I come from generations of gardeners. When we moved into our house last year, it was too late in the summer for planting. I vowed an early start in the next season. This year, however, brought mostly failed experiments with container gardening. My tomatoes grew weary in the dry heat, dropping leaves and blossoming worth … Continue reading Communion with Cornmeal
Tag: Memoir
Freaks at the Fair
When I was seven years old, my parents lost me at the State Fair of Texas. Their last sight of me, I’d slipped into a crowd of folks shuffling into a garish tent on the midway. I imagine them watching as I stood in line, my hair done up in twin pony-tails in the style … Continue reading Freaks at the Fair
Whistle Britches
Andrew and I were wandering through the clearance section in men’s clothing at Macy’s when we spotted them. A row of corduroy pants in vivid orange and royal blue. “No one wants the whistle britches,” Andrew commented. “Do you think they have my size?” I asked. I love a bargain. “Please, no.” Andrew does not … Continue reading Whistle Britches
Where I’m From
Photo by Terrye Turpin I’m from Friday night football games Third Quarter sitting with the band kids.Fourth Quarter standing in the end zone Rooting for the visiting team. I’m from Saturday night drive-in backseat sinAnd Sunday morning sermons served with dinner on the ground, Communion with fried chicken. Photo by Terrye TurpinI’m from a land where Pump jacks bob against the horizonLike … Continue reading Where I’m From
Ten Things You Don’t Know About Me
And Maybe Never Wondered About, but Oh Well… Altered Photo — Self Portrait by Terrye TurpinI was tagged in this craze by the very talented Kay Bolden, so I’m assuming there’s at least one person out there interested in learning a little more about me. So here are ten things that will tell you a bit. Most of the … Continue reading Ten Things You Don’t Know About Me
The Summer of Lemons
Photo by Terrye Turpin I moved into my first apartment in 1979. The place came with shag carpet striped in an acid trip rainbow of purple, green, and brown. By the time my roommate Ann and I lived there the rug had collected a gummy overlay of tobacco and pot smoke, beer, and other substances we … Continue reading The Summer of Lemons
Smoke Rings Like Halos
My mother, Christine, as a teenagerSometimes I’ll strike a match, and the sulfur scent brings back that sweet tobacco taste from the first draw on a fresh cigarette. I remember the blue-white smoke curling in tendrils and the hot orange glow of embers illuminating a dark room like secrets shared. Cigarettes were a secret I kept … Continue reading Smoke Rings Like Halos
The Care of Cast Iron
My mother on the far left, cooking over an open fire.I cannot find my mother’s frying pan. The one she gave me before she moved into the nursing home, before she died, and after she stopped cooking for herself. Her hands were rough, large and knotted with arthritis. They shook as she held out the frying … Continue reading The Care of Cast Iron
Riding with Prince Charming
Photo by Terrye Turpin on the Waterlogue appMy first steady boyfriend drove a 1978 Chevrolet Monte Carlo Sport Coupe. The official name for the car’s color was Camel Brown, an unfortunate tag that suggests a lumpish, disagreeable animal. The license plate number was UAB711. I remember the license plate number because I spent most of … Continue reading Riding with Prince Charming
The Queens of Summer Camp
There were two groups of people in the small town I grew up in, those who went to church and those who didn’t. The church goers were overwhelmingly either Southern Baptist or Methodist. There were some Catholics over on the east side of town, but they mostly kept to themselves except for their annual Christmas … Continue reading The Queens of Summer Camp
Let's Get Out of Here 