ooh she's learned to wrap text
posted on February 20, 2004 @ 6:30 pm

when i went home last weekend, we went to shreveport. i took my own car so i could go out to see my dad and his family if i decided i could. i hadn't seen them in wellover two years, so i was very nervous at the thought of seeing them. nonetheless, i brought my camera, and of course documented everything like the geek i am.

we used to live on hilton drive in a house across the street from nana and papaw's. there's an apartment complex on the other side of our back yard fence, and people were always coming through a loose slat and walking through our yard to get to hilton. one day when i was 10, i yelled at a boy easily twice my age.

nana and papaw moved into this house a few weeks before i was born. there used to be a garage, but they made it part of the living room; i can't imagine the tiny-ness of the room without that addition.

this is papaw's old old old truck. lots of nice memories live in this truck, along with some bugs i'd imagine. i have more pictures yet no words, so i'll just stick them in here. the one of the hands is mine and papaw's. people ask why i have such old-looking, wrinkly hands. well, it's because i got papaw's hands.

well, i went out to my elementary school, too. there was a sign up that said it was a firearm-free zone, and i felt my heart drop. when i went there, that sign wasn't up; i feel old knowing when i went to elementary school, it was assumed we didn't bring weapons to school. i also took pictures of the wall outside the gym the lynch mob vandalized once (they were a gang), scaring everyone to death, the monkey bars i spent hours bloody-ing and blistering-up my hands with papaw as my coach, the void where the giant tire pyramid used to be (i guess they started keeping track of how many of us were hurting ourselves on it), and a brand new building that replaced all the T-shacks (each shack consisted of two divided classrooms connected with a door, for the thrid through fifth graders only). a lot has changed, yet so much is the same. i took tons of pictures i'm sure no one is interested in seeing, and understandably so; they don't see what i see when i look at the kindergarten circle or the newly-erected fences keeping outsiders off the playground.

i did head out to gaga's house that night. i tried to call dad, but he never answered (turns out he'd been asleep). with every mile i came closer to stonewall, louisiana, my heart beat harder and faster in my chest. i puffed and puffed on my cigarette to calm me down to no avail, and after turning off highway 171 (dubbed mansfield road as it snakes through shreveport) and rattling down old jefferson road i arrived.

everything's the same, really. i didn't know if they were home because no light escapes from their living room window (they've something on it), and i saw none others through the front door or in bedrooms. i knocked and heard grumps ask in a surly voice, "who is it!"
":weakly: chelsea?"
he opened the door and stared for a moment before saying, "well i'll be damned. you'll never believe this."
"um, what?"
"jan, you'll never believe this. look who's here."
he went to turn on the light in the living room, turning on the fan as well in his excitement, as i walked into the room and watched gaga get up from her recliner.

gaga yelled, "oh my god!" and started telling me how beautiful i was and how grown up i was. she hugged me tightly with tears in her eyes. i sat on the couch and they returned to their chairs, and after some chatting grumps turned to food. was i hungry? he listed every lunch meat imaginable and ended with chili dogs. i opted for chili dogs, and we all went into the kitchen. the kitchen has a large bar, and that's really the visiting area in the house. grumps asked if i wanted pickles or olives, and after displaying disgust for both he laughed. "you sure have changed since you were little. you used to eat those all the time." i don't remember ever liking these; i certainly can't see me as a pickle-eater. eww.

gaga kept trying to call dad, but he never did answer, as aforementioned. finally she thought of calling dish. he lives at the end of their road now, which i didn't know. dish's real name is b.j. when i was first learning to talk, they tried to get me to say "beej," but all i could say was "dish." everyone liked it, and it stuck; he won't answer me if i call him anything other than "dish," similar to how i don't like when sarah calls me chelsea instead of "sister." he's dad's half-brother (grumps isn't dad's real father, yet he's dish's), making him uncle dish, my #1 dishy-poo. he was 12 when i was born, and he loved me crazy-like. marcia, his wife, came over, too. valentine's day was their third year anniversary. she asked if owen and i wanted to go to mardi gras with them, but i told her i didn't know if he'd like it. i haven't gone since middle school, when dad took kassie kershner and me. at least i think that was the last time. i still have tons of beads, doubloons, and cups from festivals past. it would certainly be an interesting look at my bizarre culture. i've always gone to the same spot, though, and i don't know if dish and marcia would go there. it would be strange to be anywhere else. i can still envision the place, and having to walk at least half a mile through a field and a shopping center from the apartment complex we'd park in, and the excitement of watching the floats first creep over the bridge. getting out was horrendous because of all the stagnated traffic on the road and no one wanting to let you out. that's all part of it, though.

anyhoot. it snowed, you know, the most in 20 years. dallas actually got four inches, and i felt every one as i tried driving down I-35 NE. i'll just stick snowy pictures in and stop saying anything.

<3, chels.

p.s. t-minus 16 hours, 18 minutes

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