Abigail M. Schilling

Tomorrow there is a Christmas parade in my town because we are very quaint like that. Unfortunately, from what I can gather the parade will be wrapping around my house. There is NO PARKING in a two-block radius from my front porch and when I came home tonight (late, because Fridays are never enough time to make up for the weekend) I had to park far, far, far away.

It rained today. Unlike the rest of the world, I don't have any particular opinion on the rain and so I didn't realize my commute would take twice as long or that I would need all the gear I own to make it home. I know that doesn't seem to make sense--opinions correlating with needs--but unless I have an opinion I don't give the thing much thought. Which explains the drastic different between my accomplishments and failures.

Anyway, I had to park about three blocks away and was so glad that I still hadn't unpacked my car from my trip to DC. When I got in the car at the airport, I threw off the three layers of coats I was wearing and changed into flip flops. The back seat has been hidden since. So tonight I parked far away, piled my layers back on, found an umbrella (this is my excuse for never cleaning out my car), loaded up all my bags like a pack mule, and began the walk downhill to home.

In our district the higher up the mountain you live, the nicer your house is. Those of closer to sea level have itty bitty houses (like mine) or have flats in formerly fancy rich houses. Tonight, I got to park by the still fancy rich houses. Houses that win house contests every year. Houses you can tour on occasion. And as I walked by the beautiful, big, Christmasy houses (at least four had trees in their windows) wearing all my coats in the rain I totally felt like Kevin McCallister.

The end. Goodnight, November.