Yesterday, for no real reason, I started writing about my life. Here is some of what came out:
The decision of whether to go buy candy was always a big one because at any time the sno-cone truck might come by, and if we’d spent all our money on candy we wouldn’t have any for sno-cones. A sno-cone was fifty cents, and you could get extra syrup or a cream syrup topping for another quarter. The thing was, if for some reason the sno-cone truck didn’t come on a given day, you may have waited in vain when you could have gone and bought candy. It was a constant internal wrestling match, and it started fresh every morning.
I’m still torn over the spelling of sno-cone. But that’s how I recall it being spelled when I was a kid. Anyway, I like it better than “snow cone” or “snowcone.” In Southern Louisiana they call them “snowballs.” But I want to be true to my childhood, and where I grew up we said “sno-cone.”
In writing, little things matter. Every word lends a style and feeling to the work.
Five years ago today, we flew from Boston to San Francisco to become Californians. I don’t regret a minute of it. California is better for my health—mental, physical, and emotional. While there are things about Boston that I miss, I struggled with seasonal depression and panic attacks during the snowy season. Due to a lung condition, I also had bronchitis on a fairly regular basis, at one point for six months straight. By comparison, I’ve only had it twice since moving. I’m much better off here.
The day of the move, we landed at about 9:00 p.m. local time and drove through In-N-Out Burger on our way to the temp house. So tonight we’ll celebrate with In-N-Out (which we don’t eat as often as when it was new and novel) and then have pie for Pi Day! There’s a cookies-and-cream pie in the freezer just waiting . . .
Do you celebrate Pi Day? What kind of pie do you like? (I won’t eat fruit pies, only cream pies because I’m weird like that.) Are you a transplant of any kind? Tell me about it in the comments!