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Long ago memories

For me the first memories are smells and textures. The smell of a magazine, the feel of the mosquito net. The fibre in the paster wall. At some time wall-paper was put on the wall, and Disney-like characters appeared. Later in formal shirt and shorts I appear in a photo waiting quayside for a flying Sunderland to New Zealand. And remembering the smell of the vomit-bags, to which in 1950 I had frequent recourse. A ten hour flight to Auckland, the plumes flung wide on takeoff and landing.

Then there is a musical,later, quite a lot later, when my mother under deep-ray treatment left me with an aunt, and we saw Annie Get your Gun, live, on stage. I think I had already seen the movie, so maybe I was 6 then. That's it, not many. The smell I cannot forget however. There are photos of me at 1 2 3 of which I have no memory at all, of course, so nothing before 3 except conceivably the mosquito net.

Comments (8)

The smell of my Uncle's photo studio - what chemical was in developers? Cannot remember, but the smell stays with me. He was a wedding specialist, later a Camelia specialist, a body builder and disconcertingly like my father.
I have memories from the first house we lived in and we moved just before I was two years old.

I remember being on a red trike in the sloping, concreted back yard, the 1960's sofa and chair (black and off-white striped with red cushions), a 1950's blue formica topped beech table that my dad trimmed to fit in a cupboard for his radio shack, being covered in a white baby blanket on the sofa and seeing the television flickering through the netted holes, becoming aware of words intruding upon my thoughts and feeling sad because I preferred thinking in colours, a vague memory of an old, stern woman with silver hair and a brown coat visiting who I think might have been English grandmother.

I can recall memories from a familiar taste, or smell, but everything I remember is all in colour.
Smells, and textures, quite. As with the aromas and soft smoothness of bicycle seats. We do so get it.
@vkh I thought I might dedicate a fine piece of old Australian culture, our heritage it seems. Seems to fit you finely. A poem I first heard recited word for word at the Uni pub. some 56 years ago:

It is censored, and should thus liberally sprinkled with asterisks still be acceptable.

Below is a famous photo from my first year, fellow students, but I was maths and they were in another world...

Embedded image from another site


Coincidentally Neville or Walsh ironically nicknamed me as the 'Kenso Push'
I do not have memories from being so young conversing all locked away i think. I have been told these memories can be retrieved, but reckon the brain shut them away for a reason.

In fact as life goes on i seem to automatically only remember what is useful at that time. I think maybe its a waste of brain space to remember so i seem to file them like a computer.laugh laugh

The robotic women grin teddybear
The obsessions continue to be revealed. Now it's Men, outdoors, with their worshiopped schlongs hanging out in the breeze. Precious, don't ever stop. Sniff sniff.
Undesirable trans cultural wifey away. As with long term prisoners, now the desires begin to expand.Just see and read.
@vkh you just wrote like a drunkard, 7am? Is my impression unjustified? Go back and make sense of your own words.
I come across memories of when is was a bit older than a toddler but the memory is like a snapshot of a picture. Smells come to mind when I try to think way back. My grandfather made wine and I have the memories of those barrels smelling strongly, I think of my Nano and that aroma whiffs through my memory.

I wonder how many people remember much of their childhood? A lot of mine is just blank.

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