Tuesday, June 06, 2006

On a Tuesday ~ Sunday Scribblings #10 : Earliest Memory

Was suppose to post on Sunday night...time always seems to allude me.

Earliest Memory – The most memorable

I was eight years old and was visiting my dad’s best friend’s family just outside Portland, Oregon. It was one of the first trips I had taken alone on a plane across country from Washington D.C. Mr. I owned a nursery and lived on the property as well with his wife and two daughters, N and Y.

The morning I arrived, I remember it being a very grey day outside. There were very scattered clouds and a misty rain. We loaded up in the backseat of the pickup truck at the airport and headed to their house. N, Y and I spent the entire ride tickling each other. So much so, we tortured each other to the point where we had to pee badly.

We stopped on the way by a drive though milk store; what a new experience for me coming from a city. It was a little brown wooden building that had a single window. A wooden awning came out and a wooden pole hung down the center. I slightly remember a yellow sign hanging above the window with the name of the milk store. The girl’s dad ordered the milk and it was handed to him in old fashioned milk bottles, with a metal carrier. On each side there were three bottles. Three filled with chocolate milk and three with white milk. Though I wasn’t one for anything but chocolate milk in those days, I still remember tasting the white milk and thinking it was the creamiest, best tasting milk I had ever had.

The week or two I was there, I honestly can’t remember how long I stayed, was filled with helping out in the nursery, playing games or in the yard, eating great meals together and watching cartoons in the mornings.

From their large picture windows on the rear side of the house you could see Mt. Hood. I remember the days when it was dreary and foggy and you could see the fog hovering over the volcano’s grand opening. Who would have known at that moment that three years later she would erupt? Imagine how excited I was when we received a package from them with the ash in little vials. Holding that vial in my hand and showing it to all my friends back in D.C., not was I only sharing history with them, but there was a connection for me since I had actually seen the volcano myself.

But the most memorable day of this trip was the morning of August 16, 1977. N, Y and I were sitting on the floor of the living room as we had each and every morning watching either Underdog or Roadrunner when programming was interrupted for a special broadcast. I remember seeing a house, with a bunch of young girls and women outside crying and the announcer saying “with deep regrets” that Elvis was dead.


more Scribblings here

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