I know its the world's oldest and most frustrating sort of things that women do...compare all men to their father.  It's easier to be compared to an old boyfriend because let's face it--he is history thus must have been flawed in some way.  But the Dad?  The Dad ranks high above the mortal laws of comparison.  

The thing I love most about my father is that he can capture an audience.  He is a fabulous story teller.  He might be sitting at the kitchen table minding his own business.  He'll take a drag from his non-filter pallmall, butt it out in an overflowing ashtray and say, "Did I ever tell you about the time I blew a hole through my mothers' new refrigerator with a 22?"  Of course, he has my attention.  He has everyone's attention.  It's a statement that grabs ahold of our wrist and says, "Say What?"  When I was trying to trade our family geneology he said, "Oh, did I tell you that your great grandmother had her throat slit from ear to ear?"  I nearly spit my coffee out.  HOLY COW! Like why did I not know this before?  He looks at me and grins, "Your grandfather saved her...now about the blood stains-- they never did come out of that wood floor..."  That just gets me!  I love people who can tell a story.  It captures me.  It warms me.   

And I love that because of this great and interesting man I can be sitting with my friends having a Long Island Ice Tea and say, "Did I ever tell you about the time my Father and I accidently burned down 3 acres of corn?"  

Some people love living in town.  I find it disconcerting.  The houses on my street are close enough together so we can see into one anothers kitchen.   I can hear my neighbor back out of her driveway each morning (she needs a new muffler).  I know who gets up early to mow the lawn and who doesn't even care if the lawn gets mowed.  These are things I do not want nor need to know.  My latest frustration is the alarm clock next door. It is loud!  It goes off at 5 a.m. every morning.  The sleeper is one of those types who lets the damn thing beep for five minutes.  On the other hand I'm the type to slap the clock to stop the sound on its first beep.  This sort of living is way too close for comfort. 

I need breathing room---a perch where I can sit & watch the sunrise across the open fields---a hammock between 2 trees where I can read a book until its too dark to see the pages & my arms are so cold---I long to strum my guitar and hit the wrong strings without the world hearing me do it---I want to sing COUNTRY ROADS at the top of my lungs and KNOW that NOBODY can hear me.   

These are tiny things however....I feel the loss of what I once had.  These tiny things add up to something gigantic. ..the fact that I don't enjoy living in town.  I don't hate the people.  I don't hate the village.  It's a quaint, even pretty town.  I am simply a circle who cannot fit into a square.  I am the country mouse.  I like walking barefoot on grass not pavement.  I like hearing the crickets and watching the fireflies not stare at street lights flicker on and off. 

Someday and I hope the someday is soon...I will be back again to the country.  I might even buy a horse... how's that for fanciful? 

Spring is melting its way out of the snowbanks my friends.  It hit the mid 60's today!  So naturally, I thought I'd stop off at the car wash & vacuum out the car.  Seems our 1,600 town residents were of the same mind.    Looking through the rearview mirror as I shook my head & pulled out of the car wash I realized just how much my cool car priorities have changed.  I'm no longer desperate for a sparkling clean car.  Sure its a nice thing but not a necessity.  I cannot see waiting in line to use a vacuum either.  The dirt can wait another day.  It isn't like I'll be entertaining in it.  

On the other hand... I can vividly remember when my car was the spot for entertaining.  Drive-ins still existed when I was a teen and we regularly attended --thus the car became the (livingroom).  At some point my friends and I camped in our cars.  We'd stay overnight at the lake just to see the sun come up--thus the car became the (bedroom/front porch).  I also plead guilty to changing my clothes (my sister will never forget one embarressing moment when I insisted we put on new concert t-shirts) --thus the car became the (bathroom/changing room).  

My first car was a beaut.  A hatch-back chevy citation.  Cost me a whopping $450!  I had to get a loan out of the bank for that kind of money.  I put 30,000 miles on in one year and I don't believe it ever left the county.  I cruised daily.  I never once changed the oil.  Even though my Dad was a mechanic & taught us all the basics like how change the oil, sparkplugs and fixing flat tires.  I guess you could call that slight...the irresponsibility of youth.  I was too busy having a good time to properly maintain the car.  But, damn...it was always freshly waxed & vacuumed.

New music has been posted.  Smaller file than last week for those still struggling with the dial up pony express.  Allison Krauss & Union Station--blue grass. 

Well, I've returned to my blog after a few days of recooperating from my shoulder injury.  It's mildly painful to type but ^{I will survive}...(go gloria gaynor) 

I saw the old high school librarian yesterday when I fixed her computer.  Of course we remembered one another from the 80's.  I spent alot of time in the school library catching up on my kissing...oh, I mean studying in the back booths with my favorite study partner.  She never ratted me out so I always liked her.   GS was saying she craved Tuna Noodle Casserole so I decided, as her best friend, I must take action.  I spent the morning cooking and dropped it off during lunch hour.  Now for those of you the intricate details of preparing this delectable feast you might be wondering how on earth it took me all morning to make it?  Well, naturally, because I made it twice.  See, I was on the phone, paid less attention to the stove than I should have thus destroyed the first batch.

It's snowing!  It snows every Tuesday.  I am not kidding!  The chorus group cancelled again last Tuesday!  I'm finding this a very strange phenomenom.  Maybe Jefferson is right and there is something wrong with Tuesdays.  Just in case he is right... and my tuna had it in for me...I've decided to stay in.  I'm going to finish up my computer work, climb into some cozy pj's and curl up on the bed and flip through the channels.  Just subscribed to HBO.  I wanted to see the Sopranos and Six Feet Under.  It's quite comical because other than CSI (when I can remember) I rarely watch t.v. 

Signing Off.  Ten Four.  I'm out.