Monday, August 16, 2004

Glovebox stash

I met my mother at the mid-point again to retrieve my daughter who demanded more summer country living on the 500 acre cattle farm in the Ozarks. After drinking coffee with little Ilene, my sweetie Grandma Cora (89), and my daughter, we drove north again while my daughter excitedly remitted a country cousin report on my brother's four teenage sons. She and the boys all "walked around together" at a community picnic in Skyline. The boys knew everyone. Everyone knew the boys. Here's a couple of things my city-slicker daughter incredulously observed:
"Mom! A boy said 'hi' to me, and Shawn said 'Don't mess with her, she's my couzin'!'"
"Mom! There was a girl at the picnic, and they [the cousins] said, 'hey, did you hear that she's goin' to college?' 'Yeah, why does she want to go to college for?'" -- This conversation was repeated over and over again.
"Mom! Wade has $500 in his truck's glovebox from working at the fireworks stand, and he leaves it in his truck, without locking the door at all! He uses it for gas money!"
"Mom! I asked when the picnic would be over, and they said, 'When everyone leaves' and looked at me like I was crazy. I hate it up here where every one has to know what time things begin and end!"
"Mom! Grandma made us 'move into the light' when we were all sitting, talking, on Wade's tailgate in the parking lot. He's my cousin!"

That's the country cousin report .............:)

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