I can't die here, not this close to the Mennonite bakery.
tweet thisFiled under: Deep South, faith, family, food, health
I think I almost died last Friday morning, right outside of Macon, Mississippi. The weather was atrocious, as it has been for the past two solid weeks; the rain was torrential (FYI: that's a word on My Favorite Words List, which I keep in my glove compartment), the wind was ridiculous, and the roads held pockets of watery vengeance...but that's not what I thought was I dying from. Because I'm a fairly safe driver. It's one of the good qualities I inherited from my father. I kept my cruise control right on 60 mph, stayed in the slow lane, and I'd successfully...
"And I said, Well, excuse me, I didn't know you had a copyright on the bow tie."
Now, you may not believe this, but I really do try very hard to be nice, to be kind, to be a friend, to be polite, etc. It's just that I have a great deal of trouble sometimes in doing anything even remotely nice, or kind, or friendly, or polite, etc. And sometimes, it's not even really my fault. It isn't. It's just that I'm, every now and again, a tiny beat behind the music. I'm not even sure I hear any music, so God bless my poor little drummer. Of course, I don't hear very well, either, and I know that doesn't...
Godzilla vs. Supergirl, sushi-style. Hi-Ya!
I'm not really good at saying No. But, I don't really ever say Yes, that often, either. I think what I've allowed to happen is an assumed understanding of emphasis between asker and askee. For instance, someone might ask me if I like the shirt they're wearing. My usual response, trying my best to avoid confrontation (which I always do on little things, remembering U.L.'s constant quip of "Is this the hill you want to die on?"), is "I do." And that is not to be confused with I DO. Or, I do. I firmly believe it's possible to say No with nothing but the sheer...
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