Necktie

Sorry, I know that's knot funny...

Sorry, I know that’s knot funny…

 

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An Early Memory

Last week, in my Leibster post, I included a quick little story about my childhood. It was fairly well received, so I thought that I’d share one of my earliest memories this week. It was a lot of fun to write.

Here is an open challenge to my fellow bloggers: Share one of your earliest childhood memories.

If you post it on your blog and send me a link I will include the link at the bottom of this page.

        —

We were living in Pacific Grove, here in California, in a house that my parents rented from my grandfather. A rocky situation at best: doing business dealings with family. As any three year old would tell you though, I had bigger problems. It was a Wednesday night, and I had a plate of food in front of me, which, as a whole was excellent, and I had eaten everything on it except the repulsive little pile of trees at the farthest side. I was less than a fan of broccoli.

Had I eaten it while it was still hot, that would have been one thing, but I hadn’t. The once steaming, and therefore edible, pile of greens now sat in an unattractive lump of soggy slop staring at me.

Now, I don’t want to talk down broccoli in general, because, as I’ve moved from being a young child, defiant for no particular reason, to someone legally considered an adult, who is defiant for no particular reason. My tastes in food have changed, fortunately. Now I would walk to the edge of the earth for good broccoli – well, that may be an exaggeration… but the far end of the salad bar is definitely within range.

Regardless of how I might one day feel about the stuff, with that small number of years under my belt I had never seen anything that prepared me for a show down with lukewarm broccoli.

There was no way I was going to shove THAT in my mouth, and it would only be a matter of time before my mother noticed, if she hadn’t already. Everyone else had finished their food and they were just sitting around talking. I was scheming. Even at an early age I hated wasting food, and with the money situation as it was, the only thing I would have felt worse about would have been letting my mom see me waste food. So I waited, until no one was looking and slipped the bane of my existence into my napkin, and the napkin off the edge of the table into my lap.

Then I waited. It must have only been a few seconds, but time hadn’t begun to shrink from exposure yet, so it seemed like several minutes. I waited until I felt sure I would skate away from phase one of operation Cold Broccoli unscathed.

It was time to commence stage two, and being a man of action, I didn’t hesitate. Sliding off the chair and stealing out of the room, I made my way out of sight and dropped to my knees on the olive green carpets. I then scrambled over to the corner by the door, whose unique properties suited my mission.

I had been completely enchanted by the loose corner of carpet, and the prospects the little hidden pouch provided. Prospects such as the immediate disposal of broccolis.

Shoving the greens down under the carpet, I was done. The only phase of the mission left was to escape undetected. I ran to the room I shared with my siblings and called it a success.

I never tried to stash broccoli there again because the guilt over the wasted food was near unbearable. I have a hard time believing that it was never found, due to the fondness food has of becoming particularly pungent while decomposing. My mom, however, has no recollection of ever finding it, so I consider my first caper to be a successful one.

This picture has nothing to do with the story, excepting the fact that it is of me as a small child.

This picture has nothing to do with the story, excepting the fact that it is of me as a small child.

        —

 My buddy Mia (@triadvstrinity on twitter) shares a childhood memory that had me both giggling and gasping. Definitely worth a read.  http://www.triadvstrinity.com/blog/2015/2/19/childhood-memories

Laura (@elastword on twitter) was one of my first writer friends on twitter and, apparently a pretty cute kid with control issues. Here she shares her childhood memory: http://ecoslastword.blogspot.com/2015/02/memories.html

 

 

Liebster

Hey everyone!
My blog was nominated for a Liebster Award by my friend Mia (She’s rad, follow her on the twitters: @triadvstrinity) in her blog post https://triadvstrinity.squarespace.com/blog/2015/2/6/the-liebster-award.

The way it works is that I am supposed to answer the questions and nominate some people or something… I don’t know, it sounds awfully pyramidy to me. So, in the name of community I decided to answer the questions, but in the name of having a problem with authority and pyramids I decided to not push it on with more nominations. Feel free, instead, to see that as me saying “I NOMINATE EVERYONE!” if you want to answer some questions.

At the end, because this blog is a place for stories and these awards and blog hops are designed, ultimately, to learn things about each other, I’ll share a quick, true story about my childhood. Thus fulfilling both needs.

Mia’s questions were as follows:

1) If you met a genie, what would be your three wishes?
     I would wish the genie free, so we could be buddies and have a cartoon spin off together.

2) What’s the best joke you’ve ever been told?
     I don’t think I should tell it here… I’m not sure it’s appropriate.

3) Television show that let’s you escape no matter how many times you watch it. (Movie works too.)
     Stargate. I love Stargate, specifically SG1 and Atlantis. Universe was alright, but not the same sort of show.

4) How many WIPs do you have?
      So, my educational background is in physics and at Cal Poly, where I did my undergrad, there was a club called Women in Physics, which used the acronym WiP. My first thought when I see WIP is still “Women in Physics” before context convinces me otherwise. So to answer that question instead, I have zero. I DO, however, have one woman in astronomy… and she is amazing.

5) If you had to choose one book to read for the rest of your life, which would it be?
      That’s a tough one. I don’t know that I could do that. Can it be a collection of a bunch of other books??

6) How old were you when you knew that you wanted to be a writer?
      I’ve always been a story teller. I’ve been writing for many years. It was only recently that I realized that maybe other people might appreciate my writing too.

7) Why do you write?
      I already have a blog post about that!  https://imasillypirate.wordpress.com/2013/10/15/why-i-write/

8) What is the most exotic/grooviest (yeah, I just said groovy, you’re over it) place you’ve ever been?
      My brain hole is pretty groovy. I like living there. I did recently visit Portland, and I liked it there quite a bit.

9) What’s your writing pick me up? Do you have a certain food or drink or dance move that gets you in the zone and ready to go? (Singing at the top of your lungs is perfectly acceptable.)
     Writing IS the pick me up. Nothing is better than actually getting a chance to sit down and write, then knocking it out of the park.
LOOK! LOOK GUYS! I made a sport’s reference! (That was golf, right?)

10) What gets you fired up? (To be interpreted as you wish.)
     Being covered in lighter-fluid when someone flicks a match at me, I think, would probably fire me up (You said I could interpret it however I want…).

11) If you were to try to make it rain, what would be your go to chant?
     Rain, Rain, Go Away… because that’s how it works. :/

That was a bit of a downer as a way to finish this off… so… I’ll tell you all an amusing tidbit about my childhood, so you can all laugh at me together (see, I’m fostering a sense of community).

I grew up in Carmel Valley in Monterey, Ca. During the summers it got hot sometimes; I’m not talking about San Diego temperatures, but sometimes we’d break 100 degrees. At one point I was given this kid’s jumpsuit, I have no idea what it’s called, but I’m certain that it has a name (think gray, 80’s puffy jacket, but from head to toe, for sitting on the back of a motorcycle in cold wind). When I was a kid, I really wanted to be an astronaut. So, obviously, in the summer, left to my own devices, it wasn’t uncommon to see me wandering around in the bushes in my “space suit” which, of course, was a dirt bike helmet, that jumpsuit, and rain boots. I got hot, but I’d just pretend I was exploring the jungles of Venus… I probably should have died, because what kid actually thinks about hydrating? If the heat was giving me a headache, that was part of the game; that would happen on Venus.

One day, while wearing my space suit, I was climbing a dead tree that hung out over a bunch of berry brambles (because I, apparently, am very smart) and (Surprise!) the brittle, dead branch I was holding onto came off in my hand, dropping me into the brambles below. If I had hit the ground, that would have been one thing, but the brambles caught my suit and held me just far enough above the ground so that my little feet couldn’t reach. It took me about half an hour to get to the ground, but you better believe that, despite the wedgie and the gashes all up and down my arms, I took advantage of the situation and pretended that I was weightless.

tree

Some things don’t change. This is me in a tree just last week… I climbed up there to tie my shoe.