Just thought I'd share this picture of me at my fourth birthday party.
My hair used to be jet black! No more!
Travis and I were on our morning walk when we ran into our neighbor Lib, whose path we don't often cross. Lib lives on Montgomery Street, looks to be in her early 80s, and has one of those beautiful, deeply cultured southern voices that make me think of Episcopal churches and Chanel No. 5. Though we see her infrequently, she is always friendly. I'm not convinced she remembers having met us before, but that's okay.
On this particular meeting, Lib asked me where I was from originally, and I gave my standard answer, which is not geographic in nature but gets the point across, "Army brat."
"You must be from North Carolina," I said, and she nodded yes. "I'm from Wadesboro, not far from Charlotte," she told me. "I grew up in the town's funeral home and didn't leave home until I went to the women's college in Greensboro."
We were standing across the street from one another, Travis sniffing around in the leaves, me hoping he wouldn't find a dead mouse to roll around in.
"I was so homesick when I left home for college," Lib continued, "but the rule at the college was that you couldn't leave for the first six weeks. Oh, I just felt awful! So one day, around the fifth week, I put on my hat and my gloves and I marched downtown to a funeral parlor and knocked on the door. When a man answered, I fell into his arms sobbing. He of course thought that someone had died. 'No!' I wailed. 'I just want to see some caskets!' So he let me in, and then I felt much better."
Whenever you're tempted to skip your daily stroll around the block, remember, there's a good story around every corner. Get walking!