Another Trip Down Memory Lane...

      Some time ago, I wrote a post about my early childhood memories.  I wrote it mainly because I had absolutely nothing else to write about and that dreaded "writer's block" has struck again.  So, I'll submit for your approval and for your reading pleasure, (can you tell I love Rod Serling?) my next installment of, "Someone Else's Memories You Don't Really Care About ".

            As I said in my last "memories" post, I remember lots of stuff; unimportant, weird stuff.  I spent the first seven years of my life on a farm in North Dakota.  It was cold and snowy, but I loved it.  To me, it was a huge wonderland that was perfect for a kid like me who just liked to wander around and think about stuff.  One overcast day, I was on one of my "expeditions" in the little clump of trees surrounding our house when I came upon some delicious looking red berries.  They looked like holly berries in a way.  I was getting pretty hungry during this long journey around the yard, so I picked a handful of the berries and ate them like you eat popcorn at the movies;  popping each one in my mouth one-handedly.  I decided after snack time, it was time to go inside.  When my mother saw my face, covered in red berry juice she yelled, "What is all over your mouth and cheeks?!  What did you eat?!"  In my four year old honesty, I said, "I ate those red berries that are all in the trees."  My mom gasped and said (more like growled), "Oh Lindsey!  Those are poisonous!  Why did you do that?!"  Telling her I was hungry seemed like a stupid answer, even to a four year old, so I just shrugged my shoulders.  She made me sit down and drink some milk and she watched me closely for the next half hour or so.  I couldn't figure out what was so bad about what I'd done.  The berries didn't taste bad, a little bitter, but some sugar would've fixed that.  After realizing I wasn't going to die, she sent me to the bathroom to wash my face and hands.  While I was standing at the sink, I thought I better get rid of the pocketful of berries I had saved for dessert.  I took them out and flushed them down the toilet.  I would never know if they tasted better with sugar.



I could never look at Lady Lovely Locks the same way again.

            Sometime after I ingested poison berries, my two older sisters and my older brother and I were playing "Army" out in the woods around our house.  I was on my sister, Jessica's side and we were quietly and carefully treading through a small clearing in the woods.  Jessica would look over her shoulder every so often and put her finger to her lips to "shush" me.  I took "Army" very seriously.  If Neil and Meri heard us, they'd capture us and then we'd lose the war.  Who wants to lose the war?  Not I.  While my fearless leader was proceeding onward, something caught my eye.  It was this huge mound of dirt, hanging from a tree.  I thought it best to go check it out...I did have my gun after all (Not really, it was a huge stick...I was six.  Give me a break).  When I got closer to it, I thought, "This kinda looks like a piñata!"  So I hit it...hard...and it crashed to the ground.  But instead of tons of delicious candy bursting forth, a swarm of angry hornets descended upon me.  I started screaming and dancing around like an idiot.  "Be quiet!" Jessica warned and then she realized what was happening.  "RUN!" she screamed.  And run I did, faster than I ever have before.  Hornets were stinging me all over and my running and screaming just seemed to spur them on.  I made it inside the house and my mom came to see what all the commotion was.  "What did you do?!" That seemed to be her response to much of what I was involved in.  Not waiting for my answer, she stripped me down to my "Lady Lovely Locks" panties and proceeded to slap me...well, she was slapping the hornets.  For whatever reason, she made me lie on the kitchen table so she could assess the damage.  While she was pulling out stingers and putting cream on each wound, my dad came home.  "What's going on?" he asked.  "Lindsey knocked down a hornets nest with a stick," my mom replied.  My dad, ever the sympathetic said, "Judas Priest." and walked out. That was his go-to phrase when he couldn't think of anything else to say :)  Later that day, we were visiting my mom's friend and my mom proceeded to pull my pants down, exposing those beautiful "Lady Lovely Locks" panties, and show her friend my stings, right in front of her friend's teenage son.  Fantastic.

                   

My beloved.

 For my sixth birthday, I wanted a Keyper.  It was a rubber and plastic toy that came in the form of a snail, or my favorite...the orange and yellow turtle. They came with a key and you could unlock their shells and hide stuff in there.  I thought of all the little goodies I could hide in that shell. My plastic bracelets, maybe some candy, my sister's Michael Jackson card with the still photo from "Billie Jean" that she got out of a gumball machine.  Oh, the possibilities.  My sixth birthday arrived and low and behold...I GOT A KEYPER!  She was lovely, that orange and yellow turtle, smelling of weird, processed fake orange scent mixed with a little whiff of molded rubber and plastic.  I played with that turtle all day, carefully selecting what to hide in her tiny shell.  After I had proudly crammed everything I could think of in her shell, I locked her with the special key and carried her out to the kitchen where my mom was so I could show off my beauty.  I set her on the table and admired her factory-fresh beauty.  Just then, my little brother Stewart came walking in.  I always knew when he was up to no good, just by the smirk on his cute little chubby face.  His eyes were locked on mine and I knew a showdown of epic proportions was looming.  Somewhere in the distance, I'm pretty sure I heard that music from old Westerns when there's about to be a shoot-out.  Stewart swiped my turtle off the table, held it above his head, and threw it on the linoleum kitchen floor.  It all happened so fast.  Curse my slow reflexes!  My beloved lay on the floor in pieces.   She was finished.  We were finished.  The sad remains of my turtle and her secret contents lay scattered about.  I cried and Stewart giggled and ran out.  I felt like my head was on fire, "Mom!  Look at what Stewart did!"  My mom glanced down and said, "Oh, I'm sorry.  Pick up these pieces now and all that other stuff that spilled out of her shell."  Clearly, I was alone in this tragedy, left to my own devices to cope with this grief.  My day in the sun with my ever-longed for turtle was over.  Forever.  As for Stewart...I got him back years later when I tore all the stuffing out of his prized sock monkey.  Long story as to the circumstances surrounding the monkey's demise, but Lindsey-1, Sock Monkey-0.

           Thank you for joining me on yet another rambling trip down memory lane!  I really hope you'll join me next time :)