Life and describing it

     Charles Lindbergh said, "Life is like a landscape. You live in the midst of it, but can describe it only from the vantage point of distance." For a few weeks now I've been trying to come up with a way to write something here - the blog post my mother has been asking me for, the one my writer brain, now much underappreciated, has been begging me to let loose. I wanted to describe life, in all its color and all its freezing-cold December glory. But lately, life transcends description, at least any I can come up with and communicate with my fingers. (Oh, how good it feels to type! And not even something expected to be graded by a teacher! Keyboard, have I missed you or have I missed you?!) My little world is a lot less little than it used to be, for a number of reasons. I can't describe it to you. But I can tell you about it, at least in a small part.

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     First of all, how was everyone's Christmas? As a retail worker, I'm happy to report that I survived, though it was close; as a new and very green member of my town's fire department, I was part of a scene that made me very sad but also gave me an even greater respect and admiration for the guys in my department, just when I didn't think a greater respect was even possible; as an Anderson girl I tried to be helpful and somehow, even though it was so snowy half of our family couldn't show up, we had ourselves a fine celebration. It was kind of like that one Christmas episode of The Waltons where everyone is somewhere different: Jason and Daddy are cutting a tree out of the church roof, Grandma and Grandpa are stuck in Charlottesville, John-boy and Mary Ellen are rescuing a little girl from a car accident, and nobody knows where anyone else is. In the end my family was all together in our warm little house and I was so, so grateful for them all.

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     In other news... The depreciation of my truck is becoming increasingly apparent. For about a month now I've had trouble with the driver side door, getting it shut and keeping it shut, which sounds like not so big of a deal when you think of other possible mishaps like losing a tire or smashing a headlight. Well, last night leaving work, the latch was frozen together and no matter what I tried with it, the door would. not. shut. I figured I could hold it on the way home. A simple plan...except it's no easy feat to hold your door shut, steer the truck, shift the gears, and operate the windshield wipers, all with only two arms. The bottom dropped out of the thermometer, the temperature was so cold, and I may have forgot to mention this but my defroster is under-functioning (translate: doesn't work for crap). By the time I slid into my driveway last night I had decided I need a new truck. By new, I mean, you know, maybe twenty years old instead of thirty.

    While I was defrosting myself on the hearth, I expressed these concerns to my mother and father. "I want another truck!" I whined. Mama tried to talk me down, offering suggestions, but I was so mad I wouldn't be reasoned with. "I can't drive this in the winter anymore! I need a new one!" I bawled.

     I would never, EVER get rid of my Ranger. Until I have a child I think I could never love anything more. But here's the thing. You need a truck you can rely on. You need your every day driver, and then you have your little Ranger, when the sky is clear and the roads are bare and the temperature is balmy. I tried to explain all this.
 
     "You're absolutely right," my dad said, and that was all he said.

     That is the difference between my mother and my father.

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     Before this fall, I had never been hunting. My daddy has never hunted. In the summertime he shoots blackbirds when they eat the sweet corn, but besides that he doesn't get into the whole sport of it. However, my guy hunts, and so I figured I'd better go along and see what it was all about. Besides a little pink Mossy Oak ball cap I bought on a whim once when I was trying to be all cute and 'country,' I don't own any camouflage, but he had a coat and a hat that he let me borrow, as well as an orange vest, so I wouldn't be mistaken for a deer and get shot. (I wouldn't have liked that, and I don't think he would have either.) We sat out in the woods for awhile and talked about things that do not relate to deer-hunting in the slightest. We did see one doe on that excursion, and he took a shot at it, but she got away. We named her Agnes and are still looking for her to this day.

     I guess I like hunting, but I like my guy more.

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     A whole year has passed since...well, since I said that the last time. Some people think 2017 was a garbage fire, but I think it was amazing. (If you have a synonym for 'amazing' that is better, please comment and let me know so I can sound more original.) In the future, I hope I can be more diligent in a lot of things, and one of them is writing. Because ohhhh, does this ol' keyboard feel good under my fingers again. :-)

     Happy New Year friends!! Here's to a good one!

    <3 Emma

from me and Henley