Here’s a funny little story about death and drug addiction. Continue reading Frankie
I wrote a very short story yesterday entitled You Know You’re in a Small Town if… which naturally had me reminiscing and dreaming about those days up on the mountain. Some of us constantly need people around. Some are happier being alone. And somewhere in the middle is a really nice place to live. Continue reading Life on the Mountainside
This is to be read at a Henny Youngman/Groucho Marx tempo.
So my Mom’s living in South Carolina and buys a retirement home up in the hills of the Appalachian Mountains of Virginia. As is often the case, I’m not working and volunteer to live in the house while freeloading as I paint and remodel the new home.
Mom sends me a book to be delivered at the local Post Office. She has a small P.O. Box at the office, but it’s not big enough to hold a book.
I walk in for the first time ever.
“Hi. Yeeeah. My Mom sent a book for me from South Carolina”
The lone Post Office employee tells me to wait for a moment and surveys a pile of packages behind her. Then she grabs one.
“Here you go!”
I went back to my car with the package, strapped-up with my seat belt, and started the engine. And then it dawned on me. I never mentioned my name or my Mom’s. Never a P.O. number. Just that my Mom had sent me a packaged book.
And it was the right package!
You know you’re in a small town if…
He was irreverent. He was loud. Chain smoking, bar hopping, yet always hardworking. He’d act the professional one moment, a perverted lunatic the next. He was one the funniest people who I ever had the pleasure of knowing. Continue reading Dave