Early Memories

So, apparently last week I didn’t make any blog posts at all. That violates just about everything I’ve read about maintaining a successful blog. Sue me.

I guess I really should spend some time deciding what I want to accomplish with this blog. I don’t particularly have any goals to monetize it. I have no thought of making it into some kind of money making enterprise.

Nor do I want it to become  a place where I just post random facts, or random rants. I do want it to have some kind of structure.

Mostly, I think, I want this blog to be a way to help me examine different aspects of my life, and to help me build some kind of personal discipline. I have felt for years that I lack personal discipline, and I’m trying to build that quality into my personality.

Monday is, according to plan, the day I make an autobiographical post. The last post in that series described my Grandmother Butterfield. In a logical world I would next describe my one of my Fletcher Grandparents, but I’m just not ready to do that. I need to think very carefully before I tackle that kind description. It would be huge understatement to say I have conflicting feelings about them.

So, I’m going to skip around a bit. It’s my autobiography, I can do what I want. Deal with it. Tonight I think I’m going to talk about my earliest memories.

The very first thing I remember is just a fragment. I couldn’t have been more than three or four, but I remember being on a paddle boat, the kind you can rent at resorts, on Lake Okaboji.  I don’t remember anything else about the trip. I just remember being on that paddle boat with Mom and Dad. I don’t remember getting on it and I don’t remember getting off of it, I just remember sitting between them as we paddled across the lake.

And now that I think about it, I realize I must have been even younger than I thought, because my next memory is of Christmas at the house in Platssmouth Nebraska. I know I was three when we lived there. And I don’t actually remember Christmas, but I remember Christmas Eve. Specifically, I remember standing at the top of the stairs, and yelling down to Mom and Dad, to see what they were doing. I know now, that what they were doing was assembling Christmas presents. Mom loves to tell that story.

My next memories are of the apartment in Bellevue Nebraska. I was four when we moved in there, and from that point on my memory is more or less continual. I remember swimming in the pool at the complex. Remember learning to ride a bicyle. I emphatically don’t remember learning how to stop the bike: According to my parents the only way I could stop the bike was by riding it into a bush. No, I don’t remember that at all. I do, however remember playing in the creek bed near the apartment.

I remember the day my sister was born. I wasn’t really sure what was going on, I just knew I got taken to my babysitter’s place, and that Dad seemed to be really excited about something. I do remember the day we brought her back to the apartment.

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One Response

  1. you need to post pics along with these….;)

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