Why it Matters That I Do
Live in a mill house, that is. Ok, well technically speaking, it doesn't matter. Kind of in the way that nothing really, ultimately, matters. The house is small. It is, of course, situated alongside other mill houses, all of which appear mostly identical, save for the whimsy of the individual owners who may have added things like awnings, sunporches, a variety of fences, and of course the usual hideous decorative flags, the largely half-assed attempts at a garden-ish area, or, if you're like my immediate neighbor, perhaps an RV in the driveway that maybe someone lives in. Or cooks drugs in. Either way, they use it regularly.
Grandma lives in the other half of the house - not my Grandma - but I've taken to calling her Grandma, not to her face, mind you. She's a true old timer. Next time I get to stand at her door and talk to her through the screen I need to find out - "Did she work at the mill?" Gosh, I know the answer. The woman is 90+ years old. Did she work at the mill. If I'm proved wrong, hey, whatever. But she has told me about her husband, how he used to have a garden over there, how it was only cows back when, not these ranch houses and all, behind us. Our house is on the southern border of this tiny mill town, ours is the last row to the south.
I heard from the Grandma's son, my friend, that the RV neighbors retardedly cut down a lilac tree that had been planted by her husband. Yes, I will use the word retard to describe any RETARD that cuts down a lilac tree under any circumstances, never mind one that doesn't belong to them or was planted by the elderly neighbor's late husband. I should clarify. They are actually RETARDED ASSHOLES. I mean, really, seriously, why? To make room for their mobile drug laboratory?
That's one of the things about living in a mill house. The houses are small, cheap to buy, cheap to rent, and so guess what, you're gonna have trashy knuckleheads in the vicinity. Sorry about the tirade. I do have a thing about lilacs. What those clowns did is a sin, pure and simple.
But the house... so it is small, humble but sturdy like the original tenants. Brave immigrants, looking for a piece of peace, of freedom. Did they find it? Will I?
Grandma lives in the other half of the house - not my Grandma - but I've taken to calling her Grandma, not to her face, mind you. She's a true old timer. Next time I get to stand at her door and talk to her through the screen I need to find out - "Did she work at the mill?" Gosh, I know the answer. The woman is 90+ years old. Did she work at the mill. If I'm proved wrong, hey, whatever. But she has told me about her husband, how he used to have a garden over there, how it was only cows back when, not these ranch houses and all, behind us. Our house is on the southern border of this tiny mill town, ours is the last row to the south.
I heard from the Grandma's son, my friend, that the RV neighbors retardedly cut down a lilac tree that had been planted by her husband. Yes, I will use the word retard to describe any RETARD that cuts down a lilac tree under any circumstances, never mind one that doesn't belong to them or was planted by the elderly neighbor's late husband. I should clarify. They are actually RETARDED ASSHOLES. I mean, really, seriously, why? To make room for their mobile drug laboratory?
That's one of the things about living in a mill house. The houses are small, cheap to buy, cheap to rent, and so guess what, you're gonna have trashy knuckleheads in the vicinity. Sorry about the tirade. I do have a thing about lilacs. What those clowns did is a sin, pure and simple.
But the house... so it is small, humble but sturdy like the original tenants. Brave immigrants, looking for a piece of peace, of freedom. Did they find it? Will I?
posted by Black Egg at 10:14 PM
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