Word: aunt
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...talk of this middle-aged couple is usually contentious; rancor stains the air of their modest North Carolina home. But when Aunt Ruth hears a tune on the radio, she softens into nostalgia. "Do you remember the first time we made love to this song?" she asks. "We were out in that field? You buried me in that grass." But Ruth can't utter a simple sentence without her husband Damascus' hearing blame in it. So he says, "Why is it that every time we start talking, you sound like you gonna...
...rest just smells bad. Most of us look at the platter from Aunt Katie with a wave of affection. Can you really get a warm glow from a place setting sent by a contributor you barely know who's angling for your attention? I'd stack my dishes on the floor before I'd accept a china cabinet from Walter Kaye, the insurance mogul who also delivered intern Monica Lewinsky to the West Wing...
...1970s, he came to Atlanta to visit his aunt, who owned rental property across the street from the grandmother of his future wife. Phyllis, an Atlanta native, was not impressed by their five minutes of chitchat. Still, a few months later, when Derwin returned to look at Atlanta University's graduate program, he asked her to show him around. Phyllis took him to a college sorority party. "It was love at second sight," she says. They married in 1977, and two years later, Derwin went to work for the DeKalb police department...
They expected to ride out the storm. A valid U.S. adoption must be recognized in Britain. But the media scrutiny exposed their vulnerabilities. Wecker announced she wanted the babies back again, declaring she had used an aunt's address to fake the 30-day residency required to seek an Arkansas adoption. She said the Kilshaws knew this at the time, though Alan denies it. The Arkansas decree cannot become final before June, and authorities there are likely to challenge it because of Wecker's admission. What's more, the Kilshaws did not apply for the entry permits to Britain required...
...Colored" entrance and there, in a barroom twilight amid the stale beer and dead cigarette smells, Charles would with utmost deference approach the owner Chink and place our morning's bets on the numbers. We never bet more than 10 cents, all in pennies, money collected from Aunt Sally and Charles' mother, Leola, and from our own stash. We never won, never hit the number, though we tried elaborate systems (jumbled birthdays and the like). But the trip to Chink's remained all summer a hopeful ritual, an adventure...