Filed under Childhood Bliss

Romance

For a long while after we left Texas, books were my best friends.  I don’t mean this solely in an endearing “Anne of Green Gables” kind of way.  I mean it in a bare bones, borderline neurotic, vaguely concerning kind of way.   I mean that books were where I turned when I was anxious … Continue reading

The Fire

The flames were 25 feet high.  Or maybe 6.  Possibly 20.  I was never good at estimating, plus I never actually saw the fire.  But I smelled it and talked about it with the other kids, our hushed whispers mimicking the whispers of the adults’.  It was coming closer, speeding through the already sun-burned grasses, … Continue reading

The Lay of the Land, Part One

When my oldest daughter was in preschool at her Montessori school, they taught geography by first helping her learn what town she lived in.  They talked about the landmarks in her town – the post office and the gas station.  Once she understood, they introduced the concept of her state and then the idea of … Continue reading

Flesh and Blood

The animals seemed to come and go. Pigs, horses, perhaps a cow or two. Most of them are scattered throughout my memory, merely blips, and they were physically scattered as well throughout the property. The pigs were kept in a large pen near the windmill that we loved to ride up and down in the … Continue reading

Betrayal

The Community was in far too remote a location and was overseen with far too much misandry to keep a priest in residence.  However, intermittently, we would have a visiting priest who would say mass at the majestic chapel we had moved on location.  When we had mass at The Chapel, children were expected to … Continue reading

Signing The Contract

When I remember my childhood, I am somehow perpetually seven years old.  Of course there are memories from before this time, but they are still vague and murky, pieces of a floating puzzle. And so I am seven, which makes my sister three or possibly four years old.  We have spent the night at the … Continue reading

Dolores

It was July of 1987. I know this because that is when the Oliver North trials were shown on the huge console television in my grandmother’s den and also, I suppose, everywhere else in America. I was eight years old and had flown in to keep my grandma company while my grandpa was away. I … Continue reading