Sunday, June 29, 2008

Flip Flop.


I grew up in a pink house. On North Madison Street.

And down the street was a lady named Angela Hollins. She was a nice lady. She had a daughter or maybe two. I can't remember is she was married or not. Or if she ever had been. She had two oak trees in her front yard. The whole sidewalk in front of her house became unskateboardable when the acorns started to fall. It was a minefield of those nuts. Needless to say, she also had a lot of squirrels who chose to hang out around her house.

I've never been a big fan of flip flops. The piece that passes between my big toe and lesser big toe always got on my nerves. It rubbed. I avoided it. Except right after rain storms. Which was the only time the pain of a flip flop tounge was less than the joy of jumping in cold puddles. The puddles were always so cold - and in the summer time the sidewalk was so hot. I have no doubt in my mind that there are millions of tiny tornadoes surrounding Alabamian post rain storm puddles.

Which you can destroy by jumping with both flip flopped feet. Right into.

One day, after some pop up storms, my brother and I put on our flippies (I think mine were red and his green - we always had a cool vs. warm color thing going on. Which is how we kept all our Christmas presents straight. We both got ten speed bikes one year. When we were maybe 9. Mine was red. I almost got hit by a car. Then I was so afraid that I locked it up, and to my knowledge, I never rode it again. It just rusted. Red on red in the pink shed behind our house.)

We flopped down the street. Destroying tornadoes as we went. Angela was on her front porch. Maybe having a drink. Maybe just reading a book.

She laughed as we ended up in front of her house.

You (me) and your brother are so cute. I can hear your flip flops all the way down the street.

I think the only time that I'd ever heard the word cute was on a TV show that I wasn't allowed to watch. Something like Dallas. Something my mom would watch and then we couldn't come into her room. Leave me alone. I'm watching Dallas.

The word cute sounded like adult talk. Like a contract. I thought, for about 4 years that I would have to marry Angela.

The start

I was sitting around last week.

I had a memory come to my mind. Which, at times, I've been known to have. I'm not peculiar in this way. All kinds of people remember stuff.

But then we forget. And the great machine called our brain logs it away. And then in another 12 years it will yet again come to the fore. With less clarity than the first time. Our RAM, it seems, can't run all of our memories at the same time.

That's what I plan to accomplish with this blog. A 100% true to memory chronology of things that no one else cares about.

Away we go.