Wednesday, April 13, 2022


 When I was a kid, we lived in a valley on a very quiet dirt road. We were one of maybe a dozen year around residents, the only family with kids for many years. We kept ourselves entertained.

I remember that one of the things we used to do was scale the hills that had been clear cut for the power lines. We scampered up and down those hills like goats. 

I remember being a child and gazing from the top of hill, where you could see beyond, one hill rolling into another. You could hear the noon whistle blowing for the refinery workers, but the town itself was tucked away in a much larger valley of its own. We did not often go into town as kids. 

I remember just sitting there in the hot summer sun and longing, just longing to be someplace else, doing something different, waiting for the breeze to carry a random sound from a place that I could not see. There was always that longing. I don't know where it came from, but I remember that restless longing before I was even in school.

Today, I live in that town that I could not see as a child. I listen to the first thunderstorm of the season, watching the rain pour down, and in a lull, that noon whistle blows just as it always does. I am eating a salad and marveling that now I can do what I want. See what I want. Go where I want. 

This post has absolutely no point. It is merely a wonderous sort of acknowledgement of change, of years gone.

I am a very lucky person. 


  1. I remember feelings like those as a kid. Even now I sometimes feel like that. You paint a very poignant picture with your words.

  2. I grew up in a small town, but had no neighborhood playmates (and my closest sibling was a brother, five years older). It taught me to entertain myself, something I easily do to this day.

    Your first thunderstorm? This is at least our fourth week in a row with tornado watches and severe weather threats. Spring has sprung.

  3. Ah but there is a point.
    Things have changed, but the framework is still there! That is good

  4. Your final sentence says it all.

  5. Kelly, just as I hit publish on this post, there was a very loud crack of thunder. The computer began to flicker and my growlight in the corner went nuts. I shut the computer down. It turned out that the lightning had hit an old bank in town. A large block of brick had been blown off and landed on a parked van below. Luckily, it was empty, the driver being inside the bank at the time. A woman working in the building said the whole building shook from the concussion of it.

    We lost power at the house. The apartment we are renovating is a block away. That power did not even flicker.

    It was our first storm of the year unless I slept through something. I know you all have been hit by wicked weather.

  6. Beautifully written, Debby. You have captured those childhood feelings perfectly.

  7. You’ve gone a long ways, even though you are still close to home.

  8. The bank was hit...your building was that says something!!

  9. Sometimes those are the best posts. And it is nice to read about your gratefulness. I always felt guilty about it. Like I should be ashamed of my happiness. I attribute to being raised Catholic. Anyway, I threw caution to the wind and accepted that it was OK to acknowledge being lucky or happy some time ago and I am so glad I did. Take care, Debby.

  10. This is absolutely beautiful, Debby and I can truly relate to it. I grew up in a small plantation town and my life has gone in all kinds of directions too.

  11. I had similar feelings. And then when I got away to another place, I was homesick! This was a very well-written post. You really captured that sense of place.


I'm glad you're here!

IKEA and things that go bump in the night

 It is a clear sunny day today.  Houdi continues to mend well, and he is still outraged by the fact that he is being kept inside.  Tim's...