Saturday, March 27, 2010

sepia memories

i have these older memories .... forever i thought they were dreams because i only remembered them in a brown/redish tint. once i was being pulled up on the back of my dads tractor. i heard the pop of my arm coming out of socket. my nana and mom came running over as fast as they could... i screamed so loud. i remember seeing my cat(the one that pooped in my sisters mouth because she squeezed it too hard) stop, look at me, and run. i had a blue sling with daisies my mom made. i always thought it was a dream because of the sepia visuals. i found out a few years ago... it really happened. im just a freak show and have memories in sepia tones.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

something new.

i remember when i was seven we use to have a ton of people in and out of the house. my mom always had one or two friends living with us, doing her bidding here and there ...mostly picking up "the girls" (my sister and i) from whatever we were into or doing the million baskets of laundry. my dad always had at least three or four little soldier (that's what my mom called them) running around working on cars, mowing the lawn, or getting into some kind of not so legal activity. but what i remember most when i was seven was my father's hot pink tools. he had an entire garage full of welding equipment, giant wrenches, and other assorted dude stuff. all of it...and i mean all of it was bathed in hot pink spray paint. i would play with them in the garage and get my hands covered in rust and dirt. wipe the rust on my pants and continue the day running around in the woods.

there was this one particular guy that was always trying to impress my dad. his name was jeremy. he was so eager to please my dad, my mom hated him. i remember her cussing him out because one day... a kitten had run to the top of a tree in our yard. my father yelled at jeremy "get that fuckin cat outta the tree..." so my mom would shut up about it. jeremy without hesitation he bolted up the tree. all the way to the top. grabbed the cat, snapped its neck, and threw it out of the tree. my mom screamed and gasped ..."what... what... what the fuck is your problem?!?" my dad ran out of the garage and kicked the shit out of jeremy. jeremy started crying saying "you told me the kill that fuckin cat..." my dad threw him out of the yard but jeremy was back in a couple of days doing my dad's bidding again. this is how ...i loosely use the word "loyal" these little soldiers were to my father... or maybe i should say fearful.

so it was always so surprising to me when my dad found his pink tools in the local pawnshop and found out jeremy had put them there.

my father... calm but upset found jeremy and took him to those same woods i ran around in. he tied jeremy to a tree with rope. he had planned on using his rusty hot pink saw to cut his thieving hand off... but in my father's true style. he had left the saw in the garage. he made the tack back to the house. he picked up the saw. when he made it back to the woods...jeremy had chewed, gnawed, and ripped his way free from the tree. all that was there... was the rope. you would think that kind of incident would have a person fleeing for their life.

i learned how to make fried egg sandwiches that following week... jeremy was one of my first taste testers....