Today my dad recruited two of my little boy cousins to help pick our orange trees. The three full laundry baskets of citrus paled in comparison to previous years.
Posts under ‘Ties that bind...and gag’
Orange you glad?
Birds make great Christmas gifts!
Below are some ads I found in Corpus Christi’s local classifieds publication. They should tell you all you need to know about the town where I grew up.
Comet and Cupid and Dogger and Blitzen
I stumbled upon this photo tonight when I was working with my external hard drive.
Christmas back home will not be the same without Abby. I still miss her.
When somebody knows your name
I’m from a small town where there is still no pizza delivery, and the student of the month at the local middle school has a good chance of being first-page news, if there’s no competing car accident or church rummage sale.
Meeting the parents
The other day I asked one boy for my stuff back and talked to another about a big milestone, flying to Texas over the holidays to meet my family. It makes me a little nervous for a few reasons, all stupid ones that show how neurotic I am.
Benign
My parents were in dire financial straits most of my childhood, and I had no idea. I knew my dad had been suddenly injured in an accident, breaking his neck and acquiring myriad other injuries in the process. My stay-at-home mom entered the workforce. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have a degree, much less an advanced one that allows her to prescribe drugs.
Not an orphan yet
After getting an email regarding Hurricane Dolly and then seeing storm coverage on Yahoo!, I decide to call home and check on my parents. I leave a message and then hear back from my dad immediately.
Can I get a lift?
The 1 train, which could connect me to the 2/3 train and get me home, isn’t running. I realize I will have to go to another train station nine blocks away or just walk home. It is almost 10 p.m., and I feel like hunger is drilling holes into my brain.
Letter to me on my 25th birthday
Dear Amanda,
Save a Metrocard (Ride a New York Jew)
The bras hanging from the ceiling vibrated to the heartbeat of bass and the staccato cracks of the bartender’s bullhorn. “Redneck Woman” blared from the speaker where I sat, drinking a rum and coke and watching the bachelorette party girls shimmy.
