Through Rain and Roadkill…

We had to trek back to the Windy City last week. It was an unexpected, whirlwind trip that had us on the road more than off (at least, it felt that way).

In an effort to spice up the drive, we chose a new route that took us through Paris—Illinois, that is. We saw heart-breaking poverty, way too many yard dogs, and no signs of jobs or entertainment for miles and miles.

Coming back was no picnic, either. Rain challenged visibility, yet roadkill was never out of sight.

Glad to return to our small world.

[Enjoyed seeing the news building in Paris. Pic by Julia.]

Another Christmas Eve, Another Year Older

Yup. Today was my birthday and my mother asked if I felt a year older.

“A YEAR older? I feel TEN years older!” I cried. And right then I knew I had to turn back the clock. I had to have a good day in spite of how I felt.

So I did. I took my husband to Paris for a few hours. Kentucky, that is.

Horses dotted every snow-blanketed hill on the way and stone fences paralleled our route. Not much was open in the small downtown, but it was a pleasure just to stroll the sidewalks.

Tonight, as Christmas Eve becomes Christmas, it’s snowing—apparently only about the 13th white Christmas the area has known since 1872.

Now I feel young again. Feel like I should put some cookies out for St. Nick…

[Art courtesy of the Graphics Fairy.]

Stranger in a Strange Land – No. 5

We exchanged pleasantries with our new neighbor the other day after her dog initiated a meeting. I asked the woman where she’d moved from.

“We came from The Island,” she replied.

Images of some southeastern island off of Georgia or the Carolinas came to mind (after images of Gauguin had subsided), but I kept mum. I’d just learned from my husband that “The Island” might not be as exotic as I imagined.

My lesson was delivered at a local gas station. My husband was adjusting something under the hood of our car when a woman approached him and asked if he could take a look at her car. She said she’d just moved here from Paris and didn’t know where to take her newly purchased malfunctioning vehicle.

“Paris? Which arrondissement did you live in?” asked my husband, thrilled to discuss the City of Light with an expat.

The woman answered with blankness, cuing my husband to realize she hailed from Paris, KENTUCKY not France.

Likewise, it stood to reason that “The Island” could be closer to home than it sounded. So I asked. “Where is The Island?”

Turns out it’s a piece of land in the middle (or alongside) a water retention area—not far from our ’hood.

We have much to learn about our new land.

This is part of an ongoing series regarding my transition from the Land of Lincoln to the Bluegrass State. For a list of previous articles in the series, type Stranger in a Strange Land into Lull’s search function on the right.