Away down South, an old custom dictates that if someone comes up to you on Christmas Day and says “Christmas gift” before y’all do, why y’all are obliged to give that person a present. Mind you, the custom does not say what sort of present y’all should give! But those of us who hail from the South consider ourselves to be gentlefolk. The gifts given and received in this manner are good enough to keep the custom alive and well…
In hindsight, I suppose it wasn’t a good idea to go ancestor-hunting in the local cemetery at dusk, but that’s when my friends and I got the notion, so off we went as soon as we thought of it. My mother had told me we had kin in the cemetery, but I’d never visited there before. We got on our bikes and skimmed expertly through the tourists who thronged the streets of Key West in the winter. It was getting dark when we skidded to a halt and parked our bikes by the gate.
She was always in the garden. Day after day after day. It drove him crazy. Supper never came when he wanted it and he had to go outside and kneel down in the dirt every dad-blame time he wanted to have a conversation with his wife. When he complained, she told him to get his own supper. Ha! She knew he couldn’t boil water without burning it.