A souvenir glass from a Brickskeller beer tasting, German Doppelbocks, the same night America bombed Iraq. Operation Desert Storm, they called it, but I didn’t know this until the morning paper arrived. Still wet from my shower as I primped to head out for the night, I saw on TV that the attack had started. … Continue reading Memory Box
childhood
Amber Alert
Central Virginia, 1981, I rode shotgun-once-removed. JD sat in the front passenger seat due to his status as the driver’s roommate, I tucked in behind him for our three-hour trip. Scott drove us home for winter break. Scott, or Checks as we called him based on his propensity to bounce them, only stuck around that … Continue reading Amber Alert
A River Runs
They say a river runs through it. “Hrumph,” you say, “hardly a river, more like a wash. Sometimes it even runs dry.” We moved into the house at the end of March after a hefty renovation. Walls moved, hardwood laid, bookshelves built-in where a closet once stood. No, I didn’t do the work. My part … Continue reading A River Runs
The Meaning of a Shriek
Our house was seventies suburban, solid hardwood floors but with drywall so thin I once punched a dent in it during an uninspired attempt to show my dad a bit of emotion. Each morning my father awoke early for work. He started every day with a shower. Everyone else had an extra hour to sleep, … Continue reading The Meaning of a Shriek
Davey Fend
At what age are memories reliable? We lived on Ridge Road from ’67 to ’70, just four short years, but loaded with memories. Moving away in third grade helps me pinpoint my earliest memories to that house. I have a few that predate our tiny brick Bethesda, Maryland home, but those memories are snippets, snapshots. … Continue reading Davey Fend
Dead Space
I was twelve when Bad Ronald first aired. American TV network ABC played it as an afterschool special—a ninety-minute movie aimed at tweens like me. They loaded it with commercials selling cereals and toys and other TV shows I might watch later that night. I can’t remember the specifics, but I imagine a frigid January … Continue reading Dead Space
Sheena
Sheena’s gone; Roz has diabetes; King Tut, cancer. Last week, I wrote about Tommy’s sudden laryngitis. I worried it could be—as cat-laryngitis sometimes is—the onset of a serious illness. Clearly, I worried about the wrong pet. Last night, Susan walked by Sheena’s habitat. “Oh no, Sheena died!” Sheena’s the corn snake we got when Sophie … Continue reading Sheena
Routine
It’s a simple mechanism, the garage door lock. A spring-loaded bolt pushed through a slot in a metal rail—the rail the garage door rolls along as it’s opened or closed. It’s like a deadbolt on the front door. Binary, locked/unlocked, no gray area. A lever releases the lock. The bolt springs back, unlocking the door. … Continue reading Routine
Soylent Green is People
Judy wrote about cannibals. She usually writes poetry, and occasionally, exceptional creative nonfiction about her abusive childhood. Recently, she isn't writing anything at all, just linking videos, so she hasn’t heard from me in a while. I'll warn you up front, if you post a video, I'm not going to watch it. Thinking back, I … Continue reading Soylent Green is People
BT
Brian Transeau grew up next door to me. Who’s Brian Transeau? Right. I wouldn’t know that either if he didn’t live next door. From his Wikipedia page: Better known by his stage name BT, Transeau is an American music producer, composer, technologist, audio technician, multi-instrumentalist, singer, and songwriter. He was a pioneer in the formation … Continue reading BT
Kid Food
Jiffy Pop, Jiffy Pop the magic treat — as much fun to make as it is to eat. I’ve known this jingle my entire life. Jiffy Pop was invented in 1959, three years before I was born. As a kid, I loved to make my own food. It was a rush that I could make … Continue reading Kid Food
Careen
Six-year-old me at the top of a hill. Straddling my bike, everything normal except the absence of a chain. “This will be great,” they said. “Without breaks, you’ll go faster.” 1969, a blue Schwinn with a white seat, a twenty-inch job. Still too big for teeny, tiny me. The ubiquitous stingray design that dominated the … Continue reading Careen
The Other Stuff 