A new picture published by insta_catch towards ∞. January 02, 2015 at 03:42AM
In "∞"
leticode, October 13, 2013 at 01:31AM http://instagram.com/p/fYsjHqlBNu/
In "∞"
A new picture published by elinelefevre towards ∞. May 30, 2014 at 07:11PM
More.. http://infinitooooo.wordpress.com/2015/01/02/origami-owl-love-is-patient-3-love-is-kind-window-frame-origamiowl-origamiowllove-origamiowllocket-origamiowljewelry-origamiowlcharms-origamiowldesigner-origamiowlvalentines-origamiowl2015/
My earliest memory of Oklahoma is the rich hue of red and brown that flew past the U-haul window when my parents were moving us from Tulsa to live with my aunt and uncle in Cave Junction, Oregon. I don’t remember anything about Cave Junction. I think I used to, but those thoughts have faded. I have just a memory of a memory now, something about Christmas presents and a crying fit when my cousin Tami got a doll I believed should have gone to me. But that could have been a Grants Pass memory. I’m no longer sure which Oregon memory it is, but I do remember Oklahoma.
I remember looking outside the window and asking my mother what all that red was. “It’s dirt, honey,” she said, “and we won’t have to see any of it ever again.” Turns out, there are lots of states in America where the dirt is red, so that’s not entirely true, but there were definitely things left behind in Oklahoma.
I remember chickens and a pair of overalls that my brother and I shared. We’re only 14 months apart. “Irish twins,” my mother used to call us. I remember a shiny red wagon and being pulled to daycare in it. I remember the sound of my paternal grandmother’s soft Brooklyn-turned-Southern accent, and a red-haired Aunt Judy and her smooth-skinned Choctaw husband, Uncle Ricky. I remember the feel of Oklahoma more than the image of it. Perhaps, that’s because I left there when I was only two and a half, and I haven’t lived there since. I’ve only visited, though frequently, while growing up.
My memories of Oregon are much more vivid than my memories of Oklahoma. These are two states that sit next to each other in the American alphabet and whose histories have been intertwined since the early part of the 20th century, but both places pretend to be competely unaware of one another. The truth is, if you meet a person in Oregon whose family has lived there for more than one generation, there’s an Okie in the mix somewhere. The same goes for people with Irish-Scottish surnames in California. Oklahomans are kind of like boomerangs – their trajectories may lead faraway from home, but they always know where they really come from.
My parents moved to Oregon for a lot of the same reasons other Oklahomans over the decades have moved there. They needed better jobs, and Oregon boasted work. It’s true that both my mother and my father found employment in the Rogue Valley, but that’s where their good luck ran out. They were separated within two years and divorced in three. By my fifth birthday, my mother had met my stepfather at a fish bake in Talent, way up in the Siskiyou Mountains where my brother and I used to stare hard out the car windows for Big Foot.
More.. http://tiffaniburnettvelez.wordpress.com/2015/01/02/the-tiffani-lynne-method-of-frying-chicken-and-making-biscuits/
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