Friday, March 14, 2014

Memories! - And - Memories?

I always find it interesting how siblings can grow up in the same home, with the same parents, doing mostly the same things, at the same time and yet not have the same memories! Sure, sure, there are the things EVERYONE in the family remembers because whatever happened was monumental or life changing, but the little day to day things, that possibly happened repeatedly, are sometimes not remembered by all and maybe even only by one.

Take the insurance man. Apparently he came to our house every month to collect his blood money and I don’t remember a thing about him. I am not saying that I just don’t remember his face, (so if I was ever asked to pick him out of a line up in the event that he had become a criminal and I was the only person on the planet that could identify him, he would be able to continue on his felony rampage unstopped because of my less than stellar memory), I mean I don’t remember that he existed! He could be the Invisible Man for all I know. YET, my sister has a story about him, his repeated visits, and our cap gun (a metal, very real looking fake gun) that made me laugh out loud. But until she blogged it, I had no idea it happened or that he existed. (
I remember the milk man – the goat milk, milk man. Oh my gag. My mother thought I was the scrawny one and forced (she loved to impose her will on the weaker humans she made) me to drink the nastiest milk ever milked into existence. That nasty elixir tasted like I was downing the goat in its entirety! Hair, hooves, insides, outsides, and upsides down! I still roll my eyes and literally cringe when I think of having to drink that. Mom’s sage advice for drinking? Hold your nose. Negative. Make chocolate goats milk. Negative #2. That just tasted like you dipped the poor beast in Hershey syrup before you tried to ingest his/her essence – even if you held your nose. Or crossed your eyes, or twisted your legs, or bent in half. NOTHING helped trying to swill down the most vile liquid known to man.

Then there is the Charles Chip man. Oh how I loved seeing that truck stop outside our house. If you have never eaten potato chips from a can of Charles Chips, you have not lived. Seriously. I believe God himself invented and ate those chips and wanted humans to know the pure joy of crunching His heavenly creation.
 That is it. That is all I remember in the parade of salesman visiting our humble abode. I am sure there was the occasional vacuum cleaner sales man, or Watkins man, or Avon representative. But I don’t remember them. I know they existed at the time and that is where my memory banks end. My sister – remembers them all.
I wonder if she remembers when I stole her – never mind. No sense bringing THAT up!!! And if you talk to her, don’t mention the knife either…

P.S. Read about the insurance man in her blog: It is well worth your time!!


  1. No human once exposed to goats milk can forget the horror!!!
    LOVED the post !!!!!!