Oklahoma

Today’s post is from tim.
i was 4
my bed was the one by the window
paul’s was the one by the wall
mom brought home the record of the new play called oklahoma
the songs are all so wonderful but that one about the surry with the fringe on top made me dance in my sleep
with eisenglass windows that roll right up in case there’s a change in the weather.
mom comes in
what’s wrong
nothing

what are you yelling

i didn’t realize i was singing i thought it was in my head
what are you singing
with eisenglass windows that roll right up in case there’s a change in the weather
we just got that record today
i like it
go to sleep you’ll wake up your brother

wha do you got for childhood flashbacks?

40 thoughts on “Oklahoma”

  1. Rise and Shine Wee Baboons!

    I am home from Ireland having seen many 🌈 rainbows. Sadly, I found no pots of gold. I did have a wonderful time, though. The trip should provide fodder for several blog posts.

    I am up early because I am still a bit jet-lagged. I am so focused on memories of Ireland that my childhood memories are distant now. Maybe later today they will come to mind.

    tim, I need your address for BBC next Sunday. It is not on the BBC page.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Thanks for this, tim – LOL at the image.
    It brings to mind a flashback of me as a 4-year-old – my aunt’s family is visiting us in Storm Lake, and Mom is playing the piano while I sing for them – might have been part of “The Trolley Song” from Meet Me in St. Louis – “Clang clang clang went the trolley, ding ding ding went the bell…” It probably wasn’t hard to get me to sing for trusted Family, even at that age.

    Liked by 3 people

  3. Morning all. I actually get a flashback of my childhood at least once a summer when we go to Fawn doe Rosa to pet deer and see the animals. When I was eight or so (I hink I’ve told this story before) I got surprised by what seemed at the time a large elk on the lake edge and I still think of it every summer when we’re there.

    Liked by 1 person

  4. On Saturday I was in downtown Sioux Falls on Phillips Ave and saw the old Shrivers department store building. That is where I was taken to see Santa Claus. Shrivers was the height of elegance when I was small.

    Liked by 2 people

  5. Tim…your post imediately brought memories…I still can sing …’the surry with the fringe on the top…’

    My folks would put a small stack of records on the HiFi for us at bedtime…my siblings would fall asleep but I usually made it through all and was still wide awake. (I didn’t sing aloud)
    The records….’Oklahoma’, ‘The King and I’, ‘Carousel’, Babes in Toyland’, ‘Around the World in 80 Days’ & ‘My Fair Lady’…come to mind. I still love them, have CD’s of some original broadway cast re-recording and now do sing aloud many of the songs.

    Liked by 5 people

  6. I’m going to stick my neck out here by repeating a post I offered years ago in response to a question like this. And to mention that it was one time when I was stung by the response.

    When I was four and five I slept in a crib in a small bedroom toward the back of a tiny prefabricated home. One night it rained. As cars moved north along Carroll Avenue their headlights created a spot of light on the bedroom wall. The spot grew more intense as a car approached, then suddenly whipped around the walls as it passed. That trick of light coincided with the sound of tires hissing on the wet street. Just as the light whipped I heard the Doppler effect as the car whooshed by.

    Had I said no more than that, the post would have been uncontroversial. But I went on to say that, lying in the dark thrilling to this experience, I had two thoughts. “Oh, this is beautiful!” And: “Beauty is something. It exists and is something we can feel!”

    Some folks found that statement over the top. Surprisingly, Dale (who occasionally commented on posts then) indicated he didn’t think a kid would ponder something like that.

    In a small act of defiance, I repeat my post. I might have misremembered the moment. But I didn’t. This has been a cherished memory for seventy years. I have always had a strange dialogue going on in my head. I used to ponder philosophical issues. I could offer other examples of epiphanies that startled me.

    As Renee recently said, that’s my story. And I’m sticking to it!

    Liked by 6 people

    1. Your description, Steve, reminds me of a very early memory of my own. The earliest family car I remember was a Ford, vintage 1950 or so. The back of the front bench seat had a strap across it, presumably to assist in getting in and out. When we drove, I would stand in the back holding the strap and looking over the front seat. I remember, though, driving after dark and I would be lying across the back seat. Whenever an oncoming car would meet us, its headlights shining through the side windows and blocked by the window posts would wheel a fan of light across the headliner of the car, slowly at first and speeding up as the car got closer. It was mezmerising.

      Liked by 2 people

  7. I remember standing next to my Grandma Hain’s bedside. She died when I was just over 2 yrs old. That’s my earliest memory.

    I remember sitting in a cardboard box in elementary school loudly singing ‘Yellow Submarine’. And people coming and looking in the box at me. No idea why I was in there or what it was about.

    Liked by 5 people

        1. mumble, (don’t know the words) mumble, (make up words) mumble, (hum incoherently) WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE

          Like

  8. I guess my dad had odd taste in music. He owned an album that we loved to play for some reason — something about cowboy songs. The whole album was this man singing songs like “The Old Rugged Cross” and other cowboy ditties. Our favorite and the one I remember most (to our father’s chagrin) — the chorus went something like this …
    “Whiskey, rye whiskey,
    Whiskey, I cry,
    If I don’t get a rye whiskey I surely will die”
    Followed by yodeling and other cowboy scat singing. It was hilarious. My dad most likely bought it for “The Old Rugged Cross” and other spirituals, but I remember “Rye Whiskey” the most, as do my siblings.

    Liked by 3 people

    1. Somebody sang The Old Rugged Cross at my Grandpa Stratton’s funeral. I don’t really like that hymn, but I think of that funeral when it comes up. I was 11 years old and so attached to that Grandpa.

      Liked by 1 person

  9. One persistent flash back is from when I was five. Randi, my younger sister, and I attended a local nursery school located about 12 blocks from our house. We’d walk there alone each day while mom bicycled to work in a different part of town. One morning in February or early March we had walked to school as usual only to find the place closed for the day. It was Fastelavn, a holiday similar to Halloween, celebrated right before lent. I knew that mom was at work, and didn’t really know what to do, so we sat down of the front step of the school to ponder our situation. I don’t remember how long we had been sitting there, but I do remember beginning to get cold. That’s when a gentleman in a car stopped and asked what we were doing, so I told him of our predicament. Fortunately he, the proprietor of Stubbekøbing’s largest clothing store, knew who we were, and he also knew where mom worked. He piled us in his car and drove to mom’s place of employment. At this point mom had been in Denmark only about a year and a half, didn’t speak much Danish, and wasn’t yet familiar with obscure Danish holidays and celebrations. More than likely she had received a written notice from the school about the closing, but she couldn’t read it; Fastelavn meant nothing to her.

    Mom ended up taking the rest of the day off from work, and she somehow managed to get Randi and me dressed up in some fashion so we could go door to door in the neighborhood, singing the traditional Fastelavn’s songs with all of the other kids.

    When I think of mom, and how she must have felt about all the hurdles she had to clear along the way, I have to admire her spunk and tenacity. Hers was not an easy life, and in retrospect I can cut her a whole lot of slack for some of the mistakes she made as a parent.

    Liked by 3 people

      1. It was a struggle for me for a long time as well, Jacque. But from the vantage point of someone who has lived almost 75 years I can honestly say, I’m a lot more forgiving than I used to be. When I realized that my dad was only 15 years old when he mustered onto his first ship, it became clear to me why he had no idea what a father’s role in a family could or should be. It’s a miracle, really, that he did as well as he did until I turned fifteen.

        Likewise with my mother. Her role model was a woman who after giving birth to eleven children was deserted by her husband. She didn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell to feed, clothe and educate the lot of them responsibly. Those kids all learned to be scrappers. With my mom you never knew whether what she was telling you was fact or fiction. To some extent I’ve figured some of it out, but much of it is really speculation. I’ve come to appreciate the uncertainties of life.

        Liked by 1 person

  10. My earliest memory was when I was about 18 mos old. I was sitting on my Grandmother’s lap. She was in a wheelchair at that point due to colon cancer. She used a device with a clamp that stretched to get things from cabinets so she could cook. I saw it andI WANTED it. She was worried I would pinch my fingers. I was fascinated by this.

    Liked by 2 people

      1. When I was in rehab following my fall in 2012, that was one of the tools they offered (for pay, of course) to take home with me. That and a device designed to help put on my socks. I declined both, telling them that I was pretty sure my husband would help me if I needed help putting on my socks. For some reason, the occupational therapists thought I was obstinate; go figure.

        Liked by 4 people

        1. Well, we professionals love to be useful and feel that we are doing our jobs well. And when we don’t feel like we are doing our jobs well, we label you! Well, of course, I don’t. Not much, anyway. And I am always of service to my clients. Um, usually. It is your fault for bringing this up. And no I am NOT defensive. 🙂

          Liked by 2 people

        2. I’ll tell you a secret, Jacque, strictly between the two of us. I didn’t (and still don’t) consider the occupational therapist helpful in any way. Each and every one of them talked to me as if I was mentally challenged. They made no attempt at finding out what kind of person I was, what I considered important, and what I considered myself good at. One of their prescribed exercises was having me fry an egg! I’m very right handed, and both my right hand and my right leg were incapacitated. I needed my left hand to manipulate my hemi-walker, without which I couldn’t stand or walk, and yet, I was perfectly able to fry the egg (which they then wanted to throw away!). I know my way around a kitchen. My roommate was constantly hungry, and I insisted on bringing the egg back to her. It just wasn’t in their program. I’m sure they had a party the day I was discharged, and I did too.

          Like

        3. Oh, dear. Sorry to hear that. Some OT’s are great, but with those attitudes, not so much. Twice I have had rehab with an OT–when I broke my elbow in 2013 which she restored to full use, and this year on the arthritis in my wrist. I now have a functioning wrist, but my OTs did not have the attitude.

          Liked by 2 people

        4. When my cousin had a stroke, the therapists involved had the usual tests and questions to assess his function during his recovery. One thing they were focused on was whether he would be able to cook when he returned home. Finally when his girlfriend was there during an assessment, she started to laugh and said, “He’s gone 65 years without ever learning to cook – why in the world would he start now?”

          Liked by 2 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s