My mother always had a inappropriate way about her. To this day I can still see something like a wild, passionate teenager in her that wouldn't look out of place at a beer-bong party or tearing off her top in a wet T-shirt contest. I also know that she would laugh if I told her this, because … Continue reading A Wild Spirit with a Tame Heart
I remember two-year-old me bouncing on the ratty queen bed in my grandfather's basement throwing a rock at my mother's TV. She had found the rock who knows where, but she collected odd things like that. Whatever reminded her of vast open spaces where Indians ran free. She came out of the bathroom in … Continue reading Of Mother
"Things of the world," my Mama says. I remember her singing rock songs of the poor thumping her hand on the roof of my grandma's mini-van, and sipping a refil of Pepsi. "If I can't afford a pop, only then will I be destitute," my Mama says. I remember her bringing a bag of discount … Continue reading Mama’s Words on Being Cheap
Author T.S. Lowe 