Man alive, just when I was feeling at my most world-weary, battered over daily political theater, chalking up yet another Covid-related death in our small town while despairing over those who still refuse to wear masks in public places, comes a story that hit me right in the ‘feels.’
I'm Just Saying
Did you feel it??” friends were shrieking, on social media, email and through the phone. “Earthquake!!”
“They said it was a 5.1!!”
“It knocked over three of Momma’s Hummells and the Barney won’t come out from under the bed!”
Each weekend Paul and I have turned into a regular Ma and Pa Kettle, setting off on Sunday excursions to get off the farm for a change of scenery.
If we remain in South Carolina, we search for that rarest of venues come noon: a restaurant with outdoor seating and a staff who protects themselves and the public by wearing masks.
Since writing about Carl the toad I have received a flood of enquiries asking if I still see him on my way to the barn this morning, how he is weathering the heat, and if Steve the snake has shown up.
If there’s one thing you can say about America it is that we are a land of ingenuity.
If there’s one thing that gives any woman of ‘a certain age’ a little boost, it’s being asked to show identification when buying beer at a mini-mart. Especially if you conveniently allow yourself to forget that it’s mandatory for any customer, and, no, frankly, you don’t appear to be under 21.
The last few days have been something like an episode of ‘Wild Kingdom’ here at the Funny Farm. Or, to be more precise, shall I say, “Mild Kingdom,” as there’s been no Rhino ear- tagging by the hapless Jim, his weekly suicide mission dictated by Marlin Perkins, from the comfort of a voice-over booth, or fleeing from a herd of Wildebeest.
The term, ‘binge watching,’ has been around for quite some time which probably explains why Paul and I have just begun embarking upon it.
You see, we’re rarely ‘on trend.’
Evidently, our omnipresent red clay just ain’t good enough and so we are now importing dust. A 4,000 mile long plume, whipped up by storms across the Saharan desert, visible from space, is now heading to the southeastern coast of the U.S.
For the life of me I can’t imagine how it would feel to have the street directly in front of my driveway, along with our farm’s sign and even nearby street signs, defaced with obscene and intimidating language designed to torment my family. And yet that is what happened last weekend to a community in our immediate area.