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…
The backyard on Susan Avenue was completely dark by 8 PM, only the shadows of trees standing still and young boys running wild could be sensed by the naked eye. Across the road and a million miles away, was the glow of the high school football field, a full-blown production occupying the rest of the entire Earth. Continue reading Why We Play Games
A good number of years ago, family and friends had gathered together at Mt. Airy Farms, just South of Mount Jackson, to watch the biannual steeplechase horse races. Continue reading A Perfect Day
There’s a woman in town who now spends her days confined within the walls of a convalescent home. She’s well known to many a local, not by name or relation, but as that old black woman who’s always walking the streets alone. Continue reading Alone in a Crowd
Twenty-two days in Bulgaria. My favorite vacation of all time. The capital city, Sofia, was my home base during my stay, with multiple excursions spent out in the countrysides. Beautiful People, Country, and Memories. Thank you Lucy, Vasco, and Sasha. I will be back someday!
“Income Tax is overdue. I think she is too.”
That is, in my terrible opinion, one of the greatest lyrical lines ever written. Continue reading Jerry Jeff
AOn almost every Sunday at 101 South Church Street., there was a family meal being served. This was the home of Ralph and Emma Lambert. Theirs was the classic Southern marriage, one that would endure over sixty-five years here on Earth. Hard-working and living within their means, they had raised a large family in such a small house. Work was Monday through Friday or Saturday, Church was every Sunday morning. Continue reading Dinner Time