I have dear neighbors on either side of me who live in Villa Rica only part-time. One couple is from Alaska, the other from California, worlds apart. All our lives are busy, and we don't intersect nearly often enough, but when we do, it is sweet and memorable.
Last night, the Californians and I went out for dinner, since they are leaving for home soon. We live so close to town, we usually walk to local restaurants. I wanted for us to ride "Maggie" for a fun time (our beloved, beat-up golfcart). Ken has decided that everything in our proximity has to have some derivative of "magnolia" in it. I love that. In our estimation, Magnolia was cool way before Chip and Joanna came along. I've had a summer of events to decorate, so our barn looks like a bomb went off. Bucketloads of tulle, satin, fake greenery and lanterns are holding Maggie hostage, so she will have to wait for another day. Ken and I had promised each other we were going to clean out that mess during the week of July 4, but he ended up working extra and I was still in noodle-mode after my two weeks at the beach with grandkids and my daughter-in-love. It takes weeks to recover from a vacation, this I know. Then you awaken and try to get on with the rest of your life.
So the Californians and I trundled to Los Cowboys in the balmy evening air. My spiffy, new Fresh Foam New Balance shoes starting chafing after only a few hundred yards. This is why I despise shoes. If God had meant for us to wear them, He'd have put them in our DNA code. While we're on the subject, why are people so concerned about whether everyone else has shoes on? What (or who) does it hurt, if I don't have shoes on, unless you're dealing with machinery or escalators? It is true that feet are not necessarily the most beautiful part of the human anatomy, though I deeply appreciate the luck of anyone who has nice, un-Hobbit-like ones. That nicety does not run in our family, with our knobby, strangely-webbed and curled-under toes. We look like we're ready to climb trees or grip utensils with them. And no, I don't believe we evolved from apes. We might try finding more useful purposes for them than just tucking them into ungainly clodhopper shoes. Scientists are even telling us now to shed those things and put our feet in the dirt. It's called "earthing" or "grounding" and it helps detox your body and shed extra electricity out of your limbs. This is another very good reason to up and head for the beach and stick your toes in the sand. Meanwhile, please don't judge me for rarely wearing shoes. I mean, I play my flute much better when there's nothing between me and the ground. It's a fact.
My California friends are wonderful people, the kind who are all there when you are together. Nobody's checking their phones a hundred times, there's plenty of stimulating conversation, and they are the kind of folk who are transparent and real. They don't mind discussing controversial subjects, from politics to religion, from work to their personal lives. No hypocrisy and lots of honesty, all done with respect. I am always refreshed after I spend time with them.
I was blessed to be raised by a straight-talking Yankee Mama down here in God's country with my southern Daddy and family. Sometimes our Southern culture presents a sugary face but has a wicked backbite. We need to work on that (well, at least I do). I heard a really good sermon this week about the tongue and how it can be a raging fire, from just a little spark. I hate it when a sermon jumps me like that. I'm chewing on and thinking about what kind of clamp I'm gonna need.
Only a few weeks and kids will be getting back to school. This is that gloaming part of a Georgia summer, when people float in the molasses of the humidity and ponder whether they're going to have to get their hinder parts moving soon. Fall is a very, very long way off (not that we actually have one) but I'm already hearing people talk about pumpkin spice lattes and such. As for me, I'm still hoping for a cement pond.
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