True Confessions of an Urban Hillbilly

When I get homesick, I like to have a fried baloney sandwich on white bread with a glass of red wine.

Summer bliss is picking a bucketful of blackberries in 95° heat with humidity so we can eat cobbler with vanilla ice cream after dinner while we watch fireflies and bats dance in the twilight gloaming.

I like being barefoot in the kitchen, but mind you, I can swing a mean frying pan.

I blame my inner turmoil on being related to both the Hatfields and the McCoys.

Shoes off inside, please. Don’t come trackin’ dirt through the house!

Happiness is sitting on the porch swing during a thunder and lightning extravaganza at 6AM when my sister hands me a plate full of breakfast: crispy bacon, fluffy scrambled eggs, and buttery sourdough toast.

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This post was written in 2012, framing a moment in time. Life happened. At the end of 2019, I sat in the ruins of my broken life, and like a phoenix from the ashes I was determined to rise. Then Covid-19 happened. Here in a viral epicenter alone (with my cats), I am prone to reflection and introspection. 2020 is a time to practice patience, perseverance, compassion, and kindness.

~ Also, please wash your hands. ~

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One response to “True Confessions of an Urban Hillbilly

  1. Okay. You go girl!  And as they say, “wash your face.”  And as you say,”wash your hands!”    Love to you big time.  Always 

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