2015 was far in the future when I was a kid, a world unimaginable, not quite far enough for Star Trek but too far to simply extrapolate the normal. And now here I am, and it seems like a painfully banal dystopian novel, the kind I would never voluntarily have read but which an English teacher would assign as an exercise in understanding subtle character motivation. Brazil crossed with Gatsby.
I avoided much of the relatives obligatory holiday visit, by way of my coming down with a bad cold and therefore being excused from socializing. Such an interesting term, that - kind of like conditioning. I am supposed to want to drink beer, watch sports, and make toity conversation. Apparently.
House smells of the Fraser Fir in the living room. Always reminds me of Boone and Linville and working at Hawksnest and mom coming down to buy a tree at the big house in Crossnore. Christmas -all the holidays, really - wasn't nearly so loaded up and emotionally perilous back then.
The other night at dance, Shane? said "if you think you're enlightened go visit your family" but for me I think it's more when the in laws come to visit that is my test of will. My birthday got so bad that I just left and went for a drive on the Pkwy. Better that than going off on people who just wouldn't get it.
Last year was truly a Hanged Man year. Not sure what this one will be.
"He used often to say there was only one Road; that it was like a great river: its springs were at every doorstep, and every path was its tributary. 'It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out of your door,' he used to say. 'You step onto the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to.'".