Not tonight, dear, I have a checkbook.
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I will not turn around for anything or anyone, once I’m on the road heading to my destination of choice (be that New Mexico or Kroger), unless the circumstances are so dire that I have no choice: I need gas, I left my two-year-old nephew sleeping on the couch, you know things like that. For instance, last Thursday when I drove up to Taste of China, because I prefer their cream cheese wontons over China Garden’s, I was determined to get out of the car and walk in the door and eat like a king. Except I had left my wallet at...
I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade.
I don't believe I cared much for sixth grade. I was already fully in the grips of a terrific identity crisis (mostly sexual) by the time I was rounding out my junior high years. At my school, sixth grade was the last grade on the junior high side. Seventh graders had to move around to the right side of the building, and that side was high school. They also had more than one teacher, and several different classrooms. That didn't shock me nearly as much as when I was told they also had periods. Even the boys. I was terrified of high school. ...
Ah, Wilderness! Ah, Bottle Rockets!
I was never the best with fireworks. Which I find odd, in retrospect, because I had nearly flawless hand-eye coordination. Reflexes that would make a hummingbird jealous. I played tennis, and well. But, somehow this quick-speed ability failed me at fireworks. I learned the hard way, too. For some reason, as children, when the Hot Holidays arrived, so called because we were allowed fireworks as part of the celebration - and these included Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas which drained into New Year's, Valentine's Day, the Fourth; basically, we begged for fireworks on every holiday - and when we got them, oh how we eagerly hoarded...
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