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Balloons Bright

Writer's Block: Hello, World!

What is your earliest memory?

I remember being small enough to:
- Stand upright beneath the dining room table and look out at the rest of the room through the lace tablecloth, which I thought created a cool overlay pattern over mundane objects.
- Fit in the compartment *behind* the back of a VW bug. Boy, that fabric was scratchy!
- Sit on top of the refrigerator and kick my heels against its cool sides.
- Fit inside the top cabinets in the bedroom of the house we moved into when I was 4. (The other memories are earlier.)


I can remember being small enough to have to stretch in order to reach the handle of the fridge door...there was little pedal at the foot of the fridge, and I used to step on it in order to spring the door open; it was easier sometimes than going through all of the bother of straining to reach the handle. THAT'S how teeny I was...age three perhaps? I distinctly recall the shadows in the kitchen, from the late afternoon sunlight streaming through those ruffled curtains and the Venetian blinds.

Anyone old enough here to remember Venetian blinds? :)
We didn't have a pedal on the fridge, but I remember seeing some with that feature. We had Venetian blinds too, but they're still around. The last place I worked had them on their front window, and it was my job to open and close those suckers every day. They were every bit as much a PITA as I remember them.

I had a very busy fall, but am getting back to work on my zine projects and I'll be emailing you within a couple of weeks to catch up on things.
Currently I have mini-blinds in virtuall every window in my home, including the kitchen, but I swear it's because of growing up with Venetians all over the house---even in the bathroom! LOL!

Be great to hear from you, I'm looking forward to it! :D
I think a lot of people imprinted on Venetian blinds. :-) I have vertical blinds myself; practical for people who have cats.
I'd have been three when my mother went to see a new house, taking me with her. I can vividly remember the apparently endless stairs we had to climb to get to it (our previous house was up one flight of stairs, this was up three flights). Yes, we did move into that house.

My next clear memory would be from about a year later when I was four and a half and living with my paternal grandfather (evacuated there at the start of the war) - I remember my grandfather's bad-tempered goat Wally (you only turned your back if you wanted to be butted) and walking to and from school with my half uncle and aunt and two boys who lived further up the glen, all of them five or six years older. My memory of the school is more... muddled; I remember the classroom, but after I left (in early 1940 after my grandfather died) for quite some time time I had the impression that at least five teachers worked in it. In hindsight... it was a very small one-teacher school and it was how my four-year-old mind interpreted the teacher moving around, from age group to age group.
Hi Bluewolf, it's fascinating the tricks memories play! I can absolutely see how a young mind could perceive one teacher moving from group to group as multiple teachers.

I had a similar experience to your sense of endless stairs. We moved again, when I was five, to Arizona, and our new house has at the top of a hill. When my dad drove up it the first time, that hill seemed the steepest thing in the world to me. I quickly got used to it, however.

I visited that house again about 10 years ago and had a very odd experience. We moved away from the house when I was 9, so when I made my return visit I expected the house to appear much smaller than it was in my memory. To my surprise, it appeared larger. It took me a minute to realize why. When we'd lived there, it had been painted a neutral beige. It had been repainted turquoise, which made it appear brighter and bigger. Also, what had been a 5' palm tree, the bane of my young life as it always seemed to "grab" for me when I mowed the lawn, now had to be at least 12 - 14 feet tall, as it towered above the house.

The memory of Wally would definitely stay with anyone. I never forgot the nasty horses at the convent school in Tucson my parents sent me to for a time. One of those horses seemed to live for the opportunity to bite at the students - she was unrideable. You know how girls are supposed to love horses? Not me. That nag put me off of them my entire childhood.