Saturday in the Southland

I often hear complaining about moving, and I must confess I don't think too much about it. People might as well say they must get their hair done or pay some bills. I've only moved twice,  and I've  chosen to forget what it's like, much like childbirth.

But now I find myself in Prairieville, Louisiana, where there is no evidence of a prairie, not even a covered wagon. I'm here helping my son pack things for an upcoming move to my neighborhood in Madison, Indiana.

 It was a nice 79 degrees today, as we ventured 

out to do a few errands, one of which was to return a female high school overnighter to her home 30 minutes away.  I saw a giant boot and it
reminded me of one seen recently on American Pickers. More importantly, it gave me hope that there really is some prairieness in Prairieville. By the time my granddaughter got this photo, everyone in the boot store was staring out the window at the crazy lady.


On the way back to the packing penitentiary we stopped to purchase 15 jambalaya dinners for the high school fundraiser. We didn't want 15 jambalaya dinners, but my granddaughter was convinced the purchase was mandatory. Only a high school choir teacher can convince you to buy $90 worth of fancy rice, and only a cute granddaughter makes it seem normal.  If our genius boys in Washington could turn a dollar investment into a $6.00 sale, we'd have economic recovery in a hurry.

Jumbalaya

Jungle Guy

After an afternoon of packing, we had an emergency shutdown for the LSU game. A twelve-foot inflated Mike the Tiger showed up on our front lawn to greet other LSU neighborhood displays. Louisiana State University is just up the road a piece, and the pride of the locals is fierce.
I was required to drink all beverages from purple and gold containers, and of course we were only allowed to eat jambalaya. For the rest of the evening all we packed was our stomachs with a few thousand calories laced with Gas-X.

It's apparent that Americans are much the same all over the nation. We all get hooked into school fundraisers and many of us are fanatical sports fans. We are brought to our knees by the wild ways of Mother nature and brought to the heights of human compassion by our sense of neighbor. We're snookered by school fundraisers and for some reason, we like it. 

And almost no one can resist a giant boot.