As I Recollect

Watching Desert Storm (1991)

2007-08-02T11:25:00.000+02:00

When Desert Storm had just begun, Scott and I stayed up until all hours one night (at least, may have been more) watching the CNN coverage. I remember being freaked by a number of things: living in a country at war, wondering what the hell we were doing there, watching a war on television and them going on and on about some precision bombing into a heating duct or something like that. Wow! We could bomb with impunity thanks to our super special technological advantage. That must make us the better nation!

Oddly enough, I also remember that I had really bad gas on the night in question. My little contribution to the war effort.

Ernie Steele's (1992)

2007-07-29T15:27:00.001+02:00

I loved Ernie Steele's on Broadway. It was what it was, with the yellowing smoke-stained walls, cheesy hunting scene and wildlife paintings, people who were not interested in posing and the excellent possibility of a Cuba libre when most bars of its ilk could only serve beer and wine. Connie, Loren and I, with some other folks, I recall not whom, went there to watch the '92 presidential election returns. The first president to win who I'd actually voted for. Lots of excitement and hope was in the air.

I miss Ernie Steele's. It's now a sports bar thing, or some other such nonsense.

Last Exit (1975/76)

2007-04-18T20:28:00.000+02:00

When we first moved to Seattle, somebody took us to the late great Last Exit in the U District. I loved it because it a) wascool and groovy and b) offered a ham and cheese sandwich on a hotdog bun wrapped in napkin and served in one of those great thick white coffee mugs. This was most unprecedented and also most excellent stuff for a kid!

Jesus Christ Superstar (late 1980s/early 1990s)

2007-04-16T22:06:00.000+02:00

Connie, Lo and myself went up to Vancouver B.C., for a concert, I think. Probably a concert, and very most probably Sonic Youth. On the way back, to keep us awake and frisky, Connie and I sung ALL of Jesus Christ Superstar. Wish I could remember who the fourth person in the car was. All I know is that he later said he was suitably impressed. I highly recommend it, filled the journey quite nicely, and tons of fun, to boot!

Update: In a bit of serendipity action, just saw in today's paper that the musical is coming back to Madrid in September. I've already got the album in Spanish, so maybe I'll just give it a whirl.

Double decker cone (early 1970s)

2007-04-15T23:19:00.000+02:00

When we lived in Oakland, there was a Baskin Robbins up the street on the main shopping drag. Probably a 10 or 15-minute walk away. It was a special treat to walk up and get a cone. I was especially partially to orange sherbet, which I would now consider more or less a waste of calories now. Anyway, at some point I was deemed old enough to be able to handle a double cone. I was so proud and happy! Boy, you better believe I lorded that over my little brother in the most obnoxious way. Sorry, And!

Ya es primevera (1995)

2007-02-27T20:59:00.000+01:00

When I first got to Spain I was a touch confused by the Corte Inglés's current advertising campaign: Ya es primavera (more or less "Spring is here"). Little did I know they repeat it every year.

Now this is confusing for a couple of reasons, perhaps the main one being that it is patently NOT spring when they start the dang thing.

The second thing is the word "ya", which means lots and lots of stuff in Spanish. They use it all the time for such meanings as: yeah, already, now, right away, right now, at that time, sometime in the future, any longer, any more, no longer, enough already. For the life of me, I couldn't get happy with one meaning. At some point I stopped thinking about it, relaxed into just understanding it as a Spanish person might, and there you have it.

Canadian dentist (mid-1970s)

2007-02-14T20:06:00.000+01:00

The first trip to the dentist I can remember, and what I think was my actual very first trip, was in Vancouver when I was staying with or living with my dad. I was terrified! I remember we got a lollypop afterwards. I don't think that seemed logical to me, even then.

2nd hand snow memory (1967/68)

2007-01-22T23:10:00.000+01:00

My mother's often told me this story, so it's very clear in my head. I think there are even pictures. However, as you can tell from the date, it would be a minor miracle if I actually remembered it.

My aunt and uncle came over to Bishop, California, where I was born and where we lived until I was one or so. Someone it was decided that a picnic in the snow was in order. Off we went, my dad, mom and I in our old white Ford pick-up (no baby seat for me!), and my aunt and uncle (and cousins?) behind in their VW bug. Now apparently (and not surprisingly to me) as far as my father was concerned, it weren't no fun without a little off-road adventure action. My mom says she remembers looking back at Joyce and Dick's dismayed faces as they strugged to follow the truck. When we "arrived", I was screaming, everyone else was fairly miserable, and my dad was happier than a pig when he realizes he's been skipped over at slaughtering time.

Flavia's baby book (1999)

2007-01-14T20:02:00.000+01:00

While making my New Year's cards (a sample of which in the picture), I came across a 1999 calendar which I'd saved for wrapping presents and other creative activities. (It was a Millennium calendar given to me by Sarah with an H's mom and had lots of cool pictures.) I had recorded all the details of Flavia's first months on it:

15 March 1999 – abrió los ojos (opened her eyes)

18 March 1999 – Calpurnia/Luna nuestra (Calpurnia/Luna is ours - These were the two names we originally considered. I really wanted Calpurnia, a name I've loved since I saw To Kill a Mockingbird, but Pedro wasn't having any of it.)

29 March – 24 cm.

6 April – 27 cm.

18 April – 29 cm.

1 May – 34 cm.

19 June – 40 cm.

I've just sort of measured her (a little difficult when she's sleeping curled up in her bed). She's still about 15 inches.

Christmas carols (early 1970s)

2006-12-22T22:24:00.000+01:00

Once when we lived in Oakland, I wanted to hold hands around the Christmas tree and sing carols. My family was not into this.

My first vote (1984)

2006-11-08T14:56:00.000+01:00

I was lucky enough to turn 18 right before a presidential election, and so my first voting experience was an exciting year. Unfortunately, it was also the year Reagan won by a landslide. I remember waiting in line with my mom to vote in a church near our house, and feeling very proud and adult. Then we went home and I took a bath while listening to the election returns. It was depressing, especially as I remember that year a lot of people on the West Coast didn't even bother to vote because it was such an overwhelming victory for RR. Still, I'd done my part, and was happy to have been able to.

Macarrones, yum yum! (late 1990s/2000)

2006-10-24T23:48:00.000+02:00

Pedro and I once took a trip to the Basque Country, we were round about Guernica way when we decided to stop for lunch. We were passing through this wittle town, so we parked and found a place. Just a normal, garden-variety, this'll-do-fine type of place. They had a set menu of the day, and macarrones (which is what the Spanish insist upon calling macaroni, along the same lines as espaguetis), which we both ordered. The woman brought out an absolutely enormous PLATTER of macaroni cooked with tomato sauce and spicy chorizo sausage. Large became our eyes at the sight of all that pasta. What did she think we were, construction workers? It was Saturday, for crying out loud!

Seeing our faces, she hastily assured us that should we desire any more, there was plenty to be had! Just as hastily, we assured her that this ABSOLUTELY ENORMOUS PLATTER would do the TWO of us just fine, but thanking you very much.

Well ...

They were SO DAMN GOOD, we ate the whole thing and probably would've asked for more if a second course hadn't been coming. She obviously knew the talents of her chef. To this day, I wonder what they did to them to make them so good, but good they were, indeed.

La vache! (1990)

2006-10-23T22:40:00.000+02:00

One post from Wheylona has prompted two memories. Hope I'll remember the second tomorrow.

The first time I came over here to the old continent, it was with a big group organized by my best friend Connie's mother Sue, which I was generously allowed to piggyback on: Connie and her then husband, her brother and his then girlfriend now wife, Sue and Connie's stepdad, and a friend of the family. Yes, sir, that's eight Americans, some of us very tall, in a van tootling around France (other stops included London, two days in Italy, some in Switzerland and a very brief HELLO LIECHTENSTEIN! I think it was Connie's brother Tim who started it when we first hit the countryside, but soon the "kids" (all over 20) were all merrily shouting "La vache" everytime we saw some. (They, however, did not laugh, as we had been led to expect might occur in Le France.) Now, this is clearly grammatically incorrect, as cows rarely hang scenically about in fields solo, but there we were IN FRANCE, speaking THE FRENCH! It was all good. And annoying it must have been, as well. Still today, views of cows from cars containing two or more of the members of the group will often provoke the joyous peaen to bovineness.

Flavia was once very small (1999)

2006-10-21T23:15:00.000+02:00

Pedro and I got Flavia because the cleaning lady at his office found her in a vacant lot when she was just the wittlest thing. Her eyes were just open or not even open yet. She brought her to work and Pedro came to pick me up from the school in the car, which he parked a few blocks away, leaving her in it. When we arrived, he opened the trunk. (Yes, I was appalled, but whattya gonna do?) There she was, nestled in a shoe box, the tiniest little thing that would fit in your hand. Now she's still a relatively small cat, but enormous compared to then. This must be how real parents feel, amazed that their "children" grow.

Thai dancers (early 1970s)

2006-10-12T11:20:00.000+02:00

My father seemed to travel abroad a lot during this period. He went to Thailand, which I had no idea about at the time. Zip zero zilch knowledge. This was before yummy delicious and wonderful Thai food had invaded. He sent me a postcard with these Thai dancers with incredibly long fingernails. I found them incredibly fascinating. Pack rat me surely still has the postcard somewhere. (Kathryn's basement would be my guess!)

Chocolate covered cherries (mid 1970s)

2006-08-24T00:24:00.000+02:00

One of the few times I spent with my mother's parents was during the brief period they lived in California in the mid 70s. My mom grew up in Albany, New York, and her parents later retired to Florida.

I don't remember if it was before or after we moved to Seattle, but it was around that time. My mom may have been living in Fresno, which was only a very short period. In any case, I was left in my grandparents' care for the afternoon. I remember we went to a playground. Oddly enough, I can't remember if my brother was there, but I think not. After the playground we went to a shop. I don't know if there was another reason, but my grandmother wanted to buy my mom some chocolate covered cherries. She told me that my mom really liked them. (It turned out that she actually didn't much, but had done as a child, I think.) I also seem to remember a mug in there. Maybe it was bought for mom as well, or maybe for me. Or maybe it was just a considered and rejected gift. Maybe my grandfather suggested it. He didn't get his way much, according to my mom.

Ice cream on the 4th (late 1970s)

2006-07-04T23:13:00.000+02:00

When we first moved to Seattle, my mom was part of an acting group which staged amateur productions. A great group of people they were. Anyway, one 4th of July a group of them, with me and my brother as the tag-along kids (don't remember any other young 'uns in the group) walked from someone's house near Green Lake down to the lake to watch the fireworks. (Yes, this was before they moved to Lake Onion.) Someone had an old-fashioned wooden ice-cream maker, and a couple of the men carried it along on poles. We ate the ice cream at the lake. Strawberry it was, not normally my favorite, but fresh berries made this pure bliss!

I had some sparklers, which I was having a great old time with, that is, until I accidentally burned someone near us, and they got mad. Oops!

Babysitter (early 1970s)

2006-06-20T18:21:00.000+02:00

Me and Andrés had this babysitter for a while when we lived in Oakland. Her name was Jenny, I think. She had these great clunky '70s sandals that I loved to try on and attempt to walk in. Her father had some sort of business that involved selling blankets, at the least, because he gave me one. I still have it. Their house was also the first place I saw Indian fabrics with mirrors sewn in. I thought they were the absolute coolest. I thought she was the absolute coolest. She went to UC Berkeley, I think, and was a total California '70s gal.

Red shoes (early 1970s)

2006-06-19T23:57:00.000+02:00

I had a pair of red plastic high boots. I had a pair of red patent leather clogs with straps on the back. I loved them both. I combined them with many and glorious colored clothing (purple being a favorite even back then). Hey, it was Oakland/Berkeley in the early 70s, I was just going with the flow! I don't remember what happened to the boots, but I distinctly remember the clogs finally breaking at school one day. I was so sad! I think my mom even got them fixed, but they didn't last long after that.

My diary (early 1970s)

2006-06-17T10:14:00.000+02:00

I remember getting my first diary. Have no idea how old I was. It was one of those little ones with a strap that kept it closed and a little key, so that your super-secret thoughts could be kept safe from prying eyes. I remember being very excited about it, but I was never good at writing regularly. Athough I still keep a journal, the entries are extremely sporadic. Unfortunately, I only tend to write when things are not going so great, especially love-wise, so it doesn't make for terribly interesting reading. The poetry phase is especially frightening.

The author Megal McCafferty faithfully kept a diary, and she's retro-blogging it. It's great fun to read.

¡No me fio de tí, Zubi! (1998)

2006-06-14T18:02:00.000+02:00

1998 World Cup. 2nd game of the group stage. I'm in a bar waiting for Pedro, as we're going to watch the match. They're showing the pre-match stuff, and one guy starts in with "No me fio de ti, Zubi" ("I don't trust you, Zubi". Zubi is Andoni Zubizarreta, the goalkeeper at the time), which he kept up through virtually the entire match. Guess he rilly, rilly, rilly din't trust him, huh?

Little did I know (1999)

2006-06-13T22:50:00.000+02:00

The first year I started my Open University degrees, I was sitting at the living room table in my old apartment with Pedro, studying. I was sat by the window, it was late afternoon and the weather was lovely. I always liked studying there. I was doing a humanities survey course that first year, and there was all sort of good stuff in it. I leafed ahead in the book, and remember feeling all excited at the bunches of stuff I was going to learn. Little did I know how hard all that learning was going to get!

Tooth powder (late 1960s/early 1970s)

2006-06-10T00:30:00.000+02:00

When I was little, my dad used to use tooth powder. (Who knows, maybe he continued until the day he died, but I only remember it when I was little and living in the Bay Area.) One fine evening, a curious little girl decided to see what would happen if she stuck her finger in the tin. Answer: it'll get stuck and you'll have to call for help + a very sore finger.

Coffee rites (1980s)

2006-05-28T11:20:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-26T19:05:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-25T22:45:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-21T23:41:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-21T00:37:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-19T00:38:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-10T01:11:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-08T00:27:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-06T19:20:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-05T00:49:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-03T12:24:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-02T10:24:00.000+02:00

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)

2006-05-01T21:57:00.000+02:00

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

2006-05-01T21:47:00.000+02:00

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!