This summer is crazy-busy for me. This is the first time in my life where I have money and no summer work obligations, so I'm able to have a real vacation for the first time since I was in high school. On the docket was the Nevada Trip, a PLC in Las Vegas, and visiting New York and Ohio. Another was a week-long trip with my mom to visit family in Cottonwood.

My grandparents don't actually live in Cottonwood, they live in a mobile home 30 minutes away from Cottonwood. They're what my mom calls "country". I love them dearly, and my fondest childhood memories are of staying with them for the summer, but they are odd.

For example: they don't have a trash can. They have a bucket in the freezer for bones they throw to the coyotes, and they have a bag for metal cans they recycle in town for cash, but they don't trash cans, or a trash bin for pick up. This is strange because, though their neighbors are a ways away, we clearly saw trash bins out for collection.

Me: Hey Grandma? Where do I put this plastic Jack in the Box cup?

Grandma: Just put it in the fireplace.

So I go over to the fireplace that's in the living room and open the little door. Inside, Styrofoam food containers, plastic grocery bags, some newspaper, and other assorted trash are almost spilling out.

Me: Grandma, you can't burn this. It's poison. You can't burn plastic. That's poison."

My Mom: Mom, are you burning plastic?!

Grandma: We only burn it in the morning!


In the words of Clockmaker, "Zeph, your family IS global warming."


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