Woke up this morning in my old room. Of course, it doesn’t look like my old room anymore but it’s still my old room and if I squint my eyes hard enough I can still see the blue wall and criss crossing old wallpaper. If I listen hard enough I can hear the kish, kish of my steps on my old carpet with the defective pad underneath that drove my dad crazy but helped me to sleep comfortably, knowing that vampires would not sneak up on me unaware.
On the way here from Cinci we stopped in a small town called Monticello. When I’m independently wealthy with plenty (you can define that for yourself) of money to spare I’ve decided I’m moving to Monticello. It still has a town square with a DQ on the corner where people walk instead of drive and they know all the neighbours by name between their place and the square. A place where beauty parlors and barbershops still greatly out number hair stylists and where the police are more likely to stop a pack of young people just to ask how their parent’s are or if anyone needs some sunscreen than they are looking for trouble. A place where people hang out their American flag because they believe in liberty, life and the pursuit of happiness and feel like they’ve found all 3 and not because they’re making a political statement about their desire to rule the world. A place where people are solid, laughter is deep and hardy and where people are honest because everyone in their small town is going to find out their stuff anyway and not use it to put them down or exclude them just to make a joke at their expense (hey Joe, my tent’s up in the backyard – heard Mary might not be letting you sleep in your bed tonight.) on their way to the barbershop.
And it’s 4 minutes from Allerton.
It’s good to be home. My parent’s are now catching raccoons and they’re still resisting going to highspeed for the internet. They can’t imagine it being any faster than dial-up and why would they need it any faster even if it was? The raccoons on the other hand have been pooping on their house and eating all the bird food and knocking down the feeders. A clear and present danger. So they trap them, feed them copious amounts of marshmallows, spray paint them with a white patch and then drive them out further in the country and drop them off where someone else can trap them and bring them back in here later.
Well, Donna’s just back from the garden in back with a bag of sweetcorn, another of cucumbers and a bucket of fresh blackberries, I better go…
Oh, and Michelle, let me know how to get ahold of you!