6476 rewinding... looking back, with a number of parenthetical statements.

[scottobear]

The Player: You see, we're strictly of the Blood, Love and Rhetoric school. We can do you Blood and Rhetoric without the Love, or Blood and Love, without the Rhetoric, or all three concurrent or consecutive; but we can't do you Love and Rhetoric without the Blood. Blood is compulsory. They're all blood, see?

Guildenstern: Is that what people want?

The Player: It's what we do.

---

What's the first thing you remember? The first thing, after all the things you've forgotten?

For me? My earliest memory? I've talked about it in my journal before, I have no doubt... but probably not in any detail. If I'm not mistaken (and who could correct me if I'm wrong?) It's of a visit to the Boston Zoo (Franklin Park, I believe) as a young boy (I was perhaps 3 or 4, prior to my brother's birth, in any event) with my Mother, her pal Vera, Vera's infant daughter, Michelle (maybe a year old at the time). We got to see monkeys, bears, and visited the reptile house. The warm-blooded creatures seemed happy and playful.... the cold blooded ones didn't strike me as having any personality in particular, save for being alive. I wanted to swing from one of the snakes like Tarzan on a vine... I imagine I saw that in a cartoon somewhere.

There was also a petting zoo, but Michelle was too frightened of the goat to stay for long. My first memory of petting an animal is a brown rabbit... unless petting Lila (a black/white/brown Lhasa Apso she-dog we had earlier) is an earlier memory that I've misfiled along the way. I don't know if the rabbit was a male or a female, the black nose was wiggly, and the creature was warm and easily loved by a child despite smelling a bit like a barnyard. I don't remember the lions, or any big cats.

Michelle is dead now. My Mother thinks that she saw Shelly's ghost when she went up for the funeral. Shelly never married, but was a sweetheart. I still have a small memento of her life in me because she's a part of that first memory. Vera divorced her husband last year.. or was it the year before? I don't know if it was because the kids were out of the house, and they had nothing in common, or if it was something else. Joe had a hot temper, and Vera was a bit of a stoic. Kevin, Michelle's younger brother, perhaps 30 himself now, has married and divorced, too. When I think of Kevin, I still think of him at five years old, great at skating on ice, and playing kiddie-hockey, like any good Northern kid... when I moved away, to Virginia.

Was that really so long ago? Back when Star Wars figures were new... a favored land speeder with my name written on it in black magic marker, so I'd be able to tell it from the toys of the neighbor kids. Chewbacca always got to drive, because he matched the color of the car, along with Jawas, Sand people and C3PO. (I always favored the Villains and non-human figures. More interesting costumes.) Plus, Browns, golds and rusts have always been a nice set of colors for plastic toys. Do I like Chewbacca because of that rabbit, long ago?

More difficult is trying to think when my second-oldest memory is. What comes next? My room? Pale blue, with many different colored pennants made of felt. A blue one With Linus. A mustard Yellow with Charlie Brown Happiness is a warm puppy, a green one with Snoopy on his doghouse, Cursing the Red Baron. (Wow, it's amazing what can be found on the Internet.) A basement playroom with a franklin stove, fishing net motif, with dried starfish and red rubber lobsters.... a toybox my dad made, with a whale inlaid on the top along with the names of both of his sons in now-inexplicably gothic lettering. I wonder where that toybox went to? It followed us all the way to Florida, and was still in the garage when I moved out on my own. Its sort of sad to think that it may be broken up in a landfill now. I hope that it's something that is still loved, somewhere. I played my first vampire in a coffin in that box. It held Tonka Trucks, hot wheels and track, Big buckets of Lego bricks, Star wars figures, super hero dolls (not action figures yet... we could call 'em dolls and still be dead butch) including the Hulk with his bolted limbs. Lincoln logs, tinkertoys, and real wooden blocks that my dad made from scrap... he sanded and shellacked those things to the point where not only would there never be a splinter, and they were just about frictionless on the carpet. He also stained them all sorts of colors.... I don't think any two blocks were the same shade, all went from Pine-blond to Mahogany dark. [update 8:22....I called my brother, and found out through his beer-slurred speech that he had the toybox until he moved to Hawaii. He couldn't find anyone to take it in, so he left it by the side of the road for anyone to pick up. Last seen ten years in the past.]

These memories make me feel sort of bittersweet. My Dad must've been about my age now when I was 12. He made so many things for my family. Provided a home, clothing, food... built toys, bought even more. Taught me all sorts of things that I use regularly. I'm glad that I can apply things about him in my daily life... it's nice to let the good parts of the past help to build the future by way of the present. It's a damn shame he had to die so early on, but I'm honored to be a part of his bloodline and to be allowed to pass his knowledge on to others, by example if in no other way. My dad wasn't perfect, by any stretch of the imagination, but he made pretty good use of the tools at hand. I like to think that I do the same.

What was my first book? I know this one, but I can't seem to recall... my mind has other thoughts rattling around in the forefront right now, blocking the light of that particular memory like moths in front of a candle. I'll move on for now... I'll rethink more memories later, dear journal.

---

You're Siddhartha!

by Hermann Hesse

You simply don't know what to believe, but you're willing to try
anything once. Western values, Eastern values, hedonism and minimalism, you've spent
some time in every camp. But you still don't have any idea what camp you belong in.
This makes you an individualist of the highest order, but also really lonely. It's
time to chill out under a tree. And realize that at least you believe in
ferries.


Take the Book Quiz
at the Blue Pyramid.

Comments

[rejectomorph]

Well, you have to believe in ferries, or you'll never get across the bay!

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

well, at least not without getting your ankles wet.

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

I had pennants, too! :0)
I remember them being popular at the time, and you and I are the same age. Can't remember them all, but I do remember having a pink one from the Ringling Circus. As well as my charlie Brown sheets, Popeye pillow covers... and my plastic blow up stuff. Like a giant plastic blow up bunny, and some other stuff that I remember equally well.

I might have to put my memories in my journal, too. Where did these questions come from?

Re:

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

Oh...and someone on my friends list often makes icons that remind me of you (or at least your icons for some reason). I often mistake him for you when he talks about things in a certain way. I made sort of a forward comment jibing (friendly of course!) for putting a particular singer so low on his list. Thought it was YOU, I was replying to. He replied - and it was only then that I realized it wasn't you.

Der-Da-Der. ;)

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

The earliest memory question came from the movie I was watching - R&G are dead. :)

Pennant's are pretty cool, I think, and it's just not something I've seen lately. I had a plastic Inflatable "Bop me" bozo clown as a kid!

Re:

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

'Doh!

Which buddy is it? I'd like to see your comment and his icons!

[rejectomorph]

The problem I encounter when trying to determine which of my memories is the earliest is that there are so many of them -- not events, or occasions I can fix at a particular time, but little fragments, visions of places and people and moments. The difficulty is compounded by the fact that I've been told any number of things that I did or that happened around me when I was very small, and I can't be sure if my memory of those events is my own or merely the memory of being told about them. However, I do have one clear image which might be the first. I remember sitting in my high chair, which was placed next to the kitchen counter, and looking at the room. I can see the worn linoleum, the white stove, the galvanized wash tub that sat in one corner, the door to the back porch, the window above the sink with its blue and white gingham curtains, and the rounded form of the old Norge refrigerator. But this may merely be a compendium of memories, since I sat in that chair in that spot several times a day for at least two years. There's no wonder that I would remember something I did so frequently. And that is only one of dozens of images my memory preserves form my early childhood.

The very first unique event I recall which I can place in time is, not surprisingly, my first day of kindergarten. I remember hiding in the tall grass of the vacant lot next door to our house, and my father coming to fetch me and put me in the car and drive me to the school. I remember going into the schoolyard, and the mob of screaming kids, and seeing the outdoor sink which amazed me no end, and sitting on the rug in the classroom while the teacher, Mrs. Finder (what a great name for a kindergarten teacher) read us a story. I must have adjusted to the new environment rapidly, because I have no memory of my second day of school, although I never became entirely comfortable with being there, and long continued to wish that I could stay home every day, sitting in the kitchen, watching the gingham curtains billow in the morning breeze.

Re:

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

http://www.livejournal.com/users/wickenden/458392.html

you'd have to observe me in person to know that i josh with very few ;) to anyone else, the comment i made, is probably nothing at all out of the ordinary.

i'm a rather private person - not a quiet person at all, rather outspoken - but there aren't all that many i do that with. :0)

his tree icon is the one that i continually think is yours. not sure if it's just an apple tree - or if it's a version of the "tree of life"

--- and yes, he seems very nice. I'd hate for him or anyone else to read this wrong. :(

Re:

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

ahh. i thought it was part of a journal entry you'd see somewhere.

i still like pennants on the rare occasions i see them, but heaven knows what i'd do with one now. i wanted one of those bozo clowns when i was a kid, and fussed because i didn't have one! the bozo that you could "bop" - it would tilt over and pop right back up to you, right?? I'm associating it with Romper Room in my head for some reason.

Re:

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

that's the one... his nose squeaked when you punched it, too.

Re:

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

Oh, yeah, I know wickenden's work. He's popped up here and there at times. I do like the tree icon of his.

I doubt he took it as anything other than good-natured ribbing. :)

I'm glad you can be outspoken with me!

Re:

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

I'm outspoken often - sometimes to a fault. ;)
- it's more of an issue of balance & energy for me when it comes to people, if that makes sense. :0)

Re:

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

sure.. the balance makes a world of sense. :)

Re:

[wickenden.livejournal.com]

hi there. Hope you don't mind me chiming in, I have no idea how long ago this was, it just came up in one of my google vanity searches (they always come back in scottos journal. for some reason!)

That tree is a crop of a sign on my front door. A dear friend of my mothers gave it to us. It has that tree, with strange berries, some reindeer looking things, and our family name "LaVange". I cropped out the name, as I remember.

When my mom and dad got divorced, this object, which bore my dad's name but was a gift to my mother; became her gift to me. I've kept it on my house or apartment like a coat of arms. It's dear to me and has taken on symbolic value.

I love that it had some semblance to scotto, one of my favorite LJ beings.

d.

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

Looks like it was about 13 months ago, give or take.

I never knew that history of your sign before... that's really lovely.

Thank you for your kind words!

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

Ha! I just did a Google on "charlie brown sheets" (I was feeling nostalgic for the ones I had when I was 6...hee), and this entry came up in the search. :D Then..I see that this is the same entry that Wickenden replied to mere days ago, and I got the reply in my email, too.

What timing. :0)

You know..what interests me, is how many people say their memories start about 4, 5 or 6. My first memories happened from 2 - 2.5 years old (per my mom). I wonder why mine started earlier than most I've seen answer this same question in LJ..

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

So many things fly in circles!

Odd how everything interconnects! You've got a sharp mind... My older memories are snippets of reading the comics page of the newspaper with my dad... Hagar the Horrible and Snoopy, especially.

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

So it must've made a big impact on you...wonder if it was the time spent with your dad, or the nifty comics.

Two of my first memories were when I was still in my crib...I assumed that kids were out of cribs by 2 or 2 1/2, but maybe not? The third memory, I was out of the crib..sleeping in a bed, but my mom said I was about 2 1/2.

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

I think it was just good times with my dad... plus, it's where I really leared how to read "big" words.

I was out of my crib by tha tpoint, but maybe you were in lock-up... or maybe they kept the crib in your parent's room?

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

Now that I think of it..she probably didn't have $$ for a bed for me. She was newly divorced & my crib was in her room. I got to share her bed soon after that..even though she got ticked when I pee'd in it at times. Heh. ;)

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

That could do it! As long as you fit, it should work out ok.

How long did you share a room with your mom? (If I'm not being too nosy?)

I shared a room with my bro until I was about 12.

[juliabee.livejournal.com]

Nah, you're not being too nosy. You're one of the verrrry few on LJ that I gab freely with. The other two peeps are friends of mine in person.

Until I was 14. But when I was 6 - my parents got together again for a year- so we moved in with him & I had my own room for that year. . Then back to the grandparents house again & one room. We got upgraded to the master bedroom...and the tooth fairy gifted me my own bed. ;) Woke up in the morning in the new bed, read the note from the tooth fairy..and marveled that I didn't even wake up when the fairy brought in the new bed PLUS put me in it. I woke my mom up across the room to tell her all about it. :D

Later..my grandpa turned our free standing garage into a large, 1 room studio for my mom and me. Because of college & work, she was gone from about 7am to 3am..daily..so it was like my own apartment. Later at 14 I got my own room...I wasn't overly excited...because I sort of liked sharing a room with her.

Did it ever bug you that you shared a bedroom with your bro for so long?

[scottobear.livejournal.com]

wow! All I ever got under my pillow was a quarter! you got a whole bed!! That's a heck of a magic sack she was toting around. How awesome is that??

My brother and I got along famously as kids, and we really didn't have any territory issues (not teens yet) Once I hit about 12-13, I needed my own space.