my earliest memory blog | my earliest memory blog
Aug.03.2010
My first memory comes from one of a series of diluted memories that would have been my first post, but got deleted by my itchy "Q" finger. In the original post I went on about how my dad worked for the NSA and we were moved to this crazy listening outpost in northern England and...
|
Aug.02.2010
We drove in my family’s jalopy with a rumble seat from Camden, New Jersey to a place called Collegeville in Pennsylvania where people went to stay on guest farms during the 1930’s; my very own great grandparents who I called my Bubba and my Zaida worked one of these; Zaida was already dead by the...
|
Aug.02.2010
"Memory is the diary we carry around with us." -Oscar Wilde
Last week, we asked Red Roomers to open up the first page of their personal diary—their memory—and read what they found there for their blogs. We received more than ninety responses, which is close to a record for the year we've...
|
Aug.01.2010
I don’t think I heard a sound today but for my heart beat. It was tapping away slowly as daylight crept through the curtains. It has been a long time since I’ve enjoyed a full day, twenty four hours to be exact, in the pleasure of my own company. I almost expected something to happen, something I...
|
Jul.31.2010
I am lying on my back on the kitchen floor and staring up into the angry, yet concerned, face of my mom. I am overwhelmed by the anger in her eyes, which (fortunately) serves as an analgesic of sorts and shields me from the pain of my throbbing forehead.
“Ruby, are you going to take her to the...
|
Jul.31.2010
Theater Box of Black Licorice
By Karen Clay
Many of the homes on Lee Avenue in Oakland California, had three stories, and...
|
Jul.31.2010
I barely remembered my parents and siblings – all of whom were wrenched apart when I was two years old. My first memory is of a cramped room with several windows where half a dozen cots were laid out all around me. As a toddler, I had no comprehension of our impoverished lifestyle. Instead, I...
|
Jul.30.2010
Our bathroom ceiling had a leg sticking down. That sums up the image of my first memory, paired with peculiar thuds and muted yells pouring into the bathroom of our second-floor apartment that summer morning on Elm Street in New Haven.
“What was that?” My mother poked her head out from the...
|
|
Jul.30.2010
Along Fallen Ash in the summertime, the copperheads would stretch across the dirt and gravel roadway, bathing their dull brown bodies in the sun's abundant warmth. Like all animals in those hot and dry months between May and August, the vipers were sluggish, slithering lazily among the broken...
|
Jul.30.2010
Birth of Mary - Benozzo Gozolli
The room had a ceiling as high as the sky,candleglow, gilt cornices, limpid reflection above the mantelshelf,curved glazingand serpentine planes to the furniture I...
|