I asked for the location of the keys to the Odyssey. The voice on the other end asked me for more information to reference the ‘incident’…the names of the officers involved. I told him that the officers never identified themselves to me so I didn’t know.
The voice then said the keys were at the station under the vehicle owner’s name and could only be picked up by them. I explained that the officers left the driver’s side window down, it had rained and it was a cloth upholstery interior. Also, anyone could reach in, unlock the door and steal the car and or its contents. I explained that the vehicle was not properly secured. I asked if they would please go and put that window up. The officer curtly said, “No.” My words were falling on deaf ears and when I tried to say a few something more he hung up on me.

An overview of the phone call at 7:12 a.m.

I called back asking to speak to the Chief of the Hanover Police. I was directed to his voicemail. I left a message referencing the call just a minute ago and also mentioned this was the second time I called. I asked for him to please return my call so I could speak with him about these matters, expressed thanks, and hung up.