More Memories

Gemini tells a lot of stories. It’s nice because we talk about things that matter but aren’t important or serious (though those types of conversations are nice too sometimes). He has this animated way of telling stories about his friends or his past. It amazes me when people have good memories like him. It makes me feel at a bit of a disadvantage, but I have many other things going for me, and I can’t be perfect, so I’m only a little jealous (OK, I’m a lot jealous, but don’t rub it in).

So we’re chatting on the phone last night. I normally hate talking on the phone because I find it impersonal, and I normally don’t have much to say. But for some reason he knows how to keep a conversation interesting. Anyways, Gemini is talking about stories from his past, and as he talks I start remembering all of these amazing memories from when I was younger. I love it, because no matter how hard I try normally, I can never remember anything. So I decided to write them down, before I forget again.

So I’ll start with when we lived in a different city, in a townhouse complex. I was maybe 5 or 6, but I don’t know exactly. I used to sleep walk. I would get up out of bed during a dream (presumably) and I was always on a mission to find the bathroom. So one night I fall asleep on the floor in the living room, which happens to be situated in exactly the same way to the kitchen as the floor plan from my bedroom to the bathroom (or close enough). So I get up off the floor and walk to the kitchen. At this point I whip down my pants and attempt to urinate in the kitchen cupboard. I don’t remember this part (because I was asleep) but I do remember the moment when my sister Jen slaps me in the face to wake me up, and tells me to go to the bathroom upstairs. This also happened when I attempted to go to the basement to pee (even though there wasn’t a bathroom down there). But I think this time Mama Dukes woke me up in a nicer way (thanks mom!) and sent me back upstairs.

Also living in this house, I had a friend that lived down the street. Her name was Shelly. I can vaguely remember one day playing in her backyard in the fall. There were a whole bunch of leaves piled up from raking the backyard, and I can remember building a little “fort” out of the leaves (which was more like a big hole in the center of the pile. We played in it for a good part of the afternoon I think.

And I remember going to a house down the street when my mom thought she was in labor with Brianne. So I must have been 7 (way to go math skills!). She sent us to this house to be babysat because it was the middle of the night, and I don’t think it was the first time she thought she was in labor. But I remember sitting on the floor in the dark dining room with Jen and playing with our cabbage patch kids. Amazing that something so normal (like playing with dolls) would stand out. I think it’s because I might have been a little scared for mom. I didn’t understand birth, but I did understand hospital, so it might have been a bit traumatic J

And another day when I lived there, I was playing in the front yard (which was fenced in). The maintenance people came around to cut the lawn (those were the days!). We (myself, and Jen?) were playing in a little plastic pool in the front, because it was hot out, and pools are fun when you’re little. So the guy cuts the lawn, and then gets out the weed-whacker. This was in the days when they had metal blades instead of little plastic strings. So he’s trimming the edges of the grass and one of the metal things flies out and sticks right into the side of our pool. I think I cried. If I didn’t then I felt like crying. I still hate those things. I’ve never held one, and I cross the street when they are maintaining the lawns in the city.

The best of these memories I have to put out there actually made me laugh when I remembered. Gemini was talking about dressing up when he was younger, and I thought about the times at grandma’s house when Jen and the cousins and I would go into the basement to grandma’s treasure chest (well a blanket chest, but whatever). We would pull out all of her amazing dress-up clothes, which included a wedding dress, some fur coats and things, and a belly dancing outfit. We would all dress up and do little skits and dances. I vaguely remember there being pictures of this from one Easter, but I might be making that part up.

So the moral of the story is that I actually do have a memory. It just doesn’t function most of the time, and it needs a bit of stimulation to get it going. I will continue to journal however, for when I hit 30 and have early onset Alzheimer’s. As an afterthought, has everyone seen the movie “the notebook”? Amazing movie. So if you haven’t seen it, grab a box of tissues, and make it you’re SatUrday night.