Let's Begin at The Beginning.
Citrus wanted to know about early memories. This is tough -- not because I have no early memories, but because I am one of those people seem to have many really early memories. Oddly enough I can't tell you what brand of bottled tea I drink NOW (athough I can describe the bottle), but I'm big with the early memories. And because I have so many, I'm not sure which one is first.
Submitted for you perusal... Some early memories.
I'm toddling around like a drunken sailor and my grandmother and mother are behind a closed door. I want to be in there with them. I pound on the door. They let me in and then my mother puts me in my crib, which is in the room. The thing is - they're done (folding laundry?) so they turn off the light and leave. There are a couple indignant seconds as I process this, and then I begin to wail. My mother walks in the room and stares at me like she just doesn't know what my deal is ... I can't tell her. I'm frustrated. (We do variations on this for decades to come!)
My uncle is eating steak. I want some. I walk up to him and stare at him -- just stare at him, knowing I'm looking cute. He smiles and folds out the fork to me. The A-1 sauce explodes on my taste buds, a little too peppery. (I had to be under 3, because he went away to Viet Nam, came home, and died in a car accident by the time I was 3.)
I remember falling down a steep staircase. No, that's not true. I remember standing at the top of the staircase and wanting down. My grandmother is not paying attention; she's talking to someone. I decide I can do this on my own. I see one of my feet stepping out. Suddenly I'm at the bottom of the stairs -- no memory of in between. (My grandmother told me I was so still that she was sure that I was dead.) I begin to cry. Contrary to my grandmother's telling of the story, at no point did I think I could fly.
I remember being called by my childhood nickname -- Lou. My real name is not Nicolette, but neither is it Lou -- or anything close to Lou. I'm told I received the nick because when my grandfather first saw me he said I was a "Real Lou-Lou."
There are memories of lincoln logs, which were useless to me. I hated them. I liked the carpet sweeper quite a lot. Rotary phones were a blast. Cardboard boxes were loads of fun.
I remember the kitchen that all these memories happened in...and a weird lookin wall hanging that was a copper rooster.
Like Citrus there are swimming pool memories. There's the smell of plastic... plastic pool, plastic pool toys, a plastic bucket and shovel. Bright vivid colors. For years I associate that same plastic smell with Kmart. (Kmart becomes the smell of plastic combined with the taste of a frozen coke.)
The pool belongs to the boy who lived downstairs from us --Scotty. (I had to be slightly older than in the previous memories -- 3-4.) Water going up my nose and burning my sinuses, being cold, a little bikini.
Scotty being mean to me one too many times. My grandmother actually tolds him still so I can beat on him for a minute. (I'd like to see an adult do that today!!)
I think that's enough for now. Anyone else?
Submitted for you perusal... Some early memories.
I'm toddling around like a drunken sailor and my grandmother and mother are behind a closed door. I want to be in there with them. I pound on the door. They let me in and then my mother puts me in my crib, which is in the room. The thing is - they're done (folding laundry?) so they turn off the light and leave. There are a couple indignant seconds as I process this, and then I begin to wail. My mother walks in the room and stares at me like she just doesn't know what my deal is ... I can't tell her. I'm frustrated. (We do variations on this for decades to come!)
My uncle is eating steak. I want some. I walk up to him and stare at him -- just stare at him, knowing I'm looking cute. He smiles and folds out the fork to me. The A-1 sauce explodes on my taste buds, a little too peppery. (I had to be under 3, because he went away to Viet Nam, came home, and died in a car accident by the time I was 3.)
I remember falling down a steep staircase. No, that's not true. I remember standing at the top of the staircase and wanting down. My grandmother is not paying attention; she's talking to someone. I decide I can do this on my own. I see one of my feet stepping out. Suddenly I'm at the bottom of the stairs -- no memory of in between. (My grandmother told me I was so still that she was sure that I was dead.) I begin to cry. Contrary to my grandmother's telling of the story, at no point did I think I could fly.
I remember being called by my childhood nickname -- Lou. My real name is not Nicolette, but neither is it Lou -- or anything close to Lou. I'm told I received the nick because when my grandfather first saw me he said I was a "Real Lou-Lou."
There are memories of lincoln logs, which were useless to me. I hated them. I liked the carpet sweeper quite a lot. Rotary phones were a blast. Cardboard boxes were loads of fun.
I remember the kitchen that all these memories happened in...and a weird lookin wall hanging that was a copper rooster.
Like Citrus there are swimming pool memories. There's the smell of plastic... plastic pool, plastic pool toys, a plastic bucket and shovel. Bright vivid colors. For years I associate that same plastic smell with Kmart. (Kmart becomes the smell of plastic combined with the taste of a frozen coke.)
The pool belongs to the boy who lived downstairs from us --Scotty. (I had to be slightly older than in the previous memories -- 3-4.) Water going up my nose and burning my sinuses, being cold, a little bikini.
Scotty being mean to me one too many times. My grandmother actually tolds him still so I can beat on him for a minute. (I'd like to see an adult do that today!!)
I think that's enough for now. Anyone else?
posted by Nicolette at 10:57 PM
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