I’ve just read a post by Dalarius about has first memory. Actually it’s a great idea to learn first memories of many people…Want to see more on this site. So here is my addition to this little collection:
I don’t know which one comes first.
Either it’s a memory of a passage through an arch under a building: I remember watching up and seeing yellow paint, rotten by time and falling apart, so another, faint layer of a mustardish color paint seen under. I have a feeling I also remember the smell, a smell which I would identify now as a smell of see. I’m not walking, rather I’m carried away in hands or in pram, as the movement is smooth, and after the passage I catch a glimpse of a dark blue sky, full on without anything else in view.
Another one can be pinpointed easily, as it’s my 3 years old birthday party; as a kid I used to spend every summer in my grandmother’s house in Ukraine. So this memory is set in her garden just outside the house, and we (or most of our big family: aunts, uncle, cousins etc.) sit behind birthday table in the shadows of blackcherry and apple trees. My grandma made my favorite apple pie, and from the rest of flour she made a little bird and baked it in oven. She gives it to me. I don’t want it. I’m busy with my present: a set of Aurora’s battleship revolutionary sailors: they run on the table towards the immanent death from indians, my cousin teamed them up with a set of cowboys (what an unexpected alliance!) and hid them behind the barricade of fruits, cutlery and dominoes. To assault his defense, my sailors have to cross the open space of the table to another side. The half of my unit is already lost. I move my teacup over the table, so my sailors can advance behind it, hidden from enemy’s fire and tomahawks. We are close. I still have 4 or 5 left, and one sailor is pulling a machine gun Maxim; surely Indians armed mainly with lances and knives and cowboys with lassos are not a match for it. Suddenly a bird sitting on the tree above defecates, it’s shit falls precisely in the cup followed by splash.
- It’s for luck! That’s a very good sign!- exclaims my grandmother, my cup being immediately removed.
A bird shit in my tea is good? I don’t think so; everybody around laughs, I start to cry. I’m upset about my tea, and about my lost campaign, and about that silly bird cookie I have to eat.
abraxus
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