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Post by rikita on Mar 16, 2010 22:50:43 GMT
ah, i remember when my brother (well one of them) was born, but i was already seven then. i was staying the night at my dad's parents, the other brother was staying at my mom's parents. i was already lying in bed, which was kind of weird as i very rarely ever stayed the night at my grandparents, and if i did (later) i usually slept on the sofa, but this time i was in my grandma's bed, and my dad came in. i wasn't asleep yet, i think it was about seven or eight. my dad smelled of outdoors and cold air, which i also remember because i didn't like that smell much. well he told me i have a little brother whose name is sebastian. when he left i couldn't remember the name anymore, it seemed also a surprise to me as i couldn't remember discussing that name - but then, i had been convinced it would be a girl, anyway. so i was lying there going through all names ending in -ian that i could think of...
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Post by hwinpp on Mar 17, 2010 3:40:45 GMT
I remember when my brother was born. I woke up one morning and there he was sleeping in a cot in my parent's room. I'm not sure my sister or I were very interested in him at the beginning, my sister was 4, I was 5. In fact my sister tried giving him away after a couple of months but my mother thought that wasn't such a good idea apparently...
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Post by Deleted on Mar 17, 2010 7:12:09 GMT
I remember my grandfather's funeral when I was six. I didn't mind him dying at all because he was a grumpy old man. I have no idea who all of the people were at the funeral home. At that age, I didn't know that adults knew or ever saw anybody outside of the immediate family other than at work, and why would work strangers come to such a thing?
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Post by bixaorellana on Mar 17, 2010 15:32:02 GMT
Reading that brought back my few death memories from childhood. We were living in Alaska when my dad's father died, and I remember having it explained to us that's why Daddy went on a trip. Even though I was really fond of my grandfather, I don't think my brother and I made the connection between Grandpa and "Daddy's father". I do remember our asking Mama if Daddy cried because his father died. The other memory I have about death must have been from around the same time, the early 50s. We were in my mother's home town and were going to visit older friends of my parents. I remember being told we had to be very quiet and good because they'd just "lost" their son in the Korean war. Maybe lost as a euphemism for death was explained to us then, because the word has stuck in my memory with this incident. The main thing I remember about that death, though, was something I must have overheard accidentally. I think it was my mother who related that the parents had such a hard time accepting the death that the father opened the casket when it was delivered from the military. This was a source of horror to me for years. Still is, really.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 17, 2010 15:48:30 GMT
That reminds me of one of my mother's stories. The family plot at the cemetery was full, so some of the remains had to be dug up to be consolidated. My mother was a very determined little girl, so she convinced her father to let her come and watch even though eight year old children rarely get to see decomposed cadavers. They dug up her great grandmother, who had been buried for about 30 years already, and apparently it was one of those amazing moments that we never believe in the movies -- the corpse and clothing were in perfect condition, as though she had just been buried. Everybody was stunned. And then after about 3 minutes -- poof! -- everything collapsed and fell into dust.
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Post by bixaorellana on Mar 17, 2010 21:15:29 GMT
I guess the movie convention is based on real life. The Catholic cemetery in my home town was established in the 1730s and abandoned sometime in the early 1870s. Around 100 years later, it was restored to its former use. Any remaining caskets were disinterred and moved to the back part of the property. My great uncle was present when one was dug up that had a glass window over the deceased's face. He said the face was in perfect condition, except completely black. As they gazed at it, one of the gravediggers suddenly used his shovel to break the glass, whereupon the corpse disintegrated.
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Post by Kimby on Mar 17, 2010 22:20:22 GMT
wow! what a story. And not unlike the tale of the Egtved girl, see below, who shortly after being unearthed in near-pristine state from a grave near a spring, disintegrated to nothing... The Egtved Girl (c. 1390¨C1370 BC) was a Nordic Bronze Age girl whose well-preserved remains were found at Egtved ( 55¡ã37¡äN, 9¡ã18¡äE), Denmark in 1921. Aged 16¨C18 at death, she was slim, 160 cm tall (about 5ft 2in), had long blonde hair and well-trimmed nails. Her burial has been dated by dendrochronology to 1370 BC. Her imagined life and death is captured in the book The Faraway Lurs by Harry Behn, one of my favorite books as a young (romantic) girl...
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Post by rikita on Mar 17, 2010 23:10:49 GMT
to change topic... visited my dad's neighbour's today (my brother wanted to go to their apartment to play with their daughter so i went too. this happens regularly of course, so all was normal there. except, i had to go to the loo - and when i was in there i suddenly remembered that i once lived in their apartment for two months - they were abroad and i was between apartments, so i basically rented their apartment from them (for a lower price though as i was really just using the bedroom and bathroom). it is strange, though, how i barely remember this when i am at their place, or if i go through the places i have lived at, i often won't remember this one - but suddenly it was all there... (so this is not so much a story, just something i remembered today).
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Post by cristina on Mar 29, 2010 3:07:00 GMT
rikita, your memory seems surreal...and as much how I am feeling. I have been reading ibonito's posts and have the same feeling.
I am at once, there, and am not.
This bothers me me a lot as I would like to respond to his wonderful posts, but I can't.
*four letter word*
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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2010 6:44:06 GMT
Don't worry about that, cristina. The words will flow freely sooner or later.
For some reason this morning I was remembering how helicopters would dive bomb the school with insecticide as soon as temperatures became warm, due to the high mosquito population. If we did not get the windows closed fast enough, the White Cloud of Death would enter the classroom and cause considerable discomfort for several minutes. Even with the windows closed, you could smell the poison outside.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2010 16:29:41 GMT
I had a similar recall of late Kerouac. It would be a beautiful spring day and the windows would all be open. Freshly laundered ,right off the clothesline curtains billowing in the breeze,the drone of the tractor in the potato field just yards away,with the scent of DDT wafting in...Ah....those were the days...
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Post by Jazz on Mar 29, 2010 18:16:44 GMT
I had a similar recall of late Kerouac. It would be a beautiful spring day and the windows would all be open. Freshly laundered ,right off the clothesline curtains billowing in the breeze... And, this makes me think of a long ago post with a beautiful painting of clothes hanging on a line, clean and fresh, a simple and sunny day. The memory is warm and clean. Lola's painting. I have never been able to find it again.
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Post by Deleted on Mar 29, 2010 21:19:01 GMT
I recall Lola's clothesline painting too and went hunting for it but couldn't find. Maybe Lola remembers where she posted it and can pull it up for us to see again. I would love to see it again. That was about a year ago too if I remember right...
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Post by auntieannie on Mar 29, 2010 22:13:45 GMT
random memory of the day: After the skiing remarks: The worried reaction of that American director visiting the company I was working for ages ago in Switzerland, upon my remark that I was going to ski over the weekend. "Nooo! don't do it! it's dangerous! You can die of a ski accident!" - to which I replied that ok, one can die of a ski accident, but I didn't feel like dying that particular weekend and I had been skiing since I was six y.o. so knew what I was doing.
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Post by rikita on Apr 1, 2010 9:03:44 GMT
i was visiting my mom the other day and by car we passed the house of an old friend of mine, and a playground nearby, and i remembered how i once visited this friend - she had lots of younger sisters (six girls altogether, now there is a seventh even) and that day the two middle sisters had a concert somewhere, one of the older sisters was supposed to bring them there and the other had an appointment, but the parents weren't home either - so no one was there to watch the two youngest (who at the time were two and four) so i offered to stay and watch them, and i went to the playground with them... i hadn't even recognized the street and the house as we passed it, but i did recognize the playground. also, during that visit (on the evening before), i had dinner with the whole family + a few of their cousins or friends who were visiting. now, they were one of the few catholic families in our village, and they were quite strictly catholic. before dinner, they prayed of course, and everyone made a cross - except for me. the youngest girl (the two year old) stared at me in complete amazement, how someone could not make a cross before dinner...
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Post by Deleted on Apr 1, 2010 9:27:27 GMT
I know about one's early Catholic years and the way things are taught. She probably just wanted one last look at you before you went straight to hell.
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Post by Kimby on Apr 1, 2010 14:29:42 GMT
I remember being at Brownie Girl Scout day camp when I was about 8, and other girls were chatting about religion (which we didn't "do" in my family). As we were crossing through a barbed-wire fence on the farm where the camp was held, one of the girls asked me if I was baptized. I said no, I didn't think so. Her reaction was swift and horrified. A sharp intake of breath followed by "You're going to go to Hell!!!!!". (My Mom reassured me that night that I didn't need to worry about going to hell, even though I wasn't baptized.)
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Post by Deleted on Apr 5, 2010 19:00:27 GMT
My very first memory -- spitting up in the crib in my grandmother's kitchen. Wow, I must have been very young!
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Post by gertie on Apr 10, 2010 5:12:55 GMT
auntieannie, your post brought back a memory for me of my first ski trip. I got my first job the summer I was 11 babysitting the neighbor's newborn baby while she worked half days. I saved my money up and as that winter I would be old enough to travel with the church youth group to ski during winter break. My finances did not quite add up to enough for any of the lessons offered, so some of those who had been often before assured me they'd have me skiing in no time. I don't know how, probably the threats of what would happen if I failed and they had to stop the lifts for me, but I managed to get up on the lift and heading up the mountain. As we headed up, I was instructed how to get off and out of the way, again with strong words as to the consequences should I cause a pile up. I did managed to get off and out of the way, slowly gliding over the snow...what's that ahead? OMGOMGOMG A SHEER CLIFF!!! I began desperately screaming "How do you turn" to which replies of "You just do" and "Lean" proved ineffective assistance. I continued to slide forward and in desperation fell back. My slick nylon covered poofy ski jacket offered no resistance, plus I was now lying across my skis, feet still firmly in boots on skis (Thanks to years of Ballet I was much more limber in those days) and slowly heading toward blue sky emptiness!!! As I gurgled in terror, several of the now arriving members of my group began to chortle with glee at my problem. Just on the edge of the abyss, a length of string with several short wooden pegs had been strung across. I grasped it desperately, dismayed to see the pegs popping out one by one, but finally, miraculously, I slowed to a stop, probably because turning to grab the string had kind of turned me such that a ski edge was digging in a bit. I crawled back up to the flat top roaring mad and let the gathered group have a piece of my mind! How DARE they stand there laughing when I COULD HAVE DIED!?! Several members of the group fell to the ground in fits of laughter as one of the oldest fellows, laughing with tears running down his face, pointed silently to the sign posting beside the cliff. It was a black ski slope (the most difficult variety) and was further notated as the steepest designated ski slope in North America. I was flumoxed and vowed there and then to avoid this lift at all cost (this lift was the only direct lift to the upper summit, but by taking a lift and skiing to the next station one could arrive at another area, as high but sans the cliff). Well, be careful what you wish for! As if this performance wasn't enough to ensure much laughter and embarrassment over the following year, there is more. On the last day of skiing, our fifth, I had been steadily improving. Several of our oldest and most experienced skiers had taken me in hand and it was decided I was ready for the intermediate slope which also, along with the beginner slope I had been aiming for my first trip up, left from the flat by the cliff. I boarded the lift right behind our youth director and his wife, and further, the other two chaperones for this trip boarded right behind me, intending to try this slope with me as they were also,save one, on their first ski trip. Just as we passed the point of no return on the lifts, the emergency services began calling for any of our church's youth directors to come immediately to the emergency center! At the top, our youth director, the only experienced skier of the group, told us he did now want to leave us all to our own devices (In those days before cel phones, I'm sure concern was keeping him from thinking entirely straight) so did we want to just give the black slope an attempt as it was the main slope, leading straight down to the main buildings, including the emergency center. We, being also bumfuzzled, said sure why not? We were instructed to follow him back and forth and snow plow for all we were worth. Amazingly, we made it without so much as a fall all the way to the last stretch above the flat and the youth director took off toward the emergency center straight down from where one of the easiest trails crossed this main slope. As he sailed away, I was the first to head out, again intending to ski back and forth across the face until it got to the flat. It had been a sunny day but was now cooling as the sun was falling behind the mountains - we had been taking the last run of the day when all this occurred. Just over the lip, I encountered something new. A sheet of ice had frozen clear and, even when on top of it, practically invisible. Just as I started out, a ski patrol gentleman came out of the trees on the easy trail on the far side and headed over the lip to ski to their patrol hut, which was below and behind me. He also hit the ice and began to slip a bit, though not as wildly as I. yup. You guessed it. Yard sale. For me and the ski patrol guy. Major wipe out as we ran into each other head on. Somehow, his pole swiped right across the bridge of my nose, and blood gushed out onto the snow, though thankfully not huge amounts - it wasn't broken. One of my skis failed to pop off as it should have and I was left lying on my back, holding my nose, with my ski running behind my neck and my foot still in the ski. The ski patrol guy jumped up and started yelling for a sled for injured, telling me "don't move!" which really did not penetrate at the time. My knee was hurting a bit as keeping my foot like that was twisting it a bit, so I said "Just take the ski off, please!" to which he replied oh no, don't move! and turned to shout again. Taking matters into my own hands, I began to beat on the release with my gloved hand, and after a few blows it released. I stood up, shook myself off, and began to collect my loose poles and skis. The ski patrol guy grabbed my arm and said "Your leg...you shouldn't walk on a broken leg" to which I laughed and said no no...not broken...I take ballet. He looked at me askance and asked if it hurt, to which I replied no, not now that I was free. He sort of wandered off, shaking his head as I was engulfed by most of the rest of group, laughing and bragging of the pictures they'd snapped from the porch of the emergency hut of me. One had a perfect motion shot just as I wiped the feet from under the ski patrol guy (though we had no digital cameras and I had to wait a couple of weeks after our return to see this shot - oh my did I cringe!!). Happily, many ski trips later, I no longer scream and cringe at black slopes nor have I wiped out an ski patrol gent in simply ages, though old friends still tease me about my way of catching the attention of cute ski patrol gentlemen.
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Post by Kimby on Apr 10, 2010 18:17:18 GMT
gertie's long stories are always worth the time it takes to read them. thanks for the memories.
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Post by Deleted on Apr 10, 2010 18:47:49 GMT
Gertie is indeed an Anyport treasure.
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Post by Kimby on Apr 10, 2010 18:57:33 GMT
a random memory from my girlhood: football season before we built the cabin and spent every weekend at the lake, year round sitting at my Dad's side while he watched the Green Bay Packers on TV listening to the commercials for Marlboro cigarettes (a long time since tobacco ads were allowed on TV) and reveling in the music by Elmer Berstein (his composition became the music of Marlboro Country)
at :27 seconds and 1:40 the swelling theme has me riding horseback over the foothills....
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Post by Deleted on May 25, 2010 16:51:02 GMT
I remember the big webbed caterpillar nests in the pecan trees. When you could reach them, you would make a big newpaper torch on a long stick and stand to one side to burn them out. But sometimes the only way to reach them was to stand directly under the nest. As you burned it, the caterpillars would come raining down on you, in your hair, on your face, on your shoulders, everywhere. But they devoured so many leaves, you had no choice.
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Post by Kimby on May 25, 2010 19:31:24 GMT
I remember a tent caterpillar outbreak here about 10 years ago that was so bad you could almost hear the worms munching as they defoliated all the trees along the creek.
You definitely could hear the little caterpillar turds hit the ground!
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Post by Deleted on May 31, 2010 17:23:29 GMT
Random memory this morning... marching in the high school band to commemorate Memorial Day, tooting my flute (or piccolo, if one was chosen that year...) down Bridgehampton Main Street to the monument where there would be all the veterans of war lined up and they would do a seven gun salute. The sound of the rifles was deafening. Afterwards, we would all go for a picnic at the VFW hall. Small town Americana... They still do it. I was there some years back and went and watched. Still don't like the rifle shots.
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Post by rikita on May 31, 2010 20:30:55 GMT
had a reunion with my elementary school class on saturday. interesting though, how many things others remember that i don't remember at all, and vice versa. i suppose i put importance on other things.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 2, 2010 7:57:55 GMT
I remember a nasty 5th grade teacher who was teaching the class the names of the 50 states, which she wrote on the blackboard and we all copied down. The next day there was a test, and we were all marked wrong for the spelling of Massachusetts. "But we copied it from the blackboard!" we protested (I think she had written it 'Massachusets' or some such.). "You should have checked the spelling in a book," she replied. Grrrrrrr.
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Post by rikita on Jun 2, 2010 22:31:27 GMT
wow, that's mean, for a fifth grade especially. and obviously stupid of the teacher, not to admit she made a mistake. did you tell your parents? generally, imho, if a whole class gets a bad grade, that leaves something to wonder. like the other day someone told me how all his class got a bad grade in a test, while the paralel class got a good grade in their test - they had different teachers. i doubt that all the kids in one class were stupid and in the other they were smart...
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Post by Deleted on Jun 3, 2010 5:09:06 GMT
Giving everybody a bad grade on a whim was actually quite common in some schools I attended. My brother and I were pulled out of Catholic school the day my mother discovered that my brother's teacher (a nun) was giving all of the girls better grades than the boys. I think it might have been the only time the word 'lesbian' was ever said out loud at that school.
Later, in high school, I had a teacher who did the same thing, and she was only about 25 years old. But that was just one class out of five, so it wasn't as important.
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Post by Deleted on Aug 29, 2010 19:11:47 GMT
When we lived in Hattiesburg for six months, there was a big decrepit house that was called "the witch's house." As far I as know, it was just an old woman living there, maybe not a nice one, but I remember the terror of passing in front of the house (I was six years old) and also the maddening desire to creep up closer and actually SEE something.
It was the only time a witch lived on the same street as me.
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