After visiting and talking with some of my closest friends today, I realized that I've made some internal decisions worth recording. In early 2006, I shall be leaving San Francisco behind and heading for a new adventure in the Deep South. This may seem crazy from many angles but let's face it, this is where all the action is.
In the next few months, expect to find various "oh-my-god-I'm-leaving!" Valentines to my beloved, foggy city. Like a beautiful lover that takes all your money, she can be cruel but she certainly isn't easy saying goodbye to. Especially when I'm heading toward a recently devastated area that is hot and full of Wal-Marts; nationally, Mississippi ranks first in illiteracy and obesity. Hmmmmmmmmmm. Have I thought this over properly?
I have and I realize that Faulkner's home state is also a lot of things that don't show up in government surveys. Mississippi is full of tasty duck gumbo, neverending music and warm greetings . . . not to mention most of my family.
My two-year-old nephew, Robbie, knows so little of me. I am merely that crazy Aunt person who shows up twice a year, teaches him tongue tricks and has a long, black nose that makes noise (my camera.) This cannot continue, especially during these crucual years when he is developing his political ideals - heehee! Also, his parents, I am more than a little fond of.
My brother, Robert, is well, my Big Brother - need I say more? I used to follow him around just wanting to do whatever he was doing - skateboarding, water ballon assaults, spitwads - I never questioned the task. Seems I haven't really grown out of this habit. I remarked to him one time that he owned my goat and he replied, laughing (possibly even smoking a cigar): Heather, I OWN your goat . . . "
Maryann, his wife, is a true Southern Pistol, not to be confused with a timid Southern Belle. In her musical accent, she is the type of woman that cannot be stopped, no matter what the challenge. I remember watching her command the microphone at The Broke Spoke (a tin shack bar in Kiln, Mississippi) with the proudest singing I'd ever heard. Mind you, it was awful, the girl simply can't carry a tune (especially after adding alcohol) but that was irrelevant. Later, she grabbed a man's cowboy hat and then proceeded to beat everyone in billiards while looking very hot only two months after giving birth to Robbie at age 40. She just rocks.
Furthermore, my own father (can't wait to write about him!) lives there most of the year and pitching in during all the reconstruction is very appealing. Everyone starting over together. Who knows what I'll do, I'm open to a dump truck job fer chrisakes but at least I won't be a cubicle.