When Sheep Don’t Bring You Joy

Welcome to a Re-Blog-It-Monday … where I re-post some of the stories I told when I had a reader-base of -10.

The Mercenary Researcher

I wrote this in 40 minutes before work at 5AM – please excuse any offensive uses or misuses of grammar.  mea culpa, mea culpa, mea máxima culpa. That Catholic upbringing was good for something, eh?

We moved out to Tucson, AZ from Long Island (NY) in 1978. My mom was Brooklyn born and raised. My father spent time in Ottawa (that’s in Canada for the geographically challenged) and then most of his life before marriage in Queens, NY.

My brother and I were products of suburbia; raised in a small village called Shoreham on Long Island.  Very idyllic, very Erma Bombeck.  As a child, I LOVED it.  Who doesn’t love playing kickball in the street with Billy Hannigan – and him running as if he was the Bionic Man (making the dadadadadada noise as he rounded every base?). We had block parties, tree houses, snow days, grass, trees, autumn…

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About Rutabaga the Mercenary Researcher

I'm a research librarian for Public Television, story teller, bike commuter, baker, music fiend, lover of reading & books, mother, wife, friend - and many more descriptive adjectives and nouns.
This entry was posted in Childhood, Children, Eating, Family, Food, Humor, Injury, Random Thoughts, Story, Travel and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

14 Responses to When Sheep Don’t Bring You Joy

  1. Carrie Rubin says:

    Oh, your poor brother! That had to hurt. And I don’t blame your mom for crying at Pizza Hut. I’m not even sure that’s real pizza–not that I’d know the difference or anything. I just know it’s not where I go to get pizza. 🙂

  2. Brigitte says:

    Had not read this story, Ruta. I did and it was GREAT. You funny lady.

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