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if i had it all, all my life again
I am on such the Melissa Ferrick kick of late. If I had any sense I'd check her site and see if she's playing around here (isn't the proximity to entertainment supposed to be the benefit of living near a city?) but alas I am lazy. And don't even know who I'd go with. Lots of things I'd do alone, but seeing Melissa Ferrick isn't one of them.
Some things are just meant to be shared.
Despite it all - I miss New Hampshire. When I have time to miss it. I did make a home there. And for all its quirks, and sometimes loneliness, and proximity to nothing cultural, I just always felt safe there, like I had a place there. I miss it, my little mountain town, where I stopped locking the doors and couldn't get myself lost driving no matter how hard I tried. Seeing the same people at the gas station, at the grocery store, feeling known.
I feel anonymous here. I always thought I'd like that but surprisingly, I don't.
Still. It's the little things. Which aren't really so little. Like the rock on the side of the road on the second route I could take home on the days I had to be in Concord -- a longer drive, but oh so much more beautiful - that had been spray painted with the words CHICKEN FARMER I STILL LOVE YOU. I wanted to know what that meant. And of course I shouldn't know because what makes it so wonderful is the not knowing.
But that's what I miss. Knowing the little things about a place. Being able to carry around the best five words ever in my head to take out when I need them. And the mountains, which always felt so sheltering, and safe.
And of course there was the Baptist church just down the road from where I lived that had a sign in front of it that I ALWAYS paid attention to, because to not pay attention would be to miss such gems as
Walmart isn't the only saving place
Do you have knee-mail?
In God we trust ... right on the money!
and the one I'll never figure out
Alpha is coming
(but where did omega go?)
And my coworkers, about whom I could never say enough, and so won't even try.
The trail down the river. Where I found trillium growing.
CHICKEN FARMER
I STILL LOVE YOU
Some things are just meant to be shared.
Despite it all - I miss New Hampshire. When I have time to miss it. I did make a home there. And for all its quirks, and sometimes loneliness, and proximity to nothing cultural, I just always felt safe there, like I had a place there. I miss it, my little mountain town, where I stopped locking the doors and couldn't get myself lost driving no matter how hard I tried. Seeing the same people at the gas station, at the grocery store, feeling known.
I feel anonymous here. I always thought I'd like that but surprisingly, I don't.
Still. It's the little things. Which aren't really so little. Like the rock on the side of the road on the second route I could take home on the days I had to be in Concord -- a longer drive, but oh so much more beautiful - that had been spray painted with the words CHICKEN FARMER I STILL LOVE YOU. I wanted to know what that meant. And of course I shouldn't know because what makes it so wonderful is the not knowing.
But that's what I miss. Knowing the little things about a place. Being able to carry around the best five words ever in my head to take out when I need them. And the mountains, which always felt so sheltering, and safe.
And of course there was the Baptist church just down the road from where I lived that had a sign in front of it that I ALWAYS paid attention to, because to not pay attention would be to miss such gems as
Walmart isn't the only saving place
Do you have knee-mail?
In God we trust ... right on the money!
and the one I'll never figure out
Alpha is coming
(but where did omega go?)
And my coworkers, about whom I could never say enough, and so won't even try.
The trail down the river. Where I found trillium growing.
CHICKEN FARMER
I STILL LOVE YOU
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