The Youth Of Old Age

The view out my windows and off my deep front porch is of a pond, horse pastures, and trees. It's Midwest farmland as far as the eye can see, and I'm loving every second of it. I've come back to a place I never thought I'd embrace again. But ... I am.

As I sit here writing this blog I'm thinking about my life and how many times I've moved. I'm tired of moving. Although I love to travel, I like the idea coming home to my things. My books, my old china, my junk. It's comforting. Every year that passes by, I become more inclined to dig in my heels and hole up in my house. Seems like every ten years in a woman's life, her life changes to where she can't recognize a damn thing. It's been that way with me. Except this time, I've come full circle. I recognize the landscape, but not the past. And that's a good thing.

The old house creaks like every old house I've fixed up. Every old house I've turned into a silk purse. A sow's ear is not an easy thing to contemplate as I enter the youth of old age. But here I am. There's a lot to do. I'm not in a hurry. The wind is cool as it blows through the screens. Summer storms rumble through in the afternoons and I feel myself drifting through old memories and another new adventure.

I've got a new book to write. And this is just the house and landscape to do it in.

Blessings to you and yours.

You Can Take The Girl Out Of The South

... but you can't take the South out of the Girl.

And so it goes. The past weeks I've been involved in packing, moving, and unpacking. I've moved north. Oh yes, true. I know. Shocker. But when there's children and grandchildren to consider ... the choice becomes an easy one.

I moved to North Carolina in June of 2001. Ten years later, almost to the day, Michael and I loaded up a truck and moved to the Midwest. It's been a long, hot, and exhausting couple of weeks. As I sit here (thankful to be back online) and gaze over the mountain of boxes that are waiting to be unpacked, I'm realizing that no mater where I live, where I go, or what I do ... I'm still Southern. And I'm still Fried.

Always was. Always will be.

Blessings to you and yours.