ssǝɹddns ɹou ɹɐǝɟ ɹǝɥʇıǝu plnoʍ ʎʇǝıɔos ǝǝɹɟ ʎlnɹʇ ɐ ʇɐɥʇ ƃuıʇnɔolɯnɔɹıɔ suıɐʇuoɔ ǝʇıs sıɥʇ



Monday, September 2, 2013

Pregnant Hills: 1979

We spent an uneventful year there.

We---my then 7-year-old brother and I---moved our pitiful pittance in there while Wifey was still in recovery mode after the birth of our firstborn---Peace Rebecca. No fooling. Peace was born, mom and kid were doing well, so I was off to the nearby U-Haul outlet.

I'd love to spin yarn after yarn about that year, but I was busily sponging up overtime pay from not one, but three local kitchens.

You see the stark difference between then and now, right? The ingrained work ethic?

Anyway, other than Ricky and Jill Schmidt (who we bonded with and can't believe they are both dearly departed), we never missed anything that Pregnant Hills provided us with, other than a grandma-provided starting point.




Not a single handgun in sight.

You know, the old days.

Later

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