12 Jul Too much potty humor
Note — Sometimes I just write about poop way too much. Sorry.
My friend Meredith said, “that’s called a hippie fight,” when I told her that Cory and I couldn’t agree on what to do with the first Saturday morning we’ve had free in who knows how long, and I stormed out to pick out food for six-month-old Ellie at the Farmer’s Market.
I stopped in to Rock Hill for breakfast and overheard two women talking about not needing any more stuff. I couldn’t help but chime in about helping my parents downsize from my childhood home. They recognized my story and graciously offered to hold Ellie while I finished my vegan breakfast sandwich. Moments like that are a nice reminder about why I so love Glens Falls. There are no strangers. Community is strong.
My last moments with the Killington house were like saying goodbye with a long, meaningful hug, then walking in the same direction to your car.
The walkthrough was scheduled for 3 p.m. My parents took a truckload to their cabin in Poultney, the kids and Cory went down the street to the pool where I planned to meet them, and I did a final clean.
I spent formative years watching my mother wipe, scrub and sweep that house, though I’ve rarely done it myself. I channeled her energy as I imagined how many times she had done this hard work. Cleaning made me realize how much she gave to us.
My parents and sister had done the heavy lifting in the worst heat, and I had the satisfaction of the last sweep. I ceremoniously closed every door after blowing a kiss. As I pulled up “Time to say Goodbye” by Andrea Bocelli and Sarah Brightman, Cory drove up in a huff to tell me he was taking the kids home because they were melting down (we took separate cars). They left, I shouted to the house, “I love you!” and went to the pool solo to cool off.
Mom sent me a message to say they were back home. I went to hug them. And mom opened all those doors up, telling me about how they couldn’t find a septic guy to install a baffle before the closing. And I’ll spare you the details, but I left for the last, LAST time after some interaction that had to do with the consequences of gas station deviled eggs. And then it turned out that the walkthrough and closing was postponed due to the septic.
It’s so us, really. Heartfelt and irreverent.
I realized how deeply ingrained this sense of humor was after a conversation I had at the Farmers Market. After my crack about beets and diapers, the conversation wrapped up quickly.
We Austins don’t go out on a high note.
More of a lowbrow one.