Don't ever change,you hungry little bashful hound
You know, it's not as if I live in a major metro area or anything, but I honestly forget how quiet the peaceful rural Tennessee is. I'm so used to hearing my 12 neighbors and their cars and their friends' cars, and inconsiderate motorcycle drivers and people without mufflers and fire trucks and ambulances and all the sounds of a busy little city. But here in Saltillo? I can hear cows from 5 miles away mooing. And birds chirping. And grass rustling. And dogs in the yard yawning. How utterly amazing. I miss this tranquility. And I miss this brand of breathy boredom.
My family is doing okay. My mom is overworked as usual. She brought mounds of paperwork home with her but opted to work out in the yard today instead. Good for her. My dad is on 12-hour shifts for shutdown, a period at his paper mill that lasts for two weeks when everyone works 12-hour days with no days off. It's hell. And it's killing him. This is his 18th year at that godforsaken place. I wish he could get a silly office job where he could sit in a chair with adequate lumbar support. My brother is 16 and driving. He's having fun, but he's really reserved and quiet. My sister has decided to try to go to nursing school, which is awesome. I didn't get to see her, though, or my nephews. Just heard the news via phone conversations. My grandmother is doing fine, and is gearing up to go on some trips in the near future. My great-grandmother, however, is in the nursing home. She hates it. She's crying and asking to come home. She also keeps telling everyone she wishes she would just die. She fell tonight and hurt herself a bit, but not too badly. My family just can't take care of her anymore. She needs 24-hour care, and we can't do it. It's sad. She's 94 -- 95 on June 7.
I washed my car today. I didn't know it, but it's white. All this time, I thought it was supposed to be grey.
Grandmaw, mom and me ate at some tiny Italian restaurant in this town called Scotts Hill tonight. It was all right. Very quaint. A perfect setting for a short story. Murder? Intrigue? Food poisoning? Ah, the possibilities. We bought lottery tickets because I was feeling lucky. We didn't win.
You know, it's not as if I live in a major metro area or anything, but I honestly forget how quiet the peaceful rural Tennessee is. I'm so used to hearing my 12 neighbors and their cars and their friends' cars, and inconsiderate motorcycle drivers and people without mufflers and fire trucks and ambulances and all the sounds of a busy little city. But here in Saltillo? I can hear cows from 5 miles away mooing. And birds chirping. And grass rustling. And dogs in the yard yawning. How utterly amazing. I miss this tranquility. And I miss this brand of breathy boredom.
My family is doing okay. My mom is overworked as usual. She brought mounds of paperwork home with her but opted to work out in the yard today instead. Good for her. My dad is on 12-hour shifts for shutdown, a period at his paper mill that lasts for two weeks when everyone works 12-hour days with no days off. It's hell. And it's killing him. This is his 18th year at that godforsaken place. I wish he could get a silly office job where he could sit in a chair with adequate lumbar support. My brother is 16 and driving. He's having fun, but he's really reserved and quiet. My sister has decided to try to go to nursing school, which is awesome. I didn't get to see her, though, or my nephews. Just heard the news via phone conversations. My grandmother is doing fine, and is gearing up to go on some trips in the near future. My great-grandmother, however, is in the nursing home. She hates it. She's crying and asking to come home. She also keeps telling everyone she wishes she would just die. She fell tonight and hurt herself a bit, but not too badly. My family just can't take care of her anymore. She needs 24-hour care, and we can't do it. It's sad. She's 94 -- 95 on June 7.
I washed my car today. I didn't know it, but it's white. All this time, I thought it was supposed to be grey.
Grandmaw, mom and me ate at some tiny Italian restaurant in this town called Scotts Hill tonight. It was all right. Very quaint. A perfect setting for a short story. Murder? Intrigue? Food poisoning? Ah, the possibilities. We bought lottery tickets because I was feeling lucky. We didn't win.
posted by theogeo | 3/13/2004 09:56:00 PM
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