Coffee rites (1980s)

I think my first espresso might have been at the Last Exit on Brooklyn. I had a mocha, as the person (whose identity is only a vague blur) initiating me suggested that this would be a more gentle introduction. It was probably about 1982, and was subsequently followed by many au laits from Craig Cappuccino at the Egyptian and various and other sundry sites.

This was, of course, before Starbucks took over the planet, and we were forced to drink lattes and not au laits. There also seemed to be a greater variety of Sundry Sites in Seattle from which to choose, although perhaps my memory is clouded by nostalgia. Favorites, due to taste or convenience, included: the late great Last Exit, various espresso carts downtown, B&O Espresso, Septieme on 1st, the Nordstrom Place Two espresso bar (just down the street from the Varsity, and future employer - shock-horror), ETG, the Still Life in Fremont, Molly's espresso bar in the U Book Store, that place in the alley in the U District whose coffee I never liked much but which is a good place to hang out, the place that used to be where Caffe Vita now is, Caffe Vita, and my favorite long-lost place, which was on Roy, opposite the Harvard Exit. I loved sitting there, it always made me feel like I was living in Europe. And now I am!

National is coming (1995)

One fine day, my friend Connie called me to tell me she was pregnant. She has never called me much here in Spain, so I was perhaps a bit suspicious, but was just pleased to get the call, and didn't immediately cotton on when she told me she's quit smoking. (I was just so happy she had.) And then when she told me she wasn't drinking coffee, I got a bit confused: she lurves coffee! Finally, she had to spell it out for me: "Now, Nedra, why do you think I would do such crazy things?" Duh, I can definitely be a bit slow sometimes. Now National/Nash has been here for what seems like forever (in a good way) and still as cute as a bug's ear, as you can see.

Connie was the first of my friends to have a baby, now it seems everybody's doing it! Tick, tick, tock, goes the biological clock!

Tree on a hill (May 1993)

The first time I came to Spain was for a three-week visit. I staying with my friend Juan Carlos in Alcalá de Henares, a historic town which is now essentially a bedroom community for Madrid. I played in Madrid while he was at work. We visited Segovia, Toledo (pronounced /toe lay dough/ and Chinchón, and I took myself off to Córdoba and Ávila. (Don't ask, I was clearly on some form of drug when I planned my route. However, World Heritage Sites must have been a priority at the time.) When JC picked me up from the airport, we headed for Alcalá. I looked out the car window to the hills in the distance and saw some scraggly trees silhouetted against the sky. For some reason these seemed quintessentially Spanish, and I excitedly turned to JC and said something look, "Wow, look, Spanish trees!"

He, of course, thought I was mad.

10-cent allowance (1974/5)

When I stayed with my dad and stepmom for some unknown period of time about third grade or so, we (me, brother, step-sisters and step-brother) would get a 10-cent allowance, which I usually squandered on Old Dutch salt & vinegar potato chips, and probably some candy. I just remember the chips, though, as they were new to my American self.

I have no idea how long this period went on, or even if it happened more than once, as it was in the city of Vancouver (Canada), rather than in the (now ravaged) village of Steveston, near Richmond, where dad, stepmom et al later moved, and where I spent 4th and part of 6th grade.

By the time I lived with them in Colorado, it had gone up to 2 bucks, American this time, of course. We would walk into town (about two miles) and go to this one little shop. I would get an Archie comic digest (still a weakness of mine) and some lemon drops. (Apparently this is now a bit dangerous in Colorado.) I think there was usually a bit left over for something else as well.

I never remember getting a regular allowance with my mom.

Middle school hijinks (summer 1980)

In Lafayette and Louiseville, Colorado, each town had (and probably still has) a fair with rides, cotton candy (candy floss for you Brits), stuffed animals to be won, and such at the end of every summer. The tradition was for students from the joint high school, Centaurus, to take this opportunity to initiate freshly "graduated" 8th graders who would be going on to high school the next year. I didn't even end up going to Centaurus, as I moved back to Seattle, but that didn't stop me from getting initiated. It's not the most pleasant of experience to spend the evening walking around with a combination of honey, egg and tabasco sauce in your hair, I can tell you, but it does make for very nice, soft flowing locks when you wash the muck out!

Achoo! (January 1995)

A few days before I was to head off for Colorado, followed by Ecuador and then Spain to live, via one-day's breath-catching in Miami, I started to come down with a yucky cold. "Impossible," I said, "I can't get a cold, I've got too much to do!" I was over to my mom's that night, and she pressed the herbal tea, juice and water on me so well that I was literally peeing every 15 minutes. The next day I was absolutely perfect!

California Dreamin' (1979/80)

When I was a lot younger, I was inordinately proud of being "from" California. I think it was probably an association with happy, innocent times: the fabled halcyon days of my childhood, before divorce, moves and other yucky and confusing things. In 7th or 8th grade, when I lived in Lafayette, Colorado, we had to choose a state to write a report about. I, of course, chose California. I remember spending absolute ages on that report. I really wanted it to be good and worthy of California. I made it all pretty and presented it in a nice binder with colored in pictures, if I'm not mistaken.

Now when I'm asked where I'm from, I always say Seattle. Madrileños don't understand this, as if you're from another town in Spain, you're from there, no matter how long you live in Madrid. I'm not so all-fired crazy about California any more, although I have retained a special fondness for the Bay Area, which is probably the only other part of the States I could imagine living. And California Poppies still remain my favorite flower.

The horses (early 1990s)

A group of us from ye old Ballard Liberry went off to see the horses one fine day. (The name of the track has completely escaped me right now, but in looking for it, I came across this very disturbing article.) Kathryn and I pooled our money on one race and we won big, eighty-some dollars on about a ten-dollar bet, or something like that. I think by the end of the day we'd about bet away all our winnings, but it sure was fun! Felt like free money.

Cookie tree (late 1960s/early 1970s)

For one of Andrés's and my joint birthday parties (only four days apart), my father built a "cookie tree", which was installed in the backyard for guests to raid. It was made of boards, and the cookies were dangled from the branches on string or thread. In attendance (this part of the memory provided by logic and pictures) were neighborhood friends Rachel, Daniel, Claudia and Susie, among others.

First concert (probably 1979)

Tonight's concert made me remember the first time I ever saw classical music live. My father took me to a concert when we lived in Lafayette, Colorado. It was just he and I, which was very unusual, and we went into Boulder to see it. I remember thinking that it was just a thing he decided, that we needed to do something like this together. I don't think I ever expressed an interest in seeing classical music, although I certainly wasn't adverse to doing so.

This was also the first time I got what is known in my mother-brother-and-I family unit as "thumper leg", only I get it all over, especially on my upper arms. It usually happens when I'm very tired and not able to move around or sleep (the first time I saw A Clockwork Orange, at the Neptune, was another memorable occasion). I feel like all my nerves are crawling around right underneath the surface of my skin, is extremely uncomfortable and only movement or sleep relieves it. As a result I was very fidgety during the concert and I think my father thought I was bored and restless because of that, but I wasn't. I didn't know enough to explain what was happening, and was left with the feeling that I'd disappointed him. The experience was never repeated, probably not least because I went back to live with my mother within a year or so, and while I did live in Colorado he was away for long periods of time for work. Quite a sad memory for me, really.

Hiding amidst the fuchsias (late 1960s/early 1970s)

This is one of my most vivid recurring memories. It is also one of my earliest. I don't really know how old I was, old enough to ride a bike with training wheels, at least. My dad must have been away for work, because he doesn't figure at all. My mom was at work or away for the day and Andrés and I were being cared for by the neighbor up the street with the ouchy door. (It was all rough, with sharp bumps, and their doorbell didn't work, so you had to knock. I hated that!)

I had borrowed one of her kids' bike (with training wheels, I'm pretty sure) and was riding around on the sidewalk by myself. Everyone else had gone inside. When I was done, and as I was lugging the bike up the stairs to the front porch, I knocked over a potted plant that was sitting on one of the steps and it fell onto the ground, breaking the pot. I got really scared and left the bike on the porch (I think) and ran home. Everybody was out, of course, but I guess I just felt safer there. So I went along the path round the side of the house, which was bordered by lots of fuchsia plants and sort of hid and waited.

My mother doesn't remember this at all. I've never asked Andrés, maybe I should. I don't know what happened after this, whether I waited until my mom came home or if the neighbor came looking for me. It's such a powerful memory, I can remember exactly what it was like to feel so afraid and helpless and not know what to do.

Water fight (late 1980s)

Mr. Nick had a house for a while in the U District down near the Ship Canal, I think. One night he had a party which degenerated into a water ballon fight in and around the house. Things got really messy when Nickbob himself dragged the garden hose into the kitchen and started blasting folks with it. Teribob was the biggest victim, if I do recall.

This may have been the same party during which an expedition was made to the Safeway and Tammy tried to nap on the ground in the parking lot. This was brought about by a bad reaction to tequila, which as I was told it, resulted in her having a slightly green tint upon waking up the next day.

BTW, don't drink tequila!

Dead Can Dance (late 1990/early 1991)

I remember the first time I heard Dead Can Dance, Aion, to be precise. I was at Scott's house in the living room and he put it on. I was almost transfixed, and wanting to know what this great music was. The CD case was on the mantle and I walked over and looked at it. The beginning of a love story!

An introduction

Some memories are fleeting, some are recurring. Some are transient, some are persistent. Some are nuh, some good, some great, some not so any of those things. Many are triggered by outside stimuli, many by the twisted wanderings of our minds. Mine are almost always visual.

This is an experiment in recording them. I'm curious to see if my recollections will spark others of a similar sort, but mostly I'm just curious what I will come up with by actively trying to record memories on a regular basis, something I've long toyed with doing (on paper). Most will probably only have relevance to me, but we'll see. I may try to put a time reference to them, I may not, also to be seen.

I once found a great Web site where folks could record their memories, which were searchable. Unfortunately, it got lost in the great Firefox bookmark mix-up of 2005. If anybody knows of it, I'd appreciate a heads up. Thanks!