I tend to post at ungodly hours, don't I?

I am such a night owl. I really don't sleep until 2 or 3 am. I guess its due in large part to my job. I don't normally get off work til after midnight anyway, closer one usually.

Badadadum. BORING.

Hi to anyone who might be catching this due to Ms Ama Ansardi's pimping of my blog. She's awesome like that.

This is just another quick post night, as I am gearing up to start posting on my schedule.


This is a memoir piece I wrote for my CRW2032 class back in 2009.

Heroes and Quests in the Oaks.

 

My hometown has always been small. It will always be small, no matter how many Wal-Marts, shopping centers, or schools are built. It really doesn’t matter to me at all. No matter how many people come to live in Ocala, I will always see someone I know, be it on the street or at work.

 

When my parents moved to Ocala, most of the businesses were located around either SR 441 or Maricamp/17^th street. Highway 200 was just a way to get to 441 from the interstate and you could not see the college clearly from the road. The big theater was just a large empty overgrown lot. Horse paddocks took up even more space than they do now, lending to a farm like feel to the place. When they came down, the Villages were just a small retirement community, not the metropolis it seems today.

 My parents came down to Florida to stay close to family. My grandfather, as a wedding gift and push to get them started, gave them the deed to a small house in a simple, pretty development. South Oak was a peaceful place set ideally in the midst of the oak trees it owed its name to. The only person who was on the street before my parents was a small woman everyone called Ms. Myrtle. Bent and stooped, her white haired head was recognizable from a distance. She used to give my sister Amber, and me cookies or bits of broken treasures children find interesting. Directly to our left was a small house very similar to our own. The family had two sons who were “good boys, but a little rowdy” as my father put it. Brian and Jay used to play with all of the kids in the neighborhood and looked out for us in an offhand manner on Halloweens.

 Most of the people in the neighborhood were retired, or very close, so the few children banded together, forming an alliance against aging. Pretty Crystal, who compared my sister to a bulldog and me a puppy, lived on the end with her little sister Michelle. Tony, whose father worked for a fish distributor, lived one door down with his mother and aunt. Elvin Alanna lived at the head of the road in the biggest house on the block. My closest friend, aside from my loved/despised sister, Alanna had to stay inside much of the time, cloistered by illness and her parents fear for their frail daughter. Her older sister, Big Shannon, would make sure the kids were not afraid of the looming castle-like house so we would come over and play.

 Back behind the development laid the most amazing labyrinth of dirt roads, weaving past houses and small pastures. These became fields which, in our imaginations, housed everyone of our dream creatures. The dogs became dragons guarding castles where untold treasures waited for intrepid explorers to find, if they could only gather the courage. Deep sand drifts were quicksand bogs placed to trap unwary travelers and snag stray bicycle tires. We pedaled up hill and flew down tall mountains. When we saw the castle rising at the top of the last hill, we knew we had complete our quest and come back heroes of the day.

 Halfway down the road to my house lived an old man and his wife. His house was nicely kept and he never did anything mean, but we all regarded him with a heavy dose of caution. In retrospect, it was as if we viewed him as a sort of Beau Radley of our home. We always rode quietly past his house, wary of disturbing the ogre we just knew slept under that calm façade. One warm spring morning, when everyone else was busy, I was returning from my solitary quest when my “trusty steed” went lame. My bicycle pedal flew in off and I skidded for an eternity on the harsh asphalt, still cool from the night. I stopped in front of his lair, and stared for a full heartbeat before letting out a tremendous wail.

Out of the lair came the old woman, followed by the old man. I cringed, for I knew I was going to be eaten by this horrible man-beast. I was surprised as gentle hands lifted me up and carried inside. There I was soothed, pampered, and my wounds bandaged. While the old woman made sure I was okay and cleaned up my dirty tear stained face, the man went out, picked up my bicycle and located the missing pedal. He fixed it and the ogre transformed into a sorcerer who gratefully fixed any and all problems. Even after our quests took us beyond our immense world within.

~~~~

This piece has a lot more meaning to someone who lives in the area I am describing. This event happened when I was around 8 years old.

Well, its past 1 am and I think its time for this chicky to get to sleepin' times.


Sleep well and Sweet Dreams