I’m clicking through digital pictures taken back in ’03/’04 or so, preparing to burn them to discs and get them off my hard drive. There are lots of pics of ferrets, lots of funny gas-station shots Phil took at Daily’s, and lots of pics of The Kids working and boozin’ it up. I rocked the gold eye shadow back then pretty much every day. Those were good times.
Some radio station I stumbled upon today was rocking out the ’90s music. What caught my attention was that Silverchair song that was so popular back in ’95. I sat and listened to it and remembered singing along with it back in high school, and how’d I’d sketch the word “Silverchair” in the Frogstomp typeface on all my folders in school, along with the logos of the countless other bands I listened to at the…
I’m about to go wash up a bunch of berries and peel a couple of pomegranates in preparation for tomorrow. I don’t have any big serving trays, though; it’s probably best to just cart everything — washed and cut — to the parents’ and then commandeer some of their many stray serving platters. I was thinking today about a memory I have of a Thanksgiving Day back when I was, gosh, I had to be…
Just now I was cleaning off my incredibly filthy balcony — scraping up the moldy, dripping remains of the pumpkins, repotting the mum I bought, cleaning up dirt I flung everywhere while repotting, scraping the dead roots out of all the other pots, etc. — and I got a whiff of a smell that nearly knocked me down. It was of my Nana’s trailer, her last one — the blue one — that, even when…
I have this memory of seeing my great-grandmother — or someone — put a whole bunch of raisins in a big bowl of water, and of watching as the dried fruit plumped up, and then seeing all these tiny little worms detach from the dimples and crevices in the raisins and rise to the surface — a skin of tiny little worms on top of the water in the bowl. Worms you couldn’t see just…
My great-grandmother, for as long as I knew her, was a small woman: frail, with a humpback, who we always assumed went to great pains to keep her hair dyed a velvety almond brown. She would go every week at the same time — Saturday morning, if I recall — and sit beneath one of those mammoth dryers at the beauty shop on Main Street in Saltillo, for as long as it took to get…
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