- two cemetaries in cornfields, trussed up with memorial day flowers
- three roadkill pets, one roadkill deer
- three parking lots toured: two casinos, one Wal-mart (just want to show you how busy it gets)
- two visits to Bob Evans, one visit to Frisch's Big Boy
- eight times past the distillery, every time with the window rolled down to let in the fermenting grain alcohol smell, one of my earliest olefactory memories
- several lengthy stories about shoddy construction work, one lengthy story about asbestos at Fernald nuclear power plant, a moment of silence for Aunt Margaret and Uncle Paul
- one amazing story about proposing to grandma: "will you cook chilli for me for the rest of my life?"
- one cemetary; six graves of loved ones, seven if you count the unfilled plot that will someday house my grandparents
- one trip to Rising Sun, past the harp store that ships harps from the valley out across the world
- early morning fog rolling in, sunset over Tanner's Creek, the levee segretating the brown girth of the Ohio from the garish fireworks stands that speckle route 50
Thursday, June 02, 2005
Lawrenceburg
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6 comments:
Lawrenceburg! I can still smell the grain alcohol annd hear the wheezing gamblers. Did you eat a quiche as yellow as the kitchen? And was there a Chevy on the levee this time?
That was so fun, but man, we were young, weren't we? (Especially the younger of us...)
This trip sounds harder, but probably really appreciated.
Lawrenceburg! I can still smell the grain alcohol annd hear the wheezing gamblers. Did you eat a quiche as yellow as the kitchen? And was there a Chevy on the levee this time?
That was so fun, but man, we were young, weren't we? (Especially the younger of us...)
This trip sounds harder, but probably really appreciated.
Sadly, many circumstances prepended doing these things. My grandparents moved to a place where my grandmother wouldn't have to climb stairs, so there's no more yellow kitchen. And my grandmother isn't allowed to cook anymore, so no yellow quiche, though I reminded her of it. And I did weigh a cheeseball, thinking about whether it ought to be trashed. I looked for a Chevy, but didn't see one!
Yeah, we were young. I thought about that. I thought about pictures in front of a Soquel sequoia too, and what we told and what we hid, and how silly we must have seemed. But it was such a good time. Such a good summer.
Man, Sarah, that picture of you and the mussels is hot! ;P
(That should have been "though I did weigh a cheeseball")...
It's a little sad that what I mean when I say "young," I think, is really "capable of having a wonderful time."
And oh, the sequoia picture! You're totally right that we must have seemed ridiculous. I hope they weren't paying attention. The pictures of our animal friends in the car. If I remember, I was dressed in those pictures entirely in clothes that were falling apart (though I think you were making up for it--as was Seymour, of course).
Sorry for the double posting.
I was just so enthusiastic.
I like talking in comments.
It's a little more like conversation than email.
I miss you.
I would like to think we were still that capable of having a wonderful time, but it doesn't seem as effortless anymore, does it?
I don't think you were falling apart - and I think we were wearing as much of each other's clothes as we were our own. I think I lived in your blue fuzzy. I miss Seymour. In retrospect, it's good we took all those pictures.
Let's talk in comments more.
Maybe we should IM.
I like reading your blog,
And how it makes me feel part of your life.
I miss you too.
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