I feel like the pioneer who declares to her secret love upon departure: "I'll write everyday." Who then, in the immediacy of disease, food scavaging and inclement weather leaves her Beau to wonder what has become of her. A live journal is a sort of promise that one will unfold the daily churnings of one's life in plain language for all to see. I am, however, preoccupied with wagon ruts and the like.
I've recently sold the second-to-lost drop of my soul to the information age. Cell-phone lover I am not. However, when Tim's car ran out of gas in the middle of Kings Highway, I was inwardly pleased to find myself connected with a help network. I can always reach my dad if I have an urgent question about physics; Mom is at my fingertips if I can't remember which side of our family used to be moonshiners.
The cell phone isn't all. I bought a chair. Not a 10-dollar Goodwill, TKE-House sort of chair (though not an Oval Office sort of chair either). A chair nonetheless. Tim and I bought the same chair. I consider this the end of my adolescence. I've had jobs. I've had a credit card. I've traveled in Europe. I have never, until know, purchased a chair. This signifies that I have a place to sit, to be sedentary, and that for the rest of my chair-owning life, I must provide myself with a place to house that chair (and Tim's twin chair too).
Business is a disease among myself and my friends. Little Mable was taken by savages. Our supply of dry beans is running low. I'll write again when Sassy's leg is healed.
Surely the final frontier has nothing to do with a driver's license.
I wonder, what is the deeper meaning of second-to-LOST? Is that an innocent typo, or a subliminal message from beyond, as "O" is quite a long ways from "A" on the keyboard..... It's amazing the milestones we encounter on our way to adulthood. Being your beloved, moonshining mama, all I can say is that sometimes, I don't feel that I have passed that final milestone myself. You make the most adorable pioneer wench. God willing and the creek don't rise, Love, Me
ReplyDeleteWhen one mentions the existence of a cell phone, whether or not one knows another will ever use it, one should always send some sort of word about what the digits are to reach that cell phone. ESPECIALLY if the user knows the receiver will never ever call.
ReplyDeleteWelcome to the age of reality.
Now if you'll excuse me, I have to pry pop tart crumbles out from the cervices of my keyboard which are there as a result of my shock and surprise and inability to hold back projections from my mouth.
Yesterday, the day of this blog, was your Great Grandma Eipper's birthday. She was a true pioneer.
ReplyDeleteDon't let Tim know we all know he is your "secret Love."