Recording of Memories 1

When I read the Little House books, I realize that Laura didn't think they were necessarily anything special. They were her life. Just like my life is just my life, not really anything special. Really! But then I realize how many things have already changed, and I'm only 32. So I'm going to be very, very random, and I'm going to consider this blog a note-taking device when I'm in the mood to write something down. I'll label it "memories" and when I check the label in a year, well, maybe that will be interesting. Sometimes it will be my memories, sometimes other people I know or used to know.

My grandma Grace said I should write a book someday, and I think she said that when I was 8 or 10. I guess she thought I already had enough stories. The last time I visited her, I was in varsity crew at Gonzaga, and our Pac 10 competition was exactly one exit away from her nursing home. I was 19 years old. When I was 22, she died. I'm glad I visited her when I was 19, because after that, she never recognized me or anyone else again that I remember. I'm very glad one of my friends lived down there and drove me over. Grandma barely recognized me, but that's because I'd never come alone. I don't think she realized I was that old already.

One of my earliest memories:

My dad used to let me "drive" the 1975 F-150 Ford truck, which he still has, while he threw hay bales to the sheep and cows on our ranch in CA. He tied a bungee cord from the steering wheel to somewhere under the seat on the driver's side. I was probably five years old. Dad wasn't looking too hard one day, and I didn't think we were THAT close to falling off a cliff, so I hadn't tried to turn the wheel yet. Dad just about died of fright when he looked around and he never let me drive again. I also remember wishing I could, and one time he was on the other side of a pasture checking one of the water tanks, and I turned the key in the ignition to see if it worked. It did, he yelled, and I turned it off. Darn.

When I got my permit, Dad let me drive home, but he hates when other people drive. So when I went 50 around a corner that, yes, you CAN go around at 50, it's totally fine, and I do it all the time very safely, he just about jumped out of the car literally. He never wears a seat belt because he says it hurts his back, and also because he thinks jumping out of the car is safer than wearing something that will trap you in it. He even has a doctor's note.

That said, he's a good driver most of the time, and I know how to drive without making people carsick, so I call that a win.