Christmas in July

Part 1

this past Saturday, i spent the night with my mother in the same house where i grew up, a structure i left nearly twenty years ago and never expected to inhabit again. here are some reasons why:

the intersection of global capitalism and religion

the intersection of patriotism and religion

the intersection of technology and religion

the intersection of church and state

it had been almost that long since i had spent a night with my mother as well, and although strange, it was a rewarding experience. she went with my yin and i to West Jefferson's annual

an event originally started by Christmas tree growers to raise awareness and goodwill in the community. once there, i was shocked to find this painted on the side of a building:

a mural dedicated to Diego Rivera

the Ashe County of my youth knew nothing of Señor Rivera, and i wonder if the town council realizes that they have authorized such a massive display of goodwill to a known socialist.

notice the spelling of "homage"

regardless, it was a perfect place for people-watching, complete with people running around in Civil War costumes from a reenactment earlier in the day. i wonder if the participants fought over who would get to be the Confederate soldiers:

i

m

age

miss

in

g

maybe this woman knows the answer to these questions:

woman with a chicken purse

eventually, however, the sun and overwhelming sense of nostalgia began to wear me down. the atmosphere, the sun, the feeling in the streets – all these things beat down upon me until i was choking back the memories of childhood in a small town. i am unable, which is to say unwilling, to describe exactly what this sensation was, but it was akin to:

my mother's cat in a tire well

Part 2

excerpt from unknown author's journal

dated 3 July 2010

"it was the things that were the same, like the wood paneling in the bathroom and the dark knot, two feet from the floor, that looked like a man wearing a fedora. i had not thought of nor remembered it in anyway for more than twenty years, and yet, when i saw it, i recognized it instantly and intimately. it seemed lower than i remembered, but i suppose it's just that i'm older now...

it was the things that were different, like the white vinyl window over the canary yellow tub. it used to be wooden, and the frame of the window would expand when the bathroom got steamy and get stuck in the sill. no longer a problem now; the wood replaced with plastic – a metaphor, perhaps, for childhood."