Once was a gathering at the porch in GhostTown. A station wagon with a bunch of folks, with grandparents, mom'n'pop and a couple of kids and an infant, was in the line of cars and trucks. They sorta looked like they might have been kin to the Jukes. Or the Kallikaks.
When they got ready to leave, the momma changed the baby's diaper and put the old one in the back of my buddy's pickup. The folks got all upset when he handed it back through the window and said, "'Scuse me, ma'am, I think you forgot something." And dropped it in her lap. Poppa started to look macho, and then realized the odds were seriously against him.
When you drive south from Ojinaga, Mexico, at the edge of town you see the bar ditches full of disposadiapers. It seems to be the custom to stop, change the ankle-biter's nappies, and throw out the old ones along the highway. On both the Chihuahua and Camargo highways. And, entering Chihuahua, you'll see the same thing there. Thousands of them. Mexico doesn't have an "adopt a highway" deal, I guess.
So, one rambling tour of a trip with a lady friend, north out of Texas, she commented that it was intriguing how much cleaner the roadsides were as we got on up into northern Colorado and suchlike. "Yeah, " I said, "We're getting farther from Mexico." Dang if she didn't get mad!
, Art