Welcome to the Vinyl Village! It’s what I affectionately call my neighborhood. It’s one of those pre-planned, built all at once by the same builder, sorts of places. White picket fences line the streets that could be described as tree lined if six foot saplings count for trees nowdays. Colorful houses, all clad in vinyl siding, line up side by side. As one friend said, “I feel like I’m on the set of the Truman Show.”
So that’s home base for my stories…a normal neighborhood like you would find in any normal suburb. And I think my life is fairly normal, too. I go to work, some days I love it, some days I hate it. I come home too tired to do much else. I’ve got a group of fairly normal friends, and for the most part, a normal family. As many colorful characters as any good southerner would admit to. They drive me crazy and make me smile, and give me enough stories to write a book. (So I’m told.) You’ll meet them all along the way.
What will you find here in the vinyl village? Who knows? The sort of stories we all have…laughs, tears, and embarassing moments. Moments like I had this morning. I woke up after a somewhat restless night and had some sort of stomach thing going on. I decided I would just work from home and sit here in my pajamas and sip gatorade and ginger ale. So I called in, went back to bed, and woke up around nine. I staggered downstairs and brewed a pot of coffee. Poured a cup, straight black, and went out on my patio to enjoy it with my morning cigarette. (A nasty habit from college I can’t seem to find a reason to drop). So there I sit, in my PJ’s, enjoying the sun and quiet, totally spaced out and not quite awake yet when suddenly there’s a strange man coming around the corner of the house holding some large long thing. In the split second lapse from reality that followed, I thought this stranger had a shotgun or something, so I jumped, dropped my cigarette, spilled coffee on myself, and screamed like an 8 year old girl. By the time the coffee singed me, I had returned to the real world and realized that it was Wednesday, after all, and it was just the gardner. He made some apology in Spanish, and I hurried inside to change shirts and dust off my bruised ego.
Just another day in the Vinyl Village.