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…
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
“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
There was a portable speed limit sign on Spring Street today. I registered an average score of 19 during my three trips through the 25 MPH zone because I now drive like an old lady in my old lady Buick. But it got me to thinking. Continue reading Small Town Speed Trap Ahead
After a day and a half of worrying about an occasional puddle of engine coolant forming underneath my car, I decided to throw caution to the wind and drive 15 miles to a social gathering of somber importance. As I was traveling along the dark, two-lane highway, my mind was put at ease by the thought of my cell phone in my jacket pocket. An earlier model of me could have ‘worked’ on an earlier model of Buick, but now-a-days, a look under the hood looks nothing like an engine. Topping off the wiper fluid might require a peek into the owner’s manual for assistance.
With the temperature gauge holding steady in the safe zone, and a thousand emergency tactics formulating in my mind, a comforting thought snuck in-between the anxieties. It’ll be OK. I will survive. Continue reading No Problem