S.A.Wilson

So the house is all packed up and the boxes are being moved out. Then we clean and leave.

The other night, the night before the morning when the packers were to arrive, we went to the new home of one of our old neighbours. It was located in this crazy little planned community that was once meant to be the homes of shoe factory workers. You know, about a millennium ago when things like shoes were actually made in North America.

So these neighbours were pretty great neighbours. They mowed our lawn for us and shoveled our shared driveway in the winter. We gave them a gift as thank you. The dinner they served us was awesome and the dog and the kids amusing. But overall I have to say I was bored. Half the night was consumed by military talk. That's the thing about being a military 'wife' living in government housing. That's all anyone talks about. At least it feels that way. Sure, the two of us talk about art, music, literature, technology, science, progress, philosophy. Things that matter, at least to me. But step out the front door and all of a sudden it's like no one has a personality.

Also I realized, in all these failed attempts at being social, that I fail because I am a leader. But everyone who's to talk to on the base already has a leader: that mythical beast the country. They do not need a social hierarchy since they already have one. Damn. The only way I can shine, socially, up in smoke.

At any rate at least we're moving to a larger city, where the major defining feature of it is not one's 'husband's' job. And I already have friends there. And his colleagues will be younger, and thus will not expect one to talk exclusive and unerring about 1) kids; 2) home; 3) career; or 4) some other damn boring adult bullshit.

Also that frog from the picture wound up dead on the back walk. Damn birds.