I had gerbils when I was about nine. I used to clean the cage once a week, and I’d take them out (Lucy and Ethel, but it turned out to be Lucy and Desi, that’s another story, though) and let them run around the perimeter of my bathroom sink while I cleaned.
One day when I went to put them back in the cage, Lucy was not making it easy to catch her, so I put my finger down on her tail AND SHE KEPT RUNNING AND I STOOD THERE SCREAMING with just her tail underneath my finger. She left a bloody trail behind her, my mother came running into the bathroom and said this is why she hated these “goddamn rodents” as she scooped her up and put her back in the cage, and that is why my children never had gerbils. Just a dog. Lucy was okay, by the way. Her tail healed into a stump. I had not thought about this in years, so thank you, Abby. I loved this piece so much. Felt like I got to meet child-Abby. Your teacher probably was a big fat potato.
Love this. If only I could learn to be so open and honest in my memoir pieces! I have too many layers of academia and journalism - my personal pieces always turn out too slick and not quite right. What’s your secret? How do you do it?? You bring the reader right in - and there being no artifice, every word, every sentence rings so true! I envy your skill. And I was a fan of blue popsicles too. And the yellow (banana) ones. Do they even make those things anymore??
I love this story. We also lived in New Orleans, where our children were born and where we taught. And I remember the broken shells at bus stops and elsewhere. Your writing is so evocative, with the lizards and bamboo climbing. Your writing is such a gift -- thank you for sharing your stories.
My mother said when we got in the car for the trip up there she heard one of us say,"Time to talk northern." Minnesota was very different. First we couldn't go barefoot everywhere all the time. I did love the real snow that covered the cars. But I'd go back to NOLA, not St Paul. Fortunately I love where I am thank god.
There's something enchanting about New Orleans which you capture perfectly here. My mother was born and raised on Conti St. We lived down there for three years, visited every summer, and the most vivid memories remain. As I read about yours, I also wallowed in mine. Thanks for the memories.
Thanks for memory lane trinkets. I once visited Seattle and even was inspired to write about it. Went in search of strange hidden gems of the city…and found the troll under a bridge with a Volkswagen in its grasp. Also it was there I had my first experience with bubble tea, and wagu beef. Loved pikes market, and someday hope to go back.
Thanks Abigail. This gave me an idea: to ask my sisters to write some memory they have about being little. They were already 15 and 10 when I was born, and came into their lives.
My sister who is ten years older than me, always said that her memory of our childhood sucked! The truth is that she said she couldn’t remember much because she had promised never to tell me that I was adopted. So now that I know, I will definitely get her to write some stories!
Yay! It was quite a shock when I found out...which was about 20 years ago now. But you know, deep in my heart, I always knew. It is a long story. I've been told that I could write a book about it all. The good thing is that I was in a very loving family. After my adoptive parents passed, I did find my mother. She's a lovely lady (in her late 80's), we talk often.
I had gerbils when I was about nine. I used to clean the cage once a week, and I’d take them out (Lucy and Ethel, but it turned out to be Lucy and Desi, that’s another story, though) and let them run around the perimeter of my bathroom sink while I cleaned.
One day when I went to put them back in the cage, Lucy was not making it easy to catch her, so I put my finger down on her tail AND SHE KEPT RUNNING AND I STOOD THERE SCREAMING with just her tail underneath my finger. She left a bloody trail behind her, my mother came running into the bathroom and said this is why she hated these “goddamn rodents” as she scooped her up and put her back in the cage, and that is why my children never had gerbils. Just a dog. Lucy was okay, by the way. Her tail healed into a stump. I had not thought about this in years, so thank you, Abby. I loved this piece so much. Felt like I got to meet child-Abby. Your teacher probably was a big fat potato.
I LOVE THAT STORY!!! ugh. Poor you.
Thank you for liking it. I love that it made you think of your own story!
Love this. If only I could learn to be so open and honest in my memoir pieces! I have too many layers of academia and journalism - my personal pieces always turn out too slick and not quite right. What’s your secret? How do you do it?? You bring the reader right in - and there being no artifice, every word, every sentence rings so true! I envy your skill. And I was a fan of blue popsicles too. And the yellow (banana) ones. Do they even make those things anymore??
So fun. You inspire me to write my own stuff. Thanks. 😘
That's the best thing a writer can hear. Thank you. Please do it now!!
Love this little glimpse of memory.
Such fun to read your work. You simply tell the story. Nothing else seems to get in your way.
I love this story. We also lived in New Orleans, where our children were born and where we taught. And I remember the broken shells at bus stops and elsewhere. Your writing is so evocative, with the lizards and bamboo climbing. Your writing is such a gift -- thank you for sharing your stories.
Thank you very much. What a lovely thing to say.
Sometimes I wish we had never moved.
My favorite way of writing memories is to start with I remember….
I don't know any other way. What else would work?
I like this! Thank you
Thank you, Kathy.
Was Minnesota as good a magic as NOLA?
My mother said when we got in the car for the trip up there she heard one of us say,"Time to talk northern." Minnesota was very different. First we couldn't go barefoot everywhere all the time. I did love the real snow that covered the cars. But I'd go back to NOLA, not St Paul. Fortunately I love where I am thank god.
Your authenticity makes me smile and chuckle every time it blesses my life. YOU are a rare and wonderful gumbo, Cher.
I love sharing your memories with you, thank you! :)
Thank you very much.
There's something enchanting about New Orleans which you capture perfectly here. My mother was born and raised on Conti St. We lived down there for three years, visited every summer, and the most vivid memories remain. As I read about yours, I also wallowed in mine. Thanks for the memories.
Write yours. Have you? I hope you will. And thank you.
So vivid -- and love the lizzards
Oh god, so did I. except the one that bit me. Thank you.
Thanks for memory lane trinkets. I once visited Seattle and even was inspired to write about it. Went in search of strange hidden gems of the city…and found the troll under a bridge with a Volkswagen in its grasp. Also it was there I had my first experience with bubble tea, and wagu beef. Loved pikes market, and someday hope to go back.
Sounds like you should write about it. Hope you will.
Memories. Abigail, that seems like the best thing to write about and think about on Memorial Day. Blue popsicles and all.
Those blue popsicles, yes. First thing I think about when I look back. Memories, wow. and what we forget is as interesting as what we remember.
Thanks Abigail. This gave me an idea: to ask my sisters to write some memory they have about being little. They were already 15 and 10 when I was born, and came into their lives.
Great idea! Unfortunately I was the eldest and my memory sucks. and thank you.
My sister who is ten years older than me, always said that her memory of our childhood sucked! The truth is that she said she couldn’t remember much because she had promised never to tell me that I was adopted. So now that I know, I will definitely get her to write some stories!
Holy shit!
Yay! It was quite a shock when I found out...which was about 20 years ago now. But you know, deep in my heart, I always knew. It is a long story. I've been told that I could write a book about it all. The good thing is that I was in a very loving family. After my adoptive parents passed, I did find my mother. She's a lovely lady (in her late 80's), we talk often.
We’ve all kissed a lot of lizards. Thank you for the laugh - nice break from reading about the
genocide we seem powerless to stop.
yeah, a few other lizards. but I repented.