L'esprit de l'escalier

It's all about the timing.

Name:
Location: Memphis, Tennessee, United States

I'd rather be somewhere else most of the time and I'm a huge practitioner of staircase wit.

7/06/2005

"I love my family, they're just not my #1 priority."

That's what my uncle once told my mother. She told me today I remind her of him and I guess we're all okay with that. So, great.

She also told me my father was thinking of selling their cabin on the lake in Walnut, MS after he retires if they don't go more often then they do now. I'm hoping they go ahead and decide to do that and then sell it to me.

More and more, David and I are thinking we'd love to just live "off the grid" so to speak, a little out of the way, surrounded by woods and ticks and the chiggers who've taken off w/my belly skin in their stupid little mouths. I just loved being there, it's peaceful and woodsy and lakey and peaceful and far away from pollution, and green. We could grow things. David's father has the best garden I've ever seen up close and I WANT THAT. I could have that there. His father has lettuce and tomatoes and cilantro, basil, strawberries, basil, a BANANA TREE... so much. Just so much and I want it. I'm already dreaming and he won't even be retiring for another year. All we want right now is a house of our own, I can't imagine anything better than a house of our own on a lake in the country.

Speaking of growing things, here's a lovely story David's grandfather tells me every now and again. I wish I could tell it in his voice. When David was about 4 or 5 years old, his grandfather was lining the side of their house with some monkey grass. He'd spent about an hour or so planting each bulb, about 25 all together. He's a very meticulous man, so I'm sure the row was perfectly measured and laid out. He finished and went inside to stretch his back. After awhile, he went back out to check on, or admire, his work. Instead he found a line of holes in the ground with monkey grass bulbs lying neatly beside. None other than his sweet grandson, David, crouched at the end of the row. Smiling and covered in fresh soil. He had taken each bulb of monkey grass and neatly removed it from the ground, carefully placed each one next to where it had just been planted. "I wasn't too hard on him," his grandfather says now. Of course he wasn't, but you can still, to this day, hear the strain in his voice just thinking of the day.

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