Tag Archives: My Real Memoir

Weird Eddie

‘Grasshopper Face’ by Boris Smokrovic (unsplash.com) My Real Memoir Eddie was different. He sort of looked Chinese, and I liked that. He also talked different, and very little. And even though he was bigger, he didn’t seem as smart as … Continue reading

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My First Friend

Overgrown House 4 by Hoekemannen (flickr.com) My Real Memoir I spotted a weasel in the spring of my 5th year. Apart from a few orange trees and an incinerator, our back yard was boring. The trees were too young to … Continue reading

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In Search of a Friend

Photo by Sheila Fitzgerald My Real Memoir Trees, chickens and geese. These were my friends. I loved them, but there was something of a communication barrier. The trees were great listeners, and happy to cradle me in their arms all … Continue reading

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Attack of the Giant Spider and Other Tales from My Childhood

My Real Memoir As wonderful as my babysitter’s magical garden was, it clearly wasn’t up to OSHA standards.* But then I grew up in an era when kids were expected to fall out of trees, stub their toes, fall off … Continue reading

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Frieda’s Magical Garden

“Orange Grove” painting by Tom Brown My Real Memoir At the ripe old age of three, I began spending my days in a magical place. As previously stated, Mom and Dad were both working, and I’d been dishonorably discharged from … Continue reading

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Cute? Don’t Let the Picture Fool You!

My Real Memoir I’ve always lived in my head. And, although it’s undoubtedly in my nature to be that way, nurture also played a role. Or rather a certain lack of nurture, which is not to say that my parents … Continue reading

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An Imaginary Life

My first home (as I remember it). My Real Memoir From the beginning, I was a daydreamer. Maybe because I spent so much time alone. I was clearly daydreaming in the womb, staring at some pretty placental pictures, when the … Continue reading

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My Life as a “Wild Indian”

Left: The booming metropolis of Downey, California.   Right: Grandpa Teemley My Real Memoir First off, I apologize for the offensive stereotype in the title. It’s not a reference to Native Americans. It’s what my Grandpa Teemley called me almost from … Continue reading

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My Real Memoir

Those who visit frequently may have noticed that I tend to post memoir entries at the start of each week. These used to be called “Memoir Mondays” because I like alliteration. But lately, for practical reasons (much to the vexation … Continue reading

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