I am sitting in a rocking chair with my feet stuck up on a deck rail, my fancy new HP 17" widescreen balanced on my thighs. The rocking chair is on a wood deck painted screaming purple. The deck is on the back of a cabin (also purple, but with patches of aqua and canary yellow thrown in so it can be seen from space). The cabin is hanging off the side of a limestone hill just west of Austin near Bee Cave. There are juniper bushes and mesquite trees as far as the eye can see. There are three Mockingbirds that have been having a serious discussion for the last 20 minutes about who actually does have the right to be the biggest baddest bird on the shale pile about 15 feet down the cliff. It would be hot if not for the comfort a two ceiling fans whirling above me and a cold Negro Modelo on the table at my side.
I've just renewed my domain here at Ain't Chicken for another year. I did it just now, here on the deck, online, using a credit card.
This morning at 3:30am I called my husband (while driving on a twisty, steep, dark, remote, only slightly familiar, wet road) on the cell to tell him I was on my way back from Austin and would be with him soon.
I have become such a hypocrite. When I was 16 I was yelling at my mother because she wouldn't let me go join the protesters down at the South Texas Nuclear Project.
Now I sit here as an active member of a cashless society who talks on a cell phone while driving and pays her bills from the woods in the Hill Country on a wireless computer.
When my mother was a young girl, she and HER mother made their own lye soap off the back of their wooden house in an iron kettle over a wood fire, just inside the fence from the cow pasture and across the yard from the outhouse.
OK. Maybe progress isn't ALL bad.Labels: personal urban drama, texas, vacation |
I remember writing a check a year ago and the lady at the register looked at it like it was a weird/gross creature.