Oct. 1, 2014 |
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Dumpster diving, sleeping in abandoned cars and shopping for seasonal apparel on strangers clothes lines.
Sisters are treacherous beasts.
Ah, then you obviously haven't been whacked repeatedly on the back of your 6 month old head with a glass baby bottle by your 2 year old sister. I have however outlived her (so far) by 9 years.
Camping in the Rockies.
My sister DID get thrown from a passenger train when she was about a year old. I had nothing to do with it. My mother said the train had hit a fuel truck and was covered with burning gasoline so she did it to save my sister. What ticks me off is she was expecting me at the time. How come she didn't jump off the train to save me? Anyway, the gasoline burned off quickly and was pretty much out before the firetruck got there. Yep, big sis got all the attention that time too. That and a scar from the fall.
Hmmm . . . guess it wasn't the fall that scarred her. More likely the boulders she landed on.
The whole family was in the car, my parents and the three of us kids. The year was 1966, and I was the oldest kid, 12 years old. None of us had ever been to the west coast before. The highway crested the mountain towards Crescent City, California, and then we could see the Pacific Ocean in the distance.
That was the first time any of us had seen the ocean, and I will never forget that moment.
Going to the drive in movies and standing in line at the Dairy Queen.
Oh, tomatogrower...yes, every Sunday afternoon on the way home from church, my dad would ask if anyone wanted a Dairy Queen. WAS HE KIDDING??? Even knowing that Mother's roast was slowly cooking in the oven at home for Sunday dinner, we would each get our small cone of vanilla ice cream...I remember Mother's smile. The ice cream never once ruined any of our appetites for her amazing roast beef! I'm so glad you mentioned Dairy Queen, tomatogrower.
Ron...I love your story! Being from Florida, I forget that people from the "mid" states sometimes never get to see either ocean! Plus, we have the beautiful Gulf, which is my favorite "side" of Florida. The white, sugar-like sand makes the Gulf Coast a winner over the East Coast dark sand...I do not like the thick, dark sand of the East Coast.
However, the water of the Atlantic can be beautiful hues of all sorts of blue and aqua as one heads south from Daytona Beach...closer to the Miami area. I'll never forget our first trip to Miami Beach and being amazed at the aqua-colored water.
I love the fact that you'll never forget the moment you saw the Pacific...do you remember smelling the salt water? The Pacific, to me, seems so wild and unruly compared to the Atlantic. There are pluses for both. I'm just a water-baby at heart...whether it's the ocean, a river, a lake, or a gentle stream flowing through my beloved woods in the mountains. I adore it all...!!! My favorite memories from childhood, however, have to do with the bi-annual road trips we would take from Florida to my uncle's home in the woods of North Carolina...and the anticipation of seeing our cousins. My siblings would be piled up in the back seat to sleep (my dad preferred driving at night and we knew nothing of seat belts!)...but I always sat in the front seat with Mother and Dad so I could monopolize the radio! ha! My siblings didn't seem to mind, so there I stayed between Mother and Dad. Very precious memories!!
Oh yes, do I ever remember the smell of the salt air, and the very strange plastic texture of the seaweed on the California beaches! The white sugar sand beaches at Myrtle Beach, South Carolina are nicer though, I think.
It was years later that I spent quite a lot of time in California. One of the things I really enjoyed was looking into the very small tide pools at Sunset Cliffs in San Diego, each was a miniature aquarium with little crabs and insects at low tide.
Here's a good one though, a really good one. I had a pair of jeans that I liked, and the only problem was that the left pocket on the back had worn completely out. So I couldn't put a wallet or anything in it anymore. Scheming, scheming, scheming,,,
So, I resolved to do something interesting. Someone showed me how to run a sewing machine, and I got some denim fabric that exactly matched my jeans. This took a bit of work, and very, very careful alignment, but I perfectly repaired that pocket, with the worn out part on the outside. So, to look at it, my pocket had a huge hole in it, and it couldn't possibly hold anything at all.
But if you reached inside, it was a perfectly normal pocket in every way. You really couldn't tell by looking at it what I had done! Needless to say, I did spend quite some time on the project, matching the thread color and all, but I was laughing so much while I was doing it that it was one of the most enjoyable projects I have ever done.
Then came the moment to use it! My sister and I were beachcombing near L.A. and I was picking up lots of pieces of seashells, and putting them all in my "custom pocket". Of course, to pull this off, I had to act as though I wasn't very bright.
So I was walking along, and picking up every bit of seashell I saw and putting it in my "custom pocket", and I walked right in front of a man standing on the beach. I paid no attention to him at all as I said to my sister:
"This is strange. I've been picking up seashells for a whole long time, but my pocket never seems to get full."
Then I picked up more pieces of seashells and put them in my "custom pocket" also, and kept on doing that so that the man standing there couldn't possibly miss what was going on.
And, I didn't start laughing for a long time, so that man on the beach would have a story to tell!
I had a great time with that pair of jeans, I loved to hear people tell me that I was about to lose my wallet! But alas, after a while, the new faux pocket wore out too.
Ron, your stories are always interesting...and they bring a smile to my face (there have been a few exceptions through the years when I had teardrops in my eyes and running down my face). You have a special way of sharing from your heart. Thanks for that...
Bong hits with the folks before church.
Settig in the woods waiting for a squirrel to show up, made you learn how to sit still, well maybe not sit very long without wiggling around on the ground or log you were purched on----
The great fambly vacation of '64. Two weeks of seein' the sights in the great western USA. Pops behind the wheel of his shiny red '62 Newport got us to Califunny & back & all kinds of places in between.
WHY WAS MY POST DELETED? I SPENT A LOT OF TIME ON IT. WAS IT BECAUSE I ADDED A PHOTO? I NOTICE NONE OF THE OTHER POSTS INCLUDE ONE.
by Gregory Mascrier
Oh, where to start?! Boats -- we lived on a South Jersey barrier island; our house was on the "back bay" and we were in and out of our boats all summer long. Dad teaching us all how to sail. Very big (blended) family -- lots of road trips. Spending time in Florida before it was so built-up. Christmas and other holidays, as well as just regular times at home; going ice-skating, going out for ice cream, spending the day on the beach. (Actually we still do that last one whenever I manage the 1500-mile trip.) Dad letting us help out in his home office. Singing and making music with my mom and my sisters. Of course it wasn't all idyllic and we had our share of fights, but I'd sure love to go back for day of being about 10 years old.....
Sarah...I enjoyed reading about your memories! I, too, would SO love to go back for just a day...but choosing which day? That would be impossible...
How in the hell could you delete a post by misterlee?! He's about the only one who takes your stupid questions seriously. I've never even seen a hint of sarcasm in his comments.
Paul, what an incredibly beautiful thing for you to say about your parents. Not many can say that. My dad died recently and it's been very difficult to face the fact that he's really gone for the rest of my life! He seemed invincible to me. Keep praising them while they're here...there's no such thing as too much praise for good parents...and you're doing a great job of it!
Going camping all over the US with my parents
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