Coffee & Biscuits

I love my exterminator. Is that a weird thing to say? Too bad, because it's true. The semi-retired gentleman who arrives once a month to spray our home is a treasure of the past. He is the very definition of a simple country man, in the best sense. When I answered my front door yesterday he smiled and said, "Well, I guess those Russians didn't kidnap you after all," before he gave me a big hug. 

I love hearing about his life. He was twenty years old before he ever lived in a house with hot running water. He remembers the first time he ever owned a pair of jeans. They came with a t-shirt and a pair of shoes. Yesterday he was telling me about the first steak he ever ate in his life when he was around age 25. They had a cow, but that was for milk and butter. His family grew wheat and tobacco and his stories of life on the farm are fascinating. 

It's the little details that catch my attention. Yesterday, for example, we were talking about food and what his mama used to cook. He said for breakfast they'd often have homemade biscuits that the kids would dunk into coffee and add a couple tablespoons of sugar and that was breakfast. His daddy drank coffee out of a saucer where he'd poured it to let it cool. 

I could sit and listen to him for hours. I encouraged him to write down or record his memories, but he doesn't think anyone would be interested. I disagree. I may just have to start writing down what he tells me, as memories like his are too good to be lost. 

Cheers,

Dena

Update on 2011-06-07 12:59 by Dena Harris

Guess who just showed up at my door with a bag full of fresh veggies? He said, "I hope you don't mind me dropping these off, but you said you liked vegetables and I picked these from the garden on Sunday and there's too many for us to eat." I now have a bag full of zucchini, yellow squash, and pickling cucumbers. YUM!!

Remember When Driving Was Fun?

My niece turns sixteen next month which, frankly, is sending me over the deep end. I remember holding her as a baby, playing with her as a toddler, changing her diapers (ha ha, kidding. I've never changed a diaper in my life). Now you're telling me she can drive and will leave for college in two years? Nuh-uh. Nope. Sorry, I refuse to accept it. 

I mentioned my angst to BFF Trisha who shared that her friend's daughter recently turned sixteen and it's been a bonanza for the neighborhood. They've got this girl running errands 24/7 - dropping off kids, going to the store, picking up dry cleaning... she's the new neighborhood pack mule. 

I remember that feeling of being 16 and looking for any reason to escape into the car. Going to the store for mom was a pleasure because you got to be in the car.  How long has it been since you've slid behind the driver's wheel and appreciated the fact that you were ALONE, in a CAR, and thought it was just the coolest thing ever? Remember the glow of omnipotence that came with turning the radio to whatever channel you wanted, as loud as you wanted? That feeling that anything was possible because--hey baby--you were in the car.

I can't even remember the last time I was excited to get in the car. It's such a no-brainer activity. Which is too bad because it certainly can't hurt to appreciate the fact that I have a car, I have money to put gas in the car, and I have the freedom and flexibility to drive said car almost anywhere I want.

I'm going to try to capture some of the excitement of being 16. Instead of challenging Blair to rock-papers-scissors fights when a last-minute run to the store is needed, maybe instead I'll leap up, grab my purse and keys and yell, "I'll do it! I'll go! I'll drive to the store!" 

Then I'll crank some tunes and revel in the fact that I have this whole car to myself, just like a grown-up.

And I'll take the long way home.

Cheers,

Dena