... who is now in prison, thankfully. Richard Paul White (we only knew him as "RP"), convicted of 3 murders, and claiming to have committed many more, used to stop by my house with a couple of other friends for drinks and some dinner when they were in the area (and when he wasn't busy killing other folks, presumably). And no, this was NOT the guy you'd say "was the nicest guy" or "I would never have guessed". He gave me the willies from the first time I met him. But, since the other guys he was with were good friends, we extended our hospitality to him as well.
Every now and again, when I go through my elephant's notebook of memories, he comes up like a piece of bad meat. I remember him sitting on our deck, just staring off into the distance. At the time, I put it down to something innocuous, like drugs. I don't think that anymore. I wasn't terribly surprised when I found out he had been arrested for multiple murders. And I was particularly thankful that he wouldn't be stopping by for a brew or two anymore.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
My first memory
Florescent lights moving past me above my head. A mortally worried look on my mother's face. Someone behind me (pushing a table?). Green walls. My mother wearing a green dress. A waiting room full of people.
This, my mother told me years later, was when I was going for my surgery to remove a hernia. Apparently, I was 4 months old. She remembers everything I described except for the dress she was wearing. Luckily, I don't remember anything else about it, such as waking up in pain, or hospital (baby) food.
This, my mother told me years later, was when I was going for my surgery to remove a hernia. Apparently, I was 4 months old. She remembers everything I described except for the dress she was wearing. Luckily, I don't remember anything else about it, such as waking up in pain, or hospital (baby) food.
Friday, February 10, 2012
Welcome. This is a blog dedicated to shit we have simply forgotten about for years, and suddenly comes back to us in a flash, maybe by an old photograph, a song, a smell, or the sound of a goose farting on a humid July day.
I invite you to share your re-discovered memories in the comments. Some may be painful, perhaps some are so funny they leave your sides hurting; some so treasured that they leave you breathless.
In any case, I will be referring to my own notebook to share memories. It's a symbolic notebook, of course. But, I find if I think of it as a written story replete with pictures, the memories become clearer. Maybe you will too.
I invite you to share your re-discovered memories in the comments. Some may be painful, perhaps some are so funny they leave your sides hurting; some so treasured that they leave you breathless.
In any case, I will be referring to my own notebook to share memories. It's a symbolic notebook, of course. But, I find if I think of it as a written story replete with pictures, the memories become clearer. Maybe you will too.
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