(no subject)
Being home is a little weird in that it's something like having a hazy film of your former life transposed over who you are now. I moved away when I went to college and have been away since then aside from holidays, weddings, funerals, and the like. I think one of my uncles and I have lived away longer than anyone else in my family.
Here's the thing--
My hometown doesn't change. I think it's perpetually stuck in about 1953. This can be great--everyone meets your eyes and speaks to you instead of pretending to be in a bubble where you don't exist. It can also suck--hello, ffs, it's the worst part of backwards, redneck Florida full of the people who keep electing dickwads like Rick Scott.
Now I will describe my weekend:
Last weekend we drove over the coast into Alabama to go to the outlet mall (because I sinned when I was younger and have to pay for this by forcible shopping--seriously, you have no idea how much I hate shopping). The day was one of those brittley beautiful, clear-sky, fresh air days that happen infrequently here, what with the humidity. The whole drive from where I live (in the far western part of the county) to and from the outlet mall was along the shore.
I know sometimes I sound like a member of the Tourism Board, but where I come from is seriously one of the most beautiful places in the world. The sand is the color of table salt. Sand dunes wave with sea oats. Dolphins come close into the shore to investigate pale, sunburnt tourists. The smell of the ocean mingles with coconut tanning lotion.
So Saturday I drove home along the beachfront highway, ate crab at a local place tourists don't know about, got unpasteurized milk from a family friend who also gave me grouper he'd caught, and came home to my mom's cousin in the backyard mowing the grass just out of the blue.
Next I will regale you with the thrilling story of trying to get my family members' uniforms mounted to be hung on the wall...(hint: really, it's boring).
Here's the thing--
My hometown doesn't change. I think it's perpetually stuck in about 1953. This can be great--everyone meets your eyes and speaks to you instead of pretending to be in a bubble where you don't exist. It can also suck--hello, ffs, it's the worst part of backwards, redneck Florida full of the people who keep electing dickwads like Rick Scott.
Now I will describe my weekend:
Last weekend we drove over the coast into Alabama to go to the outlet mall (because I sinned when I was younger and have to pay for this by forcible shopping--seriously, you have no idea how much I hate shopping). The day was one of those brittley beautiful, clear-sky, fresh air days that happen infrequently here, what with the humidity. The whole drive from where I live (in the far western part of the county) to and from the outlet mall was along the shore.
I know sometimes I sound like a member of the Tourism Board, but where I come from is seriously one of the most beautiful places in the world. The sand is the color of table salt. Sand dunes wave with sea oats. Dolphins come close into the shore to investigate pale, sunburnt tourists. The smell of the ocean mingles with coconut tanning lotion.
So Saturday I drove home along the beachfront highway, ate crab at a local place tourists don't know about, got unpasteurized milk from a family friend who also gave me grouper he'd caught, and came home to my mom's cousin in the backyard mowing the grass just out of the blue.
Next I will regale you with the thrilling story of trying to get my family members' uniforms mounted to be hung on the wall...(hint: really, it's boring).