Washington NC Historic District

Turns out, the battery went kerplunk. Relatively new one, so it just needed a charge. Daughter, ever handy on the spot, came over with charger and wham bam thank the goo, it caught and ran like a top. She’s a good girl, that 2007 Volvo XC90. She was a Christmas present from daughter who got new Volvo station wagon for a present. We haven’t had a car for three years, so the gift is/was much appreciated.

Going without a car for three years caused many challenges. It humbles one, it truly does. Especially in a very tiny rural town with no public transportation other than an expensive cab service. Driving again, in my own car, not a vehicle borrowed for the occasion, makes me feel 16 again. A new experience, rather fearful.

Why daughter jump starting car and not neighbor? Well …

My neighbor is 80. She fell and broke her femur and the doctors put a metal rod in her leg to stabilize it. She’s back on her feet, no cane, and swimming at the local health center. What an amazing woman. Her mother turned 106 last week and she celebrated with her family down in SC. It would be improper to ask her for automative assistance.

The other neighbors are a 40 something couple, male is a rural mail carrier, wife a grade school teacher. They seem to be kind and  contentious, loving and normal. We don’t know them well but we appreciate them and their nice yard.

The other neighbors are white trash hooligans with little appetite for the norms of society. They scream at each other, burn trash in their back yard as some sort of pagan ritual, and don’t mow their yard. Once, a child of six or seven climbed onto the roof of the house to retrieve something thrown, maybe a frisbee. The mother came out and screamed at him, “Do you want to meet Jesus? Well, that’s how you do it, get down here now or you’re going to be meeting him sooner than you want to!” There used to be a huge Confederate flag hanging over the garage door but they took it down, thank goodness.

The house behind us is an AirBNB or whatever it’s called house. The owner lives on the other side of the house. It’s smallish little bungalow and we miss the former owners, an unremarkable gay couple who were kind and mellow. It’s odd having it empty so often. I don’t think it gets rented out on any type of frequent basis.

This blog is an attempt to get me writing again. I just write whatever is on my mind. It’s a way to jump start my creativity. It’s working. I’m thinking in words again and writing here instead of in long rambling incoherent emails to my friend in RI. She can only stand so much! Better to chronicle life here on an unread blog.

WordPress tells me people like my blog. This is bullshit. No one reads this. I want to go back to writing on Medium and maybe getting paid for it. It will happen. I do have followers on there and am set up to receive payment, little bits, like $.26 for a month of work but it makes me write and writing makes me whole again.