Nothing but the blood: GamVa.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, humor, life
So, keeping with my character sketches, how about I talk a little about the “partly-fictionalized” portion of my family tree? There are quite a few branches there to be sure, of mismatched friends and who-not I’ve come to claim as family, but it starts further down, at the root, and trust me, it is one hell of a strong one. Her name is GamVa. Short for Grandma Virginia. Who isn’t actually my grandmother. She’s not even really related to me. Not even a little bit. But that doesn’t make her any less “blood” in my eyes. She’s been as indelible a mark in my...
Nothing but the blood: Tigi
Filed under: Deep South, faith, family, humor, life
Kirby thinks I ought to pen a few character sketches for you. He and I were talking the other day and he said it’d be nice to explain who some of these people are that I keep writing about. He said it’d increase reader-interest if I described in some detail the repeated members of my sweet, dogged family I refer to so often in my memoir-esque blog. I think that’s a great idea. For several reasons: first, it’ll certainly help those precious few of you who read this thing with any regularity to have some reference points, and secondly, it’ll be a...
Five foods that made me who I am.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, family, food, health, humor
I’m still stuck on the potato log. Meaning, since confessing to you about my lust and love for the said potato log, yesterday afternoon, I’ve not been able to think about anything else except food. And so, at the risk of offending some of you, I feel I’ve no choice to move myself past this obsessive food-thinking other than to write about it. So, I’m going to spend the next few moments with you, making one confession after another about a few dishes, recipes, snacks, and various other, sundry foods that I not only grew up with, but that, I feel, have defined who...
So, you know…I really like a potato log.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, education, family, food, health, humor
Is there anything, even remotely, more wonderful than a gas-station-deep-fried potato log? I don't think so. No. I. Don’t. Think. So. I am, personally, mad-dog in love with the potato log. I look upon its tasty goodness as a drowning man would a life raft. (I wrote that and then had this visual of being a drowning man and seeing a life raft and then, in that life raft I saw, like, hundreds of potato logs and my heart started beating really fast and I almost had to take half a Xanax). So, you know...I really like a potato log. It has taken a place of supreme...
I’d never seen a hook rug before, mind you.
Filed under: Deep South, family, humor, life, writing
Here’s something you don’t know about me: I used to be a wiz at the art of hook rugging, or if I am to be true to its own terminology—rug hooking. As is usually the case in big families, I was most often the victim of sibling babysitting. It’s nothing short of a hate crime, trust me. Especially when you’re the youngest…and by a wide margin. I was subjected to any number of embarrassing punishments (hook rugging only one among them) which, by sheer force of being such a young age, they each ran the risk of imprinting. And now, in this present...
Yes, Virginia, I am a vegetarian.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, education, faith, family, food, health, humor, life
You know what’s hard? Yoga. You know what’s harder than that? Trying to explain yoga to your precious family of aging Southern Baptists. Because if it’s not explicitly typed in the King James version of the Holy Bible then it’s most likely of the devil, who probably created yoga to trick Christians into performing exercises that would get them into positions they couldn’t get out of, thus holding them in place so he could catch them. But, yoga is a later issue. First, we have to address a more pressing item, though there are several items overall, not the least of which is the fact...
I don’t have to use a walker to pump my gas.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, faith, humor, life
I have realized, lately, that I am, at best, a third cousin once removed from my own definition of self-awareness. I like to think I'm savvy and a smooth operator, most of the time, but I had a bit of a bitter pill to swallow yesterday, when, on my way back from Scooba (perish the thought!), I had to stop and get gas. This is hardly a new thing for me, but unlike my usual stop-and-gos at the Scooba Junction gas station, I had neglected to look at my gas gauge until I was in Brooksville, about twenty minutes north. I had no choice but to pull...
I daisy-chained the heck out of this head cold.
It was something I’d wondered for years, myself. A.K., bless his heart, was sick with a cold a couple of weeks ago, a cold I should point out that he gave to everyone else. As a matter of fact, Amanda is currently sick with a cold that originated, I would imagine, in the nostrils of some other five-year-old in A.K.’s kindergarten class. Thankfully, it’s a private school. (I really ought to write for 30 Rock; that sounds just like something Jack would say). At any rate, A.K., while sitting at the dinner table two Sundays back, turned to me and asked point-blank: Where does...
I couldn’t see the title of the book so it must have been about Scientology.
Filed under: Deep South, Everyday, health, humor, life
I There’s a reason people get sick—the attention. But, I’ve discovered as of this morning, there’s a reason good friends drive their sick friends to the doctor and then spend the next two hours in the waiting room having their patience tested—the neighborhood. Of course, this requires explanation. It’s 10:03 AM, and I’ve brought Amanda to the Student Health Center. She’s been very sick to her stomach, and I felt she needed better attention than my telling her to “take it to the toilet” every hour or so. Little did I know the call to action that I was unwittingly engaging myself in. I found...
Advertise With Us
