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Jan. 27th, 2003
Home again, home again, jiggety jigg
Jan. 27th, 2003 04:51 pmAnd there is no cat shit in our bed. Hosannah!
(No, can't take that for granted)
Had a wonderful time, overall, though the lack of me-time occasionally made my temper short. No untoward incidents on the train ride home. Heavy snow at the Prince, WV, train station; my parents had to drop us off and run before the "roads," as they call them, became impassible.
The Prince, WV, train station is vintage 30s Art Deco, beautifully maintained, with an adorable floor mosaic of the Chessie kitten. It is across the road from the "town," which consists of one old grocery store in ivy-covered, roofless, Roman-ruin condition, and a few houses teetering on the hillside which look abandoned but are not.
This happened in my home town. Isn't nature amazing?
(I am reminded of the goober I knew in college who carpooled with a bunch of folks to visit someone who lived in the general region over winter break, and packed shorts and t-shirts because "it's the South, right?")
I was grilled by a family friend over a homegrown steak dinner about my chances of moving back to the region. Now, in case of catastrophic illness or something where my parents truly need me, or I truly need help, it could happen, but voluntarily I'd have to say it's about on par with my chances of being killed by a meteor. Or is it? I admit coming back to the city, and feeling a deep and sincere longing for the forest and the stars and the silence....but it will be counterbalanced by the wonderful experimental music I plan to go hear at the Empty Bottle tomorrow night. Not to mention that I've lived away from the hills and my folks for almost as long as I lived there in the first place, and I still love that urban jungle as much as I did back when I could romanticize it.
Vulgarweed's Law of Excessive Booniness:
It's too boonie for me if you wake up in the morning, realize you don't have quite enough cream for your coffee, and have to get in your car to get more.
(Yes, I realize this includes most suburbs. Never seen the point of those: worst of both worlds if you ask me. I also realize there is an exception for some truly boonie folks who can just walk out into the pasture and pull a few squirts off Ol'Bessie. I admire that, couldn't do it. In defining non-booniness this way, I was thinking longingly of my old NYC apartment that had a 24-hour bodega on the first floor of my building. Yes, I did sometimes just throw a coat over my pajamas. Here in Chicago, I have to go all the way across the street.)
OK, I am waaaaaaaaaaaaay behind in correspondence and writing. All apologies.
(No, can't take that for granted)
Had a wonderful time, overall, though the lack of me-time occasionally made my temper short. No untoward incidents on the train ride home. Heavy snow at the Prince, WV, train station; my parents had to drop us off and run before the "roads," as they call them, became impassible.
The Prince, WV, train station is vintage 30s Art Deco, beautifully maintained, with an adorable floor mosaic of the Chessie kitten. It is across the road from the "town," which consists of one old grocery store in ivy-covered, roofless, Roman-ruin condition, and a few houses teetering on the hillside which look abandoned but are not.
This happened in my home town. Isn't nature amazing?
(I am reminded of the goober I knew in college who carpooled with a bunch of folks to visit someone who lived in the general region over winter break, and packed shorts and t-shirts because "it's the South, right?")
I was grilled by a family friend over a homegrown steak dinner about my chances of moving back to the region. Now, in case of catastrophic illness or something where my parents truly need me, or I truly need help, it could happen, but voluntarily I'd have to say it's about on par with my chances of being killed by a meteor. Or is it? I admit coming back to the city, and feeling a deep and sincere longing for the forest and the stars and the silence....but it will be counterbalanced by the wonderful experimental music I plan to go hear at the Empty Bottle tomorrow night. Not to mention that I've lived away from the hills and my folks for almost as long as I lived there in the first place, and I still love that urban jungle as much as I did back when I could romanticize it.
Vulgarweed's Law of Excessive Booniness:
It's too boonie for me if you wake up in the morning, realize you don't have quite enough cream for your coffee, and have to get in your car to get more.
(Yes, I realize this includes most suburbs. Never seen the point of those: worst of both worlds if you ask me. I also realize there is an exception for some truly boonie folks who can just walk out into the pasture and pull a few squirts off Ol'Bessie. I admire that, couldn't do it. In defining non-booniness this way, I was thinking longingly of my old NYC apartment that had a 24-hour bodega on the first floor of my building. Yes, I did sometimes just throw a coat over my pajamas. Here in Chicago, I have to go all the way across the street.)
OK, I am waaaaaaaaaaaaay behind in correspondence and writing. All apologies.
Home again, home again, jiggety jigg
Jan. 27th, 2003 04:51 pmAnd there is no cat shit in our bed. Hosannah!
(No, can't take that for granted)
Had a wonderful time, overall, though the lack of me-time occasionally made my temper short. No untoward incidents on the train ride home. Heavy snow at the Prince, WV, train station; my parents had to drop us off and run before the "roads," as they call them, became impassible.
The Prince, WV, train station is vintage 30s Art Deco, beautifully maintained, with an adorable floor mosaic of the Chessie kitten. It is across the road from the "town," which consists of one old grocery store in ivy-covered, roofless, Roman-ruin condition, and a few houses teetering on the hillside which look abandoned but are not.
This happened in my home town. Isn't nature amazing?
(I am reminded of the goober I knew in college who carpooled with a bunch of folks to visit someone who lived in the general region over winter break, and packed shorts and t-shirts because "it's the South, right?")
I was grilled by a family friend over a homegrown steak dinner about my chances of moving back to the region. Now, in case of catastrophic illness or something where my parents truly need me, or I truly need help, it could happen, but voluntarily I'd have to say it's about on par with my chances of being killed by a meteor. Or is it? I admit coming back to the city, and feeling a deep and sincere longing for the forest and the stars and the silence....but it will be counterbalanced by the wonderful experimental music I plan to go hear at the Empty Bottle tomorrow night. Not to mention that I've lived away from the hills and my folks for almost as long as I lived there in the first place, and I still love that urban jungle as much as I did back when I could romanticize it.
Vulgarweed's Law of Excessive Booniness:
It's too boonie for me if you wake up in the morning, realize you don't have quite enough cream for your coffee, and have to get in your car to get more.
(Yes, I realize this includes most suburbs. Never seen the point of those: worst of both worlds if you ask me. I also realize there is an exception for some truly boonie folks who can just walk out into the pasture and pull a few squirts off Ol'Bessie. I admire that, couldn't do it. In defining non-booniness this way, I was thinking longingly of my old NYC apartment that had a 24-hour bodega on the first floor of my building. Yes, I did sometimes just throw a coat over my pajamas. Here in Chicago, I have to go all the way across the street.)
OK, I am waaaaaaaaaaaaay behind in correspondence and writing. All apologies.
(No, can't take that for granted)
Had a wonderful time, overall, though the lack of me-time occasionally made my temper short. No untoward incidents on the train ride home. Heavy snow at the Prince, WV, train station; my parents had to drop us off and run before the "roads," as they call them, became impassible.
The Prince, WV, train station is vintage 30s Art Deco, beautifully maintained, with an adorable floor mosaic of the Chessie kitten. It is across the road from the "town," which consists of one old grocery store in ivy-covered, roofless, Roman-ruin condition, and a few houses teetering on the hillside which look abandoned but are not.
This happened in my home town. Isn't nature amazing?
(I am reminded of the goober I knew in college who carpooled with a bunch of folks to visit someone who lived in the general region over winter break, and packed shorts and t-shirts because "it's the South, right?")
I was grilled by a family friend over a homegrown steak dinner about my chances of moving back to the region. Now, in case of catastrophic illness or something where my parents truly need me, or I truly need help, it could happen, but voluntarily I'd have to say it's about on par with my chances of being killed by a meteor. Or is it? I admit coming back to the city, and feeling a deep and sincere longing for the forest and the stars and the silence....but it will be counterbalanced by the wonderful experimental music I plan to go hear at the Empty Bottle tomorrow night. Not to mention that I've lived away from the hills and my folks for almost as long as I lived there in the first place, and I still love that urban jungle as much as I did back when I could romanticize it.
Vulgarweed's Law of Excessive Booniness:
It's too boonie for me if you wake up in the morning, realize you don't have quite enough cream for your coffee, and have to get in your car to get more.
(Yes, I realize this includes most suburbs. Never seen the point of those: worst of both worlds if you ask me. I also realize there is an exception for some truly boonie folks who can just walk out into the pasture and pull a few squirts off Ol'Bessie. I admire that, couldn't do it. In defining non-booniness this way, I was thinking longingly of my old NYC apartment that had a 24-hour bodega on the first floor of my building. Yes, I did sometimes just throw a coat over my pajamas. Here in Chicago, I have to go all the way across the street.)
OK, I am waaaaaaaaaaaaay behind in correspondence and writing. All apologies.