Friday, July 21, 2006

Travel

I regret not traveling more. I lived in LA for the first 20 years of my life. No, I'm not referring to Los Angeles, that would be too interesting. I grew up in Louisiana where eating frog legs or cow tongue doesn't seem out of the ordinary. I had cow tongue once but it must have been such a traumatic experience that I've blocked most of the memory. Our extended family was mostly well off, but my parents not so much. We lived vicariously through the fortune of others. My aunt and uncle lived on a farm, which contained the typical farm elements; horses, cows, pigs, quails, goats, a barn, and poop everywhere. I had the luxury of shoveling mentioned poop among other farm fun activities.

My favorite activity would have to be our spitting contests. My cousin and I would sit on the gate in the middle of the barn. He would take a big wad of Skoal and shove it in the side of his mouth and pass the canister to me. I never let him know I thought the stuff was disgusting, because I wanted him to think I was a "cool" girl. So, I would grab a hefty wad and shove it in my cheek. We would sit there a minute talking, gathering up spit while we determined which pile of poop we were going to aim at first. I was usually lucky to make it past the front of my shirt. My cousin had mad skills with his spit and always beat me. I think he just enjoyed watching me try to spit, and witnessing my eyes water when I accidentially swallowed some of my own nasty saliva.

My youthful days on my uncle's farm were short lived. I grew up and married a northern man, who gladly moved me and my hillbilly ways to Northwest Indiana. I discovered that northern folks aren't much different from southern folks, in the sense that they like things a certain way. It was no longer acceptable for me to call a carbonated drink a "coke" because northerners refer to them as "pop" and I simply had to comply. I lived in HickTown, USA for the first 20 years, where the legal age to buy alcohol is 18 but you can't drink it until you're 21 unless your parents were present. Then after marrying my love, we moved on to the corn field pastures of northwest Indiana, where the reflection of the fog off of the Sears Tower in downtown Chicago somehow makes you feel as if you're part of a superior breed of people.

We were a part of that fast paced twilight zone for about 5 years, until my husband joined the army and we got moved smack dab in the middle of both of the crazy worlds we grew up in. There isn't anywhere quite like Fort Campbell, Kentucky. It's sort of a hodge podge of northern and southern cultures, mixed with a diverse aray of nationalities; from korean to german, to name a couple. I guess now I wonder why I have a desire to travel anywhere else. Probably because I'm like most people out there, wondering if there's something I'm missing out on.

1 comment:

The Michael said...

Imagine moving from Mississippi to Nebraska to Fairbanks....talk about culture shock! Years later I went back to where I was raised and I could not understand a word the people I grew up with said!

I saw most of everything I was going to see of the world courtesy of the U.S. Navy. I can't guarantee that the Army will provide the same opportunities, and they might take you places you would just as soon not have seen, but that's life. I wish him and you the best in these dangerous times.

Thanks for the heads-up on the URL change, I would have really hated losing track of your excellent view of the world. I just hope I can get others to share in the experience.

I can't BELIEVE you put that stuff in your mouth to impress a guy! You GO girl! hehe