The woman in 13D was so large she took up a good third of 13C as well. I looked down at my assigned seat, saw a seatbelt buckle emerging apologetically from beneath her left thigh, and I settled in next to her. "Am I sitting on anything?" she said.
This is a photograph of Catahoula taken by my father in 1965. He was the only passenger in a small plane flying between New Orleans and Lafayette, and the pilot was able provide him with a great shot of his hometown.
. . . I was standing on the shoreline of a lagoon, fishing for dinner, and someone in the sky was fishing for me. I couldn’t see who the other fisherman was. All I saw was my line disappearing into lagoon water and his line descending from the clouds, dangling a golden hook.
The following is a transcript of a conversation that took place on October 2013 between me, my mother Sue, her sister Sis, her sister Liz, her brother Phillip and my sister Monique. The subject of the conversation is Dorian Doiron, also known as Tante Doy, my grandfather’s aunt. Gampy (Etienne Doiron) was my grandfather. Mit (Regina Doiron) was Gampy’s mother. Tante Doy (Dorcian Doiron) was Mit’s sister. Tante Doy gave birth to a child out of wedlock, Gampy’s first cousin, and was forced to give her up for adoption. I was always curious about this, especially because Gampy was himself conceived out of wedlock, and wasn't given up for adoption. One sister kept her child, and the other didn’t.
You didn't throw it away. And not only did you not throw it away, you kept it. And not only did you keep it, you locked it in a chest. You treasured it. Then you died, the treasure was buried, and nobody cared.