Pilgrim in the Trailer Park

  My mother told me “there is always something to write about.” She’s not a writer herself, but she encourages my writing. I think this is just so she has something to read. But really, she is a big reader. And writing and reading go hand in hand. For there to be something to read, somebody has to write. So I posit that the writers came first, as in the instance of the chicken and the egg. Books didn’t fall out of the sky (and if they did I’m sure one would hit me on the head (it would probably be War and Peace)). I invited my brother over for a kitten chow session. We put food out and wait for them to eat, kind of like kitten fishing. I thought he could get a good look at these precious things I’ve been raving about. Out of five, only two came out, and he tried to chase them down, which scared them (I think it was an irresistible impulse. I understand that). And then it rained. Chow sesh over. Sometimes people go whale watching and there are no whales. This is life.  The ...

 Most of you don’t know this about me, but out of the various jobs I’ve held (very loosely) in my life, at one time I worked at a bed and breakfast. I worked at the Inn of the Shenandoah in Luray, Virginia, my hometown. It was short lived, but it is memorable and I thought I’d write about it :) I graduated from college in the winter of 2015. I missed a semester so I had to make up for it and graduate a semester late. Whatever. My plans were just to move back home (whatever). Really I didn’t have a plan. But I wanted to get a job like asap so I wouldn’t be one of those post college sloths eating all their parents cereal. So I dressed up and walked around town with my shiny new resume, the fancy kind on thick cardstock that the career planning lady at my college made for me. I gave one to the local newspaper office, The Page News and Courier. I had good intentions.  My resume scheme wasn’t working and honestly I don’t know how many jobs I actually applied to. My dad mentioned th...

 I forgot to say please. What can I say…it’s a hot day in May. I swear I saw the car dash temp at 91, and I finally succumbed to using the AC at night. I’d say it’s critical (your prayers are needed).  But I didn’t start this post to complain about the weather. You know Florida: it’s hot, hot, hot, with some sweater weather months. For the record, I’m not used to it. I have Northern DNA, yet I don’t dig the cold. I don’t know where I belong (is there a Mediterranean climate waiting for me in heaven?). But enough of that.  There are five adorable kittens that need a home, our home in fact, but we can’t find them now since we believe the mother relocated them and is using herself and Rusty to guard them from our sticky fingers. John says there may be an ensuing custody battle (“I’d like to call Untrusty Rusty to the stand”), so we’ll need a lawyer specializing in feline affairs. I hope it won’t be drawn out. We really need those kitties, like, right now. It reminds me of a ...