Author Archives: viarebecca

Christmas lends elegance to parties – the lights, the trees, the sparkling ladies in evening gowns. The neighborhood progressive dinner promised to be full of goodwill and champagne. The entire group of 40 couples gathered for cocktails at the clubhouse, … Continue reading →

Carolyn gave me a wind chime, a delicate thing, bought at Rock’s Variety Store down on Sixth Street, held together with nearly invisible strands of wire. When I lifted it out of the box, it made a sweet sound, ephemeral … Continue reading →

Seventh and eighth grades run together in my memory, all messy and disorganized. Next to an insane asylum, I can’t think of anything crazier than a congregation of 13- to 15-year-olds, thrashing about in brand new waters, self-conscious, happy and … Continue reading →

Twelve-year-old girls in 1958 lingered at the end of childhood, suspended where summers were magic, not so eager to don the feathers and straps of womanhood as they are these days. I pushed back at the changes in my body, … Continue reading →

This is my clan, the Benskins, the kin of Ben, some forgotten Scotsman whose wandering descendants wound up a hundred years later in Texas. It’s Christmas, 1956, at my grandparents’ house, a year after my parents’ split. I’m down front … Continue reading →

What’s past is prologue. The Tempest, Act 2, Scene 1, by William Shakespeare There’s something captivating about a school choir, beyond the simple appeal of children together, singing. In a town the size of Texas City, a choir delivers a kind … Continue reading →

Wonder passes through each season, even on the Gulf coast of Texas, where the changes are subtle, a gradual dimming of the heat, birds in V-formation going home, sometimes the brighter leaves on the tips of ligustrum bushes. A year … Continue reading →

“Ah. The Bruskins. See you on Sunday, Sweetie.” Aunt Venita flicked her gold-bangled wrist, rolled up the car window and sped away. I was walking home from Danise’s when she happened to drive by, in a hurry as always, but … Continue reading →

What lasts? Friendships and summers, memories, and the mashed potato spoon. The mashed potato spoon, large and sturdy, perfect for lifting globs of buttery mashed potatoes onto your plate, back when carbs didn’t matter. That spoon is the only thing … Continue reading →

April is the cruellest month, breeding Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing Memory and desire, stirring Dull roots with spring rain. T. S. Eliot, The Waste Land, 1922 No child ever made a more spectacular first impression than I did. … Continue reading →