Heading home; passing Cherokee

 Thursday, October 28th- I'm headed back to my favorite place to put my head.

                       H       O.       M.        E!

     Most of the restaurants and businesses in the mama grirty area/ Asheville area of North Carolina don't have enough employees so have adjusted their hours accordingly. 



     I stopped at the Black Mountain Children's Home because I always make it a priority to stop at orphanage wherever I travel around the world. I think the secret heart in me is just needing to know that they are being treated all right. I found the Children's Home nestled in a little like Campus of schools- the elementary school, the Middle School oh, the high school and, the Alternative High School... right across the street from a South Carolina women's prison. The guy I talked to at the Children's Home told me that, or rather emphasized that it was a low-security prison where the women hadn't committed to severe of crimes. I don't care, the two should never be within spitting distance of each other. Anyway, all the kids were at school and because of covid-19 could visit them but it gave me the idea that when I get home I'll look into children's homes that maybe I can volunteer to tutor at.

     The party's kind of over on this end, because I've explored my A dollar sign dollar sign off  and am really ready to go home and have a little rest. Dubai's probably tired of playing FATZ in random fields all over the country, as well.

     So I've come to the conclusion that Mama Gertie's is kind of a set up, Laden with false advertising about 1 balcony looking over the mountain when there are really at least 6 which they charge $150 for her night. The staff except for one guy, was really snitty and didn't wash their hair. Then when one guy in a golf cart came to scold me for driving too fast in the campground I decided I'd never go back.

      



Song of the day Stomp remix by Kirk Franklin.
         Why I'm ready to go home:

My hands are tired from gripping the wheel, 

up and down, hairpin curves, 

potholes on the highways

Certainly not building roads like my ways

Fighting the wind for hours and hours, 

my grip is hours long.

Bruises on my arms and legs

From where I do not know

Dented rear bumpers left and right

Backing this trailer up has always been a fight

In the winds the broken leads do fly 

spinning and cartwheels as I pass them by

My eyes are bloodshot

My pockets are bare,

So many rednecks with buckshot

Putting Dove soap in my hair

Nothing is normal

Nothing is right

The endless miles I drive

Yet no end in sight

Everything in the car needs to be washed well,

And the outside needs it to, I'm sure you can tell

This once was a poem

Which then went astray

Because my mind is too tired

To rhyme correctly today!


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