THE 2011 IMAGINARY FAMILY PROJECT
Even as a child, Janice only tolerated tradition to a point. Her doll stage was short lived and obligatory, and she rapidly moved on to non-fiction readers 3 levels above her grade…
Showcasing Red Dirt culture ~ authored and managed by contributors with connections to the great state of Oklahoma.
52 weeks, 52 stories, 52 photos with new family narratives. Co-created by Quentin Bomgardner, volunteers, and the RDC community.
THE 2011 IMAGINARY FAMILY PROJECT
Even as a child, Janice only tolerated tradition to a point. Her doll stage was short lived and obligatory, and she rapidly moved on to non-fiction readers 3 levels above her grade…
I found myself dealing with a slight touch of sadness last Thursday. I realized that, after reading the final entry of the “Imaginary Family Project, 2011” there would be no more entries. No more stories created to bring the characters in forgotten photos to life, with new dealings, new thoughts and new nuances. In order…
His formative years included World War II when all the resources of the United States were dedicated to the war effort and the subsequent boom years when the men and women involved in the war came home. His world consisted almost entirely of the events and experiences in his hometown and he experienced both austerity and plenty. This was a good time and place for a young boy to grow up.
I knew Eddy from St. Peter’s, a private school for boys in Clinton, MI. We were introduced behind the maintenance shed where some of the students would hang out and share cigarettes, adult magazines, alcohol, and whatever else they had managed to smuggle back from their weekend trips home.
“Look happy!” Cleo Cliffords knelt down. He pointed the Brownie at little Raymond and Sadie. They looked happy, because they were happy. They played all the time and giggled and really liked each other. It was the one lucky thing in Cleo’s life — his kids were ignorant.
I didn’t understand why Mom wanted to stop there. She just pulled the car over into the hard sand next to that deserted road that was taking us south from the Oregon woods of my childhood to the California desert I have spent the rest of my life in. She didn’t trust Joey with the camera and Grandma insisted she wasn’t touching the new-fangled gadget, so it was up to me to snap the photo that Mom wanted to remember this moment by. But what moment?
Well, she actually sent it. She sent it to my office. I’d never given them my home address. They’d never asked, not that I care. I don’t even understand why I’m even thinking about this. I was sure I’d put them behind me. But, looking at this picture of my ‘family’, I do feel something. I’ve considered waking Nzhinga. She’s great at this sort of thing. I’m not.
#46 of 52 : HER AUNT External Photo Clues: None Imagine: The sun was bright but the air was cool as it blew in across the ocean. Her feet were bare but there was no joy from the sand squishing her toes. She recalled that feeling used to give her such joy, but that was a…
Most people thought him crazy or just dismissed him completely but my brother and I could see a glimmer of truth in old man Dalton’s eyes as he rambled. A clever man, disillusioned by the many tales he told – so much so that the lines blurred between fantasy and reality. Then again, where better to hide the truth than amongst several tall tales, protecting it from the distracted masses where only the most passionate seekers would glimpse it and take hold.
“Can I get a drink for me and my dog?” asked MP, “I’m spittin’ dirt clods I’m so dry and dusty and my dog’s tongue is so dry I can strop my razor on it.” I didn’t have much humor offered so freely to me so I chucked and said, “Sure, follow me.”
Harry stepped forward, then back, to the right and then to the left. He wanted to frame the photo just right. “This is the first day of the rest of your life!” he said to Debbie.
Ann and Harry had been married for almost 2 years when Debbie was born. Harry doted on Debbie. He named her after his mother. Debbie came early and was sickly. Harry took his job as her father, her protector seriously. Ann didn’t know what to do, but she did her best to take care of her.
He is waiting for someone but growing impatient as he looks up at the library clock next door. “I don’t know why they put this damn concrete everywhere, nobody uses sidewalks anymore anyway! Everybody drives cars nowadays ‘sept you!” He cried to the young woman running hurriedly towards him.
My Aunt Claire always teetered between legend and black
The afternoon was so hot and still that the only real signs of life were the locusts humming lazily in the trees around the neighborhood. Clifford, Eddy and their next door neighbor, Frances, were sitting in the shade of Frances’s willow tree, discussing their entertainment options, which were a little lean that day.
I told you, Mother, that project would not work. Anyway, don’t you remember fishing over there in the towels? Remember crappie we caught and how good they tasted?
Whose idea was this to try something new and without asking for our help? Seems to me that this world is going down hill when people think they can try that and get by with it. Then build a monument to show off such a thing.
Had a little stowed away from before the war when her husband was a dentist in southern Oklahoma and done pretty good till he up and joined the war with the nazi’s, died on some now forgotten beach I reckon. Ma carried on and was excited in the tellin’, like she had peered into the woman’s soul and got her most deep secrets. I could’a told her most of it without the givin’ up of all them apples.
This, sadly, was the worst little league baseball team Oklahoma has ever, or will ever see.
I believe. As per usual, Gerdie, only called Gertrude when she got in trouble, made quite the entrance; this time in a brand new car that blinded you as it glinted fender to fender. My mom always got so excited when her big sister would show up. Her visits were always unexpected, but revitalized my mom at just the right time, when you could see her spirit start to drag.
The phone rang. Rang again. I looked at Billy, waiting for him to make a move. Nothing. I reached across the length of both our desks, “Mid West City PD.”
He’d worked in the mill most his life. Bought one of those little mill boxes they called a house, just across the road from the mill and did his time till retirement. It was easy work, borin’ most days. He tried his hand at marriage but the Vietnam had changed him or maybe he just wasn’t cut out for marriage – he didn’t know, didn’t care anymore.