Sunday, January 15, 2012
--WHY DON'T WE JUST SAY WHAT WE MEAN
It snowed a lot.
Big flakes the size of bread slices.
I enjoy a really good snowfall. For 20 some years I used to hate when it snowed because I was in retail and snow means death for retail because every stays home and no one shops.
In the same perverse way I used to get depressed when it was sunny on the weekends because that meant people would play outdoors rather than go to the mall.
But not I am making up for all that.
I stood by the big picture window and looked up into the sky. It was filled with shredded coconut. Very cool. I loved it.
Unfortunately, since I live in the boondocks and we still have telephone poles, the power went out for a long stretch.
But it's back. It's back and there's still seven inches of white outside.
...Today I got a batch of the new Durable Goods.
This story, partially about my parents, was in it:
It starts with gasoline.
My father an attendant, back when they had them in those days. Mother showing up on empty.
From there, they had two botched abortions, then me, a trailer home smelling of barley and brine, a place ravaged but replaced with shattered things.
It ends with gasoline, my father soaked in it one night after passing out on the couch. Mother putting the can down, flicking a lighter, saying, “Enough is enough.”