Moving away from home makes you realize that every place in this world is special- even towns with no traffic lights and a non-existent social scene. Looking back on all those times I walked to the only store in town, the Nice ‘N Easy or more eloquently called “The Nice ‘N Sleasy” by us kids, kicking stones and having your friend keep up the passes with you weren’t so bad after all. Now I look at the town I grew up in as a small village nestled on the foothills of the Adirondack Mountains tucked into a bend of the Mohawk River. When I followed that river down its windy banks and climbed a hill I would make it to my best friend’s house. Megan’s house was planked on two sides by cornfields; on the third stood the crazy old lady’s house, the lawn with deer grazing on the food she scattered. On the fourth side- the road- there sat the man in his electric wheelchair, enjoying the landscape that so many of us can’t really respect until we’re older and realize the beauty of the places we grew up in.
Don’t get me wrong, living in Dublin for six months has been a blessing. Walking down old cobblestone streets with a bouquet of flowers and hugging an Italian tourist holding a sign saying “free hugs” is such a beautiful life to live. But when you leave a town that you’ve grown so accustomed to hating, experiencing a new life always makes you long for the past one- no matter how dull and boring it seemed at the time.
My favorite dream. I am flying home from Rome. It doesn’t start in Rome, more like around the Snubbing Post area. Wisps of hair tickle my cheek as I fly, fly with my arms outstretched. Down Route 46. I turn a bend and I see the Christmas tree farm, hidden at first by lush green trees. The trees filter the sun so it rapidly bounces off my eyes.
As a child I used to play a game while sitting in the car. I would squeeze my eyes as tight as possible when the sun shined into my eyes, only letting them open when we were going under shade. Sometimes I would be unsuccessful and be shocked by the rays on my pupils. Or, while staring out the window, I imagined a huge chain saw was attached to the side of the car and it was completely wrecking havoc along the country side.
I realize that this entry has been a rambly one. But please keep in mind that after living in a weird and strange place, any writer will revert to telling old stories, no matter how warped memories may become after decades of life. Please keep on reading. These entries will probably become entirely unreasonable and ranting in their nature. So, my very own free blog-site has lifted ground.
Enjoy your stay here in Becca Land.
