the long goodbye

We have always known that our tenure here as a family was just a milliblink in the years and years of history surrounding this land by the river. By some awesome twist of fate, I moved into the red log cabin when I was about a year old. The rest is history, as they say. Growing up in the country was incredibly boring for an only girl. When we were little, my brothers and I played nicely in the mud and such but we never really understood each other until we got to be adults, talking one on one about where we've been and what our dreams are from this point on. We're all old enough to need peace of mind and a laid back lifestyle. I think they call it middle age.

Our PR lady at the sawmill sent out an email the other day saying that a reporter for the local ladies magazine was interested in writing about bucket lists. So far, I'm not doing too well since I passed on the Eagles *live* to work for the utility bill divided by two. There is something different out there for me, and it can't be all bad. I stopped by Gigi's today and chillaxed on her comfy couch while she worked. Even managed to float a little too, in between phone calls. Such is life in the fast lane.

We had one helluva storm yesterday evening and I enjoyed every minute of it except for the part where the lightning was real close. I would seriously hate to die from this old house burning to the ground after a big strike. Then the owners could plant some more crops and forget about the rest of it and that would be wrong. I've taken pictures of most all of them at some point in time. The big question is....where the heck ARE they? I never said I was an organized kind of person, okay. This too, shall pass.

We have a new minister up at the local UMC, as that is the Methodist way. Bishops just go crazy and play fruit basket turnover come January, putting the PPR committees to task. It's a connectional thing, I suppose. Keeps everybody on their toes and all. I was raised there and went back when BG was little just so she would know what our heritage is. John Wesley made us Methodist...right, Marti Ann? Every year there are huge regional conferences where folks vote on rules and sing hymns. Once, I was a voting delegate and went into the whole thing totally unprepared for the on and on and on of it. At the very end, the CEO of my employer got up and pitched the mission of that healthcare system to the membership and that's when I just about lost it. I knew better.

There was a voice in the wilderness that day...a legacy of the church proper who was miserable with the lifestyle that is required of a corporate preacher. I recognized the voice from years ago and listened to him ramble on about the hardships of raising a family when there is no homeplace...nothing but a new appointment and more fried chicken pot luck dinners on the grounds with a particular congregation. It made me sad to hear it because he told me when we were seventeen that he didn't want to go that route but he did it anyway.

I know the feeling ^j^