Chicken legs and dark thoughts

Last night we packed the whole family (dogs included) and headed out to my parents home in the country for grilled chicken (I don’t think it was barbecue, can’t remember the difference, although I think I heard an hour long program on the subtle differences on NPR one afternoon). We also had a baked potato. Best frickin’ dinner in a long time. Afterwards, I went outside and smoked a couple of cigarettes and let my dogs have the run of the yard. I wandered about and looked upon the homestead and tried to imagine what it would be like to own this property (God forbid, thinking of it so soon, of course I would buy out my siblings, blah, blah). It’s a nice place. Quiet, no pesky renters or 5th street traffic. I imagined a fooseball table out in the middle of the yard on a warm summer night and a shaggy haired Rhen surrounded by friends playing away. I’d like to think the home would stay in the family but I remember growing up here and how I wished I lived in town. It’s hard to get friends to visit you out in the sticks. Damn lonely at times but great for the imagination. You can have both, obviously, but what to do when that time comes?

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