When my youngest brother was a wee ‘un, this was one of his favorite songs. Whenever the video would come on, he’d dance and sing along with it.
He also used to ask, “Why won’t that man turn around?” about this poster on my wall.
Tag: memory
In Another Life
So, I was trolling Flickr, like ya’ do, and stumbled across this (the interesting–to me, anyway–photos start on the second page). In college I ended up at quite a few parties with folks on the fringe of the group I hung around with, mostly because I got dragged there (bottle of cheapfuckfightingwine in hand) by Anka. He and I were in the art program together, and worked together at the art museum. There are a couple of photos of Ambrosia and one of Vivian, a few of Rachael, one, I think, of Laura Lane (she’s unidentified, though), and a bunch of names that I remember but can no longer put with faces.
YouTube Goodness
We had a Fake Blog assignment to use YouTube. I thought I’d share the video I used for that assignment. The dogs belong to one of the dog group folks.
Rooroo
It is beautiful, especially that last, lone, plaintive roo.
When I was a kid, we had a dog who rooed (Bear). He taught other dogs in the neighborhood to howl along with him. I remember, in the summertime, when the windows were open, the neighborhood dogs hanging around outside the little Methodist church building and “singing” hymns along with Dorothy Humbarger.
Ur Colds, I Has Dem
I woke up this morning with a sore throat and somebody’s wool blanket stuffed in my head. I am not amused. And worse, now that I’ve been up and out with the dog, I can’t get back to sleep. So I’m cruising Flickr, looking at other folks’ photos.
Michigan City Lighthouse, Michigan City, Indiana
Michigan City Lighthouse seen from a sand dune on Washington Park Beach, Michigan City, Indiana
Credit: Tom Gill, published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license
This was “our” beach, when my family lived in Michigan City. We lived on California Avenue, which was just a few blocks from Washington Park and the Washington Park beach. We could walk to the park via the beach, then cross the road and go to the Washington Park Zoo. The dune grass is sharp, and will cut you if you aren’t careful. We used to run around and play in the grass, and I remember getting long, razor cuts from it.
Sometimes we’d go to the lighthouse and walk the pier. There were usually old guys lined up on the pier, fishing. While the grown-ups were walking, us kids would scramble around. I remember climbing up on the center section, then down the far side. There was a narrow walkway there, and when the tide was out, it was easy to climb on the rocks. I was a chicken, though, so I only stepped on rocks that were right next to the walkway, and only those that were near the shore.
Frozen Shore by Meghan Linehan published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.0 Generic license
I remember going to the beach one winter and seeing, beyond the hurricane fencing, huge frozen waves. I was probably 6 or 7 years old, and I couldn’t figure out how water could freeze so quickly that it kept its wave form. Years later, I remembered those waves, and by then the solution was obvious. It really puzzled me at the time, though.
The photo doesn’t give a good idea of scale. These waves are enormous. And the ones I recall had wonderful, bizarre formations.
Lake Michigan
Frozen Wave
Credit: karen ybanez, published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial 2.0 Generic license
I mentioned that we used to live in Michigan City? We moved around quite a bit, but during our time there, we stayed for awhile in a little bungalow just a block from the beach. There were white concrete lions flanking the front steps, and a couple of concrete statues in the yard, which was surrounded by a low hedge of some sort. I remember the lake in winter being icy and magical. Summer was equally amazing. We could run down to the beach in the mornings, or go to the park or zoo, which were just a few blocks down Lake Shore Drive. And, even though I was only in kindergarten, I walked to school by myself.
On the way to school, there was an enormous sand dune we used to climb up, then roll down. It was right across the street from Les’ candy store. Les was a grumpy old guy. I don’t think he liked kids very much. There was a car repair garage connected to the candy store, and for some reason, I recall that his brother ran it. The giant sand dune has been paved over and built up, and I assume Les is long gone.
There was also a fire station on the way to school. Sometimes, when they weren’t busy, the fire fighters would talk to the kids and let them climb around on the trucks. They also sold candy. Lifesaver swirly lollipops.
Michigan City Lighthouse
Credit: Mike Lavoie, published under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 2.0 Generic license
Landscapes and Time
During one of my many recent midnight wakings, I started thinking about landscapes and time. Specifically, time and the places I’ve lived. Whenever I’m asked where I grew up, I have to stop and think. When I was really young, we lived in southern Indiana. When I was five, we moved to a house on Lake Michigan, staying in that area for a few years, before returning to southern Indiana. Of course, the moves seem more frequent than they really were, and the time spans in each location seem lengthier. That’s the magic of childhood memories, I suppose. They are forever compressing and expanding.
Aqueduct, Metamora, Indiana, where we used to swim
We moved to Metamora when I was nine, and to Brookville when I was 13. We were only in Franklin County for five years, but sometimes it seems like we lived there forever. It doesn’t seem possible that so much living could be packed into such a small, finite compartment of time.
Along Patricksburg Road, Owen County, Indiana, a spot I used to pass every day
And then I started thinking about moving back to southern Indiana a few years ago. Six, to be exact; I left Muncie in the spring of 2001. After 18 years of flat earth, I just couldn’t stand it any longer. Every time I visited southern Indiana, I felt like I was coming home, and every time I returned to Muncie, I felt homesick. I missed the hills and trees of my childhood.
I stayed in Owen County five years before moving to Bloomington, where I’ve been for nearly a year. It doesn’t seem possible that I’ve been in back in southern Indiana for six years–a year longer than the time I lived here as a child.
Sunrise, Owen County, Indiana, January 2006
A Trip Down a Different Memory Lane
I talked to my mom this morning, and the subject of college diplomas came up. I “lost” mine for a long time, and only found it again while packing for this last move. I pulled it off the shelf and opened the folder, and some old Christmas cards, my “fancy” birth certificate, and my 8th grade report card were tucked inside.
I was a pretty solid B student in middle school. I had horrible study skills, and I never did a single bit of homework. If I had, I’m sure I would’ve gotten As.
With the single exception of the final History exam, which was on WWII, I don’t recall ever studying for a test. During the second half of 8th grade, we lived in town, so I walked to school instead of riding the bus. I usually got there early, because it was my job to go over to the church and do the hymn board for each day’s masses. I must have gotten to school extra early on the day of the history final, because I recall having a lot of extra time left over, and using it to study for the test. I remember knowing, when I finished the exam, that I had gotten every answer correct.
On the last day of school, we all signed each other’s report cards. I have no idea who Rosy was, but I remember everyone else.
Collecting People
My mom collects interesting and odd people. Years ago, Marilyn and Larry, an older, mentally disabled couple, started periodically dropping by her house to ask for a dollar or two for cigarette money. Or, as Marilyn says, “cigarex.” My mom usually gave them a little money, and would offer them coffee, make them an egg and toast, and let them use her telephone. This went on for years, with Marilyn and Larry showing up on the doorstep every month or so. Then, a few years ago, they stopped coming by altogether.
Well, I just got off the phone with my brother. While I was talking to him, he said someone was pounding on the door. As he put down the phone to answer it, I said, “Ha! I bet it’s Marilyn and Larry!” And it was! I gather, from the bit of the conversation I was able to overhear, that they’d moved out of the neighborhood, but are back now.
I’m not sure what’s up with Larry, besides the fact that he’s a little slow–mentally and physically. Marilyn once told my mom that she used to be smart, but that when she was a child she nearly drowned, and she’s not been right ever since. That always struck me as especially sad, to be aware that your mind was once able to do things that it can’t do now.
Everything never happened
I spent Saturday afternoon helping Ms. Lea with post-move cleaning. When I got there, it was warm and the sun was shining, so I took a few photos. The large granite rocks flank one side of the path to the pond, which is just visible at the base of the left-most tree.
As I was driving out to Owen County, I listened to Lloyd Cole’s Easy Pieces. Music is closely linked to many of my memories; I can place when things happened in my life by the music I was listening to at the time. So, as I was driving, I was reminded of listening to Lloyd Cole on my Walkman while detailing the interior of a neighbor’s ancient VW Microbus. As Why I Love Country Music played, the memory of scrubbing the seats with Lysol Tub & Tile cleaner and a toothbrush was so clear and immediate that I could smell the cleaner and see the stitches and the rolled bit of red piping along the edges of the white vinyl seats. Scrub, scrub, scrub as years of dirt and grime were lifted and washed away. Jane is always fine… Brand New Friend played as I washed the interior of the windshield with vinegar and a crumpled piece of newspaper. Polish, polish, polish away the streaks, while Lloyd sings about walking in the pouring rain with Jesus and Jane. She tells lies most of the time…
Of course, I also thought of Jayne, who introduced me to Lloyd Cole (and to Nick Cave, actually) when we were in high school, and I wondered where she is and what she’s up to. Jayne was not always an easy person for me deal with–we’re very different personalities–but she had a huge and positive impact on my life. I find that I have occasion to think about her frequently, and to hope that she’s doing well. I worry about her, though.
So I guess this post is a reminder to be glad of those little moments that don’t seem meaningful, because you cannot predict which ones you’ll look back on and identify as small events and which you will recognize as important ones, or when or how you’ll remember those moments.
New Photos
Well, not new, exactly, but new-to-here. Since I’ve moved to civilization and have ditched the old dial-up account I’ve had for 5+ years, I lost the tiny personal website I had on their server space. The images there were really tiny, to conserve space, and were mostly of pets. I spent yesterday evening going through a stack of photos, scanning them and doing some basic Photoshopping. (Not surprisingly, I’ve managed to get some sort of goop speckled all over my scanner bed, probably from scanning oil pastel drawings directly on the glass. Oops! I’ve cleaned and cleaned and cleaned it, but I’m having to do a huge amount of correction to remove speckles. It’s not difficult, but it is tedious.)
Anyway, I’ll probably be posting a bunch of them here over the next few days. There are some photos of Pandora that I’ve never scanned, and don’t even remember taking. And there are photos of Gabe’s cat, Ajis, and one of her litters of kittens. Kitten photos are always entertaining, right? The best, though, are two series of photos I took of the dogs playing–one indoors, right after I got Harriet, and one in the snow, after I’d moved to Owen County. The photo quality isn’t great, because I was using a 35mm point-and-shoot camera, but they’re still some of the best dog photos I’ve taken.
The only wooden aqueduct still in active use in the US, Metamora, Indiana
We lived in Metamora from 1978-1982. In the summers we used to swim in the canal and play inside the aqueduct. The water is down in this photo, but when the canal boat is running, the lock downstream is shut, and the water level rises, making it a decent depth for swimming. I always liked swimming and playing inside the aqueduct itself, because the floor was sheathed in metal. I hated getting my feet all muddy, walking on the bottom of the canal.
red paper boat 