Jeannette Walls

Her long hair was streaked with gray, tangled and matted, and her eyes had sunk deep into their sockets, but still she reminded me of the mom she'd been when I was a kid, swan-diving off cliffs and painting in the desert and reading Shakespeare aloud.

"It's the Joshua tree's struggle that gives it its beauty."

Poor old Venus didn't even make her own light, Dad said.

"Years from now, when all the junk they got is broken and long forgotten," Dad said, "you'll still have your stars."

Some followed Mom around like stray dogs.