You Know Where I AmGloria's father was talking to me on Saturday night after we arrived.
"My sister lives in Crawford, near where the President lives," he said. "I visited there last time in 1942, I think. I went out there and it was so relaxing, and every day she did all that down home cookin'. That was so good--there's nothing like down home cookin'...of course, it killed her."
"I don't have any family left, Bill. They're all dead. You don't know what it's like to lose everyone in your family one by one. They've been gone a long time, too...of course, I have my brother and sister."
We all went out to eat dinner that night, and the end of the L.S.U.-Mississippi game was on. After that, the local news started. Here's how the broadcast started out:
1. 2nd degree murder
2. self-defense seminar for rape protection coming on Monday
3. death ruled suicide
4. H1N1 deaths
I was cringing, because Eli 8.3 was watching all this, and after the fourth story, he turned to me and said "Man, a lot of people die here, don't they?"
I tried to take the high road. "Apparently," I said.
Gloria's going out with a friend of hers who moved BACK to Shreveport after many years. She's a very nice lady, and after a highly untoward incident at Gloria's wedding shower many years ago, she was the one who restored order in decisive fashion, which immediately made me fond of her.
One thing that has always puzzled me about women going out with other women is that they dress up for each each. Gloria always dresses up when she goes out with her friends, and
[I know. Maybe she's not going out with friends. Har-de-har.]
it's a big event.
When guys go out together, they just try not to fart. Sometimes.
So Gloria's got this "outfit" put together, and when she's done getting all fixed up, she says "There's not a full-length mirror here. Does this look all right?"
"Sure," I said.
"I'm sure she'll want to French you as soon as you say hello," I said.
"Very helpful," she said.