Both Sides of the Fence

A Tosa resident since 1991, Christine walks the dog, cooks but avoids housework, writes and reads, and enjoys the company of friends and strangers. Her job takes her around the state, learning about people's health. A Quaker (no, they don't wear blue hats or sell oatmeal or motor oil), she has been known to stand on both sides of the political and philosophic fence at the same time, which is very uncomfortable when you think about it. She writes about pretty much whatever stops in to visit her busy mind at the moment. One reader described her as "incredibly opinionated but not judgmental." That sounds like a good thing to strive for!

Cure for melancholy

I'm feeling a little wistful today, for reasons of interest only to myself. But I have discovered a sure cure: driving around with the car windows down and country music playing loud.

Not loud enough to make your car reverberate should you pull up next to me. Just loud enough to make you wonder whether I'm a little deaf.

Country is just the thing when your heart has been dented a bit. There's sassy revenge, beer-soaked longing, acute been-done-wrong sorrow, sweet hot country messes having fun until they get caught. A little anguish, a little prayer, a little car-keying. Or a lot of all that. In the spirit of joy in adversity, I'm declaring Cee Lo Green's "Forget" You a country song.
The driving around part is not for pleasure, not at $3.99 a gallon. And not when you drive all the time for your job. Which is what I'm doing.

Right now I'm recruiting health survey participants in a community very close to Tosa. I can pop back home for lunch, dog walking, and blog writing. What a rare pleasure that is.

And what a pleasure this almost spring day, 50 some days into official spring, is. The crabapples are in full pomegranate cotton candy fluff splendor and fragrant. There's enough leafage to make everywhere green, and the wind has settled down to playful.

The neighborhood I'm visiting is polka-dotted with For Sale signs. But most houses have tidy plantings around them and benches set out for enjoying the evenings, even if you have to wear a parka when you do it.

Pastel housecoats and elastic stockings dance on the lines set out in backyards and driveways. Wicker baskets await them. I half expect my grandmother, long gone, to emerge with a tray of molasses cookies. Then I remember: someday not too far off, it will be my turn to be the cookie-bearing grandma, though I will pass on the housecoats, thank-you-very-much.

On a day like this it's not hard to believe the lyrics Danny Gokey sings: "My best days are ahead of me."

Until next winter, anyway. We'll deal with that when we get there.

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