Quick update. There are no new pictures. They will happen soon.
I’m just plugging along on Mom’s new iMac, writing in SimpleText (Windoze types think “Notepad”) just to see if I remember how (and because I have no other options until I can buy Mom a Zip drive).
The fiftieth anniversary is complete. About a hundred friends and family members appeared for the celebration. I wore a tie. People were shocked. I, of course, was just uncomfortable. But I consumed sufficient numbers of sausage balls to ease my pain.
Later this week, there will be quality time in Charlotte with Duncan and in Wilmington with relatives. There will be barbecue and grits and Cheerwine, and pictures of supermarkets where absolutely everthing is cheaper.
But for now, I’m going to sleep in my childhood bed.
Mom reserved me for a day of cleaning out the storage building behind the house, as about half its contents belong to me. I dug through old newspapers, toys, and other things I never had the energy to drag to California. It was dusty and smelly. When I got to the top shelf, I realized a lot of the stench had come from the piles of squirrel shit there. Apparently they sneak in through the eves.
It got even better a few shelves down when I saw this immobile furry thing. I jumped a little when I saw it, a little nauseous at the prospect of pulling out a dead squirrel. I jumped considerably more when it moved, and I saw that it was way too big to be a squirrel.
Turns out a full-grown raccoon was living inside that box of old Sears catalogs. Conveniently. my mom wouldn’t let me touch it, fearing rabies. I was comfortable with that, as I didn’t want to get near the damned thing anyway. Mom called animal control. The raccoon, cute as it may have been, went away to be euthanized (a polite term for “killed”). Mom was relieved and a little sad.
That night, I went to the library at UNCG to do a little research and to see if my old tearooms were still jumping. They were not, alas…
