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I talk to my friends, and none of them really have many memories of when they were little. A favorite birthday cake, a stuffed animal, the view out their bedroom window. But other than that, it's like phantoms from the past. I have more memories than time to put it all on paper. Most of them are lonely. I'm not saying that just to be melancholy, that is truly the way I remember them.
I think my mother tried in a desperate kind of way for us to have a story book childhood. I think she was trying to provide us with a picture perfect days and warm snuggly nights without actually having anything to do with us. We bathed ourselves, we dressed ourselves and were soon to learn to feed ourselves. But before even that, we learned to ignore when we were hungry. Like Pavlov's dogs we had learned not to try to enter the door unless it was getting dark outside.
She bought chickens and roosters that laid colored eggs. She thought it would be fun for us (like easter every day) to collect them. Apparently it never dawned on her that a 3 year old and a 5 year old could not be counted on to collect the eggs on a regular basis. Nor could you allow 6 roosters to try to cohabitate in the same yard without carnage and blood shed. WE eventually ended up with a very smelly outside and dead roosters everywhere. Lucky for her, as what if we HAD all done what she had pictured? She would have had a great deal of eggs to deal with.
She loved dressing us the same, and she loved taking us places. The problems didn't seem to come into play unless we had to actually urinate, wanted to speak, or at some point were counting on being fed. We were her second generation. This was her fourth marriage and her second litter of kids. But this husband had went and gotten clipped after the second one was announced. (Me, can you blame him?)
She envisioned herself living on a plot of land. Gardening perhaps. Flowers blooming around her lovely farmhouse. Why we needed to live on a farm with all of that land, huge barn and out buildings is beyond me. We never owned anything larger than our dog. (A collie of course, no other animal would be as picturesque) I don't think she ever envisioned the burr docks, fleas and snarls a collie encounters. Nor did she ever envision run-ins with skunks, cow poop, and every mud puddle within 3 square miles.
The house was old. And now that I am older I can truly appriciate the absolute beauty and history of the place. To hear my mother tell it, someone had carved the words "Lincoln was shot today" into the closet door. I am dubious. Not sure if I believe they had the capabilities in back woods Wisconsin of knowing that Lincoln was shot on the same day that it actually happened. But it does sound like a fabulous story to make your house sound even more unique and quaint.
The property had a fabulous field stone smoke house situated right behind the house. She filled it with every gardening impliment available to man, (excluding potting soil) and from my dad's mumblings, spent a fair chunk of change on window boxes that would never actually become attached to the house. Again, it was her innner vision that could never quite co-inside with reality. And I think my sister and I were just like those window boxes. A wonderful thought, but in reality, a whole hell of allot more work than they were worth.
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read more blogs!
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Blogs by LaughTillYaPuke:
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LaughTillYaPuke
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May 12 @ 7:06PM
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So, I have been challenged to take the mask off. Show the real me. I'm not sure how far I can let it slip, but I'll give it a shot.
This is more the story of my creation. An excuse if you will, as to how I "became". We'll see if the masses can handle it.
Sit tight, it's not going to be pretty.
And yeah...I'll try to keep them short.
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EternalFlame
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May 12 @ 7:09PM
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Two in one day...you spoil me, Meems.
And who's the challenger, huh huh huh? 
~*~
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kattsmeow
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May 12 @ 7:09PM
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This is kinda sad. My mom would have loved to have had the time to make it 'pretty". Instead, it was work.
I too remember most of my childhood. Most of it was wonderful, with a little 'dark" in it.
~*~
Again, thank you for sharing!
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Tunes4u
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May 12 @ 7:15PM
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Like a well oiled machine.....
*sigh*
~*~
Tunes
Oh...here's one for the last post too...
~*~
I love reading your "stuff"......it's like stepping out of the house into Munchkin Land....from black and white...into full blown technicolor.......
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bardnsage
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May 12 @ 7:22PM
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Thanks so much, for such a wonderful posting.
I have very few memories of early childhood, like most. But I have found that things and smells can trigger them. For that reason, I keep two antique kitchen cupboards. They are twins, freestanding, 7 feet high, and 6 feet wide. I have them off my kitchen, in a conservatory area. You know the type, lots of windows, lots of plants, and lots of wicker. The place to induldge in morning coffee.
I keep these huge pieces, because they were my grandmothers, passed down to her from her mother inlaw's mother. I remember them, because I have vivid memories of just being able to stretch up and get my eyes onto the tops of the base cabinet, to see the wonders that my grandmother had stored there.
Her keys, always in the zippered pouch, her recipe bowl, and a white glass covered candy dish, full of pennies, for us kids to take to church on Sunday for the plate. It made us feel so rich, when we had two pennies in our pocket walking down the sidewalk, smelling the neighbor's magnolia, and hearing the crunching of the bits that would fall off the Crepe Myrtles. My brother and I would run ahead, and she would call us back. Then we would run ahead again. The walk was only a block, but I bet we covered three blocks by the time we got there.
She and my grandfather, married well over 40 years at the time, would walk together, hand in hand. He always wore his hat, and his shoes that he shined every Sunday would just gleam in the light. He never laughed, never smiled, and never cut up. Like a Male Lion, he was tall and pround, and always vigilant over the pride.
She never stopped chasing boys. Fixing our hair, checking our ears, checking our bibles, reminding us to behave,,,,and making sure we had our pennies just before we went in.
I hope to aspire to the faith and strength that they showed me everyday. I miss them badly,,,,,,and love them dearly.
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PsychoMagnet
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May 12 @ 7:28PM
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But this husband had went and gotten clipped after the second one was announced.
He couldn't have know it at the time, but it would be hard to imagine an improvement on the second (and yes I read the whole thing . .)
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Annie544
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May 12 @ 7:44PM
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LTYP....you cannot know how much I know exactly where you are coming from. (or came from) Its as if you are describing my life. Thank you so much for your blogs!
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missliss78
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May 12 @ 7:53PM
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 Oh goodie! A series! LOVE IT!
Love it even more, as I am one of those who has very few childhood memories. 
Thanks for sharing with us! ~*~
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mailorderannie
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May 12 @ 7:54PM
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My earliest memory is waking up in my baby bed, in my parent's bedroom, and I was thirsty. I knew if I would hold my hands like this in front of my mouth, I could get a drink. It didn't work.
I have no clue why I remember that, but the memory is clear as day, and that part of ME that was there at the time is the same ME that is here now. If that makes sense.
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chek1678
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May 12 @ 7:59PM
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LTYP, when you write, it's like looking at a picture. Not black or white but with such color that brings back so many thoughts and the many of the untold stories and troubles. Not of the rich and famous but of us common folks and some that have had really hard times. Thank you for sharing. 
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TroutFishing
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May 12 @ 8:06PM
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As Always,
thanks for sharing your verbal art
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asnet
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May 12 @ 9:05PM
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Do not make them shorter to fit someone else's limited attention span.
They need to be as long as they need to be.
You have your own sense of structure and proportion.
Most of all your craftsmanship needs space.
Don't cramp your style.
Your mother comes thru this one perfectly.
I understand her now.
Keep going.
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asnet
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May 12 @ 9:05PM
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Do not make them shorter to fit someone else's limited attention span.
They need to be as long as they need to be.
You have your own sense of structure and proportion.
Most of all your craftsmanship needs space.
Don't cramp your style.
Your mother comes thru this one perfectly.
I understand her now.
Keep going.
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fenderchick
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May 12 @ 9:14PM
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 Nice. Good read!
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asnet
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May 12 @ 9:15PM
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[B] Sit tight, it's not going to be pretty.
If by that you mean you will continue to craft a remarkably clear but subtle
tragic edge on the rim of hilarity, full speed ahead.
It's not ugly at all at all. Don't rein it in. Give it its head. [/B]
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TallBlonde1
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May 12 @ 9:32PM
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Keep going...
~*~
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ceecee1952
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May 12 @ 11:20PM
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We all can identify with struggle...it takes many forms.
right on!
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American_Woman
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May 13 @ 1:08AM
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I can remember quite a bit about my childhood. The 80's however is a blur..... 
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Blueschic
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May 13 @ 2:49AM
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Wow. I've gotta give you a kudo for the courage to remove the mask and expose the raw reality of your childhood. One can't help but read this and respond as it projects a feeling of sadness. The memories of childhood aren't supposed to be of lonliness and a lack of feeling of self worth.
I have limited memories of my father as he passed four months after my ninth birthday. But I do remember that the man loved to garden. In fact he had a green thumb. He could grow anything and his gardens were a magical place of wonderment for me.
I remember helping him plant seeds when I was about six or seven years old. He created my own special place in the garden that was my watermelon patch. We planted the seeds and everyday I went to look for my watermelons. As time went on I grew impatient for my watermelons to appear.
I had missed checking on them for a day or two. Then suddenly one day my mother came and got me and said I needed to go look at my watermelon patch. I excitedly went to look. Low and behold right there in my patch was the biggest watermelon that I'd ever seen. In reality, I'm sure that it wasn't but this one was grown by me and it was special.
I hurried off to get my red wagon and have my dad load my huge melon in it. I pulled it back up to the house and I had such a sense of pride and accomplishment. That was the best tasting watermelon that I'd ever had.
It wasn't until years later and my father had since passed away that I sat discussing that watermelon with my mother. She then informed me that I hadn't actually grown that watermelon. My father felt sad because my melons weren't growing. Out of love, he purchased a watermelon and placed it in the garden.
I learned a few things from that experience. I had gotten a green thumb, a love of gardening and a facination with watching things grow from my father. I also learned that love comes in many shapes, sizes and experiences.
Thank you for helping me to recall memories that I had tucked away long ago. 
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suzzieq356
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May 13 @ 7:47AM
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Oh goodie....We get more!
~*~
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grumblebear
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May 13 @ 8:24PM
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Childhood memories are tough, I'm the eldest, and I have quite a few, number two child doesn't remember, or refuses to remember anything prior to her marriage... sibling number 3 we call "The Historian" she recalls every detail of every event...
I know memories can be a blessing or a curse... cherish as much as you can...
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