by irene bean

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A Solid Foundation



Not Trying to be Corny

This Little Light of Mine

We Were Once Young

Veni, Vedi, Vinca

U Tube Has a New Star

Packing a 3-Iron

Getting Personal

Welcome Again

Well... Come on in

Christmas Shopping

There's no Substitute

Dressed for Success

Cancun Can-Can

Holy Guacamole

Life can be Crazy

The New Dog

Hurricane Reenie

He Delivers

No Spilt Milk

Naked Fingers


Have Ya Heard the One About?

The Great Caper


Barney's P***S

My New Security System



When I kept my blog current, my favorite essays were about life... ordinary life... very ordinary life. Today was like most days for me. It was ordinary with lots of fresh brewed coffee and some time with FB - waving and smooching and conversing with people I look forward to seeing every day. Then I did lots of necessary fiddle-faddling to prepare for my trip down the mountain.

After I completed my chores, I dashed to my local grocer, the Piggly Wiggly, to stock my larder with provisions for my return. My son, David, lived in Washington, DC for 3 years. In my opinion it's one of the most sophisticated and sexiest cities around, yet whenever he wore his *I Dig the Pig* T-shirt he got more attention than any politico.

After The Pig, I stopped at Lorena's to treat myself to a dinner of her fabtastic chicken salad and a chunk of peach cobbler. When I pulled into the parking lot, there was this person wedged under the *hood* of an orange VW. I guessed it was the vintage I'd driven back in the day - 1968. After purchasing my dinner, I climbed back into my car (yes, I have to climb into my car these days) and started to pull out of the parking lot, but stopped and backed up and re-parked. I grabbed my trusty WalMart camera and asked the *young* man if I could take his picture. I just l-o-v-e-d that he was repairing an ancient VW that was parked next to an ancient Volvo. I consider these vehicles kissing cousins of a special ilk and era, and besides I knew there was a story to be told.

Ends up there wasn't much of a story after all, but that's what I like about the mountain. It doesn't take much to be amused. Jason, with nary a whiny tone, explained he'd driven the VW to Lorena's to repair the Volvo, which had broken down the night before. Really & truly, isn't that marvelous! Well, one thing led to another and we chatted a bit, and then I climbed back into my car (yes, I have to climb into my car these days). As I eased out of my parking slot for the second time, I opened the passenger window and hollered to Jason if I could do anything for him - give him a lift? His face scrambled and criss-crossed with a mish-mash of utter relief and gratitude. "Really?" was his response. "Really," I smiled.

Come to find out he lived a bit down the road from me by about 10 miles on Natural Bridge Road, but it was a beautiful day for a Sunday drive and his company was engaging. I learned he works for the Cumberland Plateau Park System and his wife is a librarian for the University. We also chatted a bit about our mutual joint woes - at the young age of 35 he's already having definitive signs of osteoarthritis. I commenced to become a mother hen, clucking all kinds of cautionary concerns.

At one point in conversation Jason realized I was driving quite a bit out of my way. I smiled and offered, "It's good to be able to be available for others when they need an assist." I must confess I drove a little slower than usual. I wanted our time to last just a wee bit longer than necessary. In that very moment, Jason encapsulated everything I adore about this mountain where I live, and will dearly miss while I'm in Nashville being repaired like that old 1968 VW he was repairing in Lorena's parking lot.

Don't ya just love that he had two different socks on. I did.

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