Random Memories

[JAGG]

I remember the smell of noxema on hot summer nights. My grandmother used it on us when we got sunburned. Do they even make that stuff anymore.

[Gemme]

Originally Posted by JAGG

I remember the smell of noxema on hot summer nights. My grandmother used it on us when we got sunburned. Do they even make that stuff anymore.

Yes!

And it's still good on sunburns. One of the worst I ever had kept me covered in the stuff for days.

I have a jar in my bathroom. But I don't get sunburned very often anymore, so I just use it to wash my face when the urge strikes me.

I the scent.

[Ginger]

I remember the intoxicating smell of plastic on Christmas morning, from all those toys, and the year I got my first guitar. I was 12. I stayed in my room playing and singing for hours at a time. Before that, I had ukuleles. I had one shaped like an electric guitar! I loved all of them.

[Ginger]

I remember riding my bike to the beach, the summer before sixth grade, and parking it by a tree. Then I would climb the tree, sit up there and eat an apple I had brought with me. I loved apples, and looking out over the beach.

I remember getting a stomach ache before dinner, all the time. Oddly, this isn't a bad memory. I would curl up on the upstairs couch, while my mom made dinner. I could hear her in there, and smell the food. By the time she called us to the table, my stomach ache was usually gone. She was a great cook, especially before she lost her Texan ways and stopped frying so much.

I have a stomach ache right now, I think my stomach is feeling nostalgic.

[Bèsame*]

random thoughts....

When I was 15, I was in drivers Ed. This certain afternoon, was the day I was suppose to start driving...in the neighbor hood around the high school. Well, I was behind the wheel and made a right turn, didn't release the turn and went up the curb, barely missing the fire hydrant. And um, yeah,it happened kitty corner from my house, while my two little brothers and their friends watched. Of course the car says drivers Ed on it. Later that afternoon, when my dad came to pick me up, the dorky little brothers came too. " where you driving a blue car ?"

" oh no, it was black" I lied. Why? "Cause that girl who went up the curb was sure red and she looked like you." My dad knew it was me..lol

Why why why are there little bothers?

[Tommi]

All this talk and activity around guns reminded me of my cap pistols, spinning my six shooters into my holsters. I must have been about 7.

I recall my favorite "cowboy" jeans with R. R. on the front pockets in red rhinestones and that brown and white furry calico vest, and a checkered shirt with a string tie. I loved my little blonde neighbor that wore those pretty skirts and twirled all the time.

My Mom kept those clothes for me when I outgrew them, knowing how much I loved being that little dude. She knew I loved that little blonde, and many others when I got all growed up , and put away my six shooters.

[Ginger]

Uniquestwfemme's post triggered a memory for me: Driver's Ed.

Some guy, the driver's ed teacher, would load four of us in a little beater car and his first stop was always 7-11, where he'd get a large coffee—which he would invariably spill all over himself.

I contributed to this phenomenon with my bad habit of braking, the instant I panicked behind the wheel. I did this the first time he had me go onto the freeway. I remember him screaming, "Go! Go! Go!" because I had braked, having gotten spooked the moment I was going from the on ramp to the first lane. Coffee was steaming off his shirt, and the girls in the backseat were cracking up.

[nycfem]

I remember shooting guns at camp as a kid and how exciting it was. The guns were so heavy and so loud and intense when they went off. We'd lay on our stomachs on a dirty platform and aim our rifles at paper targets. And there was a man named Oz who ran the whole gun activity area and he limped because he'd been shot by a kid accidentally at some point in time, or maybe more than once.

Originally Posted by Tommi

All this talk and activity around guns reminded me of my cap pistols, spinning my six shooters into my holsters. I must have been about 7.

I recall my favorite "cowboy" jeans with R. R. on the front pockets in red rhinestones and that brown and white furry calico vest, and a checkered shirt with a string tie. I loved my little blonde neighbor that wore those pretty skirts and twirled all the time.

My Mom kept those clothes for me when I outgrew them, knowing how much I loved being that little dude. She knew I loved that little blonde, and many others when I got all growed up , and put away my six shooters.