The Front Porch Swing

[vehve]

That is a sweet and moving story, and you really have a way with words.

 

[Tomtommom]

 

[lazy gardener]

Blooie, thanks for sharing. Amazing how those songs from our teen years can peel away the years, and bring back the memories of where we were and what we were doing when those songs were playing. The same goes for the importance of smell, and how a scent can trigger memories. it's often used in therapy with folks with traumatic brain injuries.

 

[vehve]

Blooie, thanks for sharing. Amazing how those songs from our teen years can peel away the years, and bring back the memories of where we were and what we were doing when those songs were playing. The same goes for the importance of smell, and how a scent can trigger memories. it's often used in therapy with folks with traumatic brain injuries.

For me, the smell induced memories are often the strongest. It's amazing how it can take you back somewhere.

 

[perchie.girl]

Quote:
Cigar smoke.... I love it. Every time I smell it I remember my dad.

Dad was an inventor among many other things. We always had a bedroom converted over for his tinkering. He almost always had a cigar clenched in his teeth weather it was burning or not. His mornings started at around 4 am where he would tinker in his "lab" before work. My bedroom was next door. I was always woken early am by the smell of dads Cigar smoke.

He was always tinkering with Electronics building on breadboards. Breadboard are way you tinkered with circuit concepts.... They are filled with holes so you can assemble components and solder the connections.... they are reusable. So I had the smell of Cigar and solder and the occasional curse.....

One morning I heard Curses and the most undeniable smell of burning wiring. The sun wasnt up yet. Brought me bolt upright and I went into his workspace....

"What happened"

"Oh I just blew up two oscilloscopes" He had three.

"Oh no did it ruin your experiment"

"Naw I just have to buy more fuses"

"Ok"

This was before he bought his first computer probably around 1970.

Our first color TV was a Heathkit... He and I built it in the living room, but soldered up the circuit boards in his lab. He would read the wiring diagram and call out resistor values and I would read the codes on the resistors and hand them to him. He would bend the wires at the appropriate distance and feed them into the circuit card and solder them into place. That TV had Vacuum tubes. One of the Oscilloscopes was a Heathkit project.

I miss him terribly. Mom dropped out of high school to marry him. She was seventeen. He was 20.... He passed when he was 69 one year before their 50th Wedding Anniversary.

deb

 

[LindaB220]

Well since everyone has pulled up a bucket, a stool, or a turtle ottoman, it might be time for a Blooie story. I never listen to the radio when I'm driving. It makes me crazy! But Ken drove the van last and I was running a little late for a council meeting. I jumped in the van and headed for town hall, thinking about the meeting instead of the fact that that annoying piece of electronic gear was turned to an oldies station. It's just a few blocks from the house and just as I parked the car one particular song came on the radio. My hand froze on it's way to turn of the ignition switch...

I don't have a lot of happy high school memories, but it is so true that hearing a song can make a memory suddenly leap into your mind with amazing clarity. I dropped out of high school right after my 16th birthday. I turned 16 December 29th, during Christmas break, and never went back. Then in March I met Ken, and 6 days later I had my diamond. We were inseparable for that short time while he was home on leave from Viet Nam, but my dad said that if it was meant to be, it would survive the time we were apart when he went back to Nam.
Mom, my sisters and I were fixing Thanksgiving dinner that November when the phone rang. It was for me. I remember every word of that conversation.

"Diane *****?"
"Yes, this is Diane."
"This is Bill Proctor, DJ at KISD radio. How're ya doing today?"
I was totally puzzled. "Oh, fine."
"Well, I just wanted to make sure that your radio dial is set for KISD tonight about 6:30. Can you do that?"
"I guess so, but why?"
"Can't tell you that," said the DJ, "But I promise you won't be sorry." Well, I agreed, even though at the time I was working part time with the rival rock and roll station in Sioux Falls. I told Ma, "Okay, this has to be a joke and I'll bet Phil Huer (the DJ I worked for) is behind it."

We ate dinner around 4:30 and my sister Linda had to remind me to bring the radio into the kitchen and turn it on while we cleaned up. We suffered through some bad programming, Dad grousing about the kind of music kids listened to then, and then we heard:

"Diane, I hope you're out there listening. I got a special MARS radio call this morning from a young man in ChuLai, Viet Nam, and he told me about some special plans the two of you have for the spring. Do you know what I'm talking about?"

I don't know why I thought he could see me nod. I was in my kitchen and he was in the studio. Duh, Diane!
He went on to say, "He asked me to do him a favor and made a request for a special song. I'm proud to be part of this and to play this for you now, with love from Ken."Bl
And my entire family sat in teary silence while the Mamas and Papas sang, "Dedicated to the One I Love."
When it was over, Dad stood up, cleared his throat and said, "I think it might be 'meant to be' after all."

I still remember exactly the smell of the Palmolive dish soap in the sink where the stubborn roasting pan was soaking. the tinkling sound of the dried silverware being put away, and the low murmurs of Ma's and Dad's voices in the living room every time I hear that song. I remember that the kitchen was still warm from having the oven on all day, and my littlest sister Bev was trying to sneak the flaky crust off the edges of the leftover pumpkin pie instead of wrapping it in foil and putting it in the fridge..
And I remember how it felt when love was young. Forty seven years later, the love has a slightly different, more comfortable feel to it, but just for the 3 minutes of that song, I am 16, in love, and a little scared all over again. I felt it again tonight while I sat in the parking lot in a small town in Wyoming, late for a meeting and not caring one bit.

Blooie, you are the only one that makes me cry. Memories. Oh yeah

 

[vehve]

This is starting to look like a pretty nice collection of short stories. For me, I don't have a specific memory, but whenever I smell the combination of mold, damp salty air, and paper, it brings back a sense of nostalgia from when we used to sail with our family in the summers. We had a small boat, which we now sold about five years ago, since my father no longer had the time or energy to take care of it. I remember many things, how a seagull stole a steak from our little camping grill at an island, how a bottle of grill lighting fluid exploded in my fathers hand one time. Or how we used to stop at burger places and ask for a plain burger to feed our dog while searching for a restaurant with a terrace, or one little restaurant with the loveliest yard, where the waiters used to bring our dog a waterbowl and feed him treats in secret. Beautiful islands out in the archipelago that only boaters got to experience, or old military artillery bases converted into harbors. I also remember us weathering through storms, with my father and me handling the boat while my sister and mother where inside complaining that they're sick and us saying that they should come outside. Or completely windless days, when we would only float onward at a speed of half a knot, and the sun burning our skin. There where also quaint little fishing villages out on islands, where you could buy freshly smoked fish and spend the night, and sometimes we used to go ashore at uninhabited islands where hardly no one ever went. So many lovely little memories, I really miss that boat. It wasn't much to look at, but it could maneuver some pretty stiff winds, and you could sail almost straight against the wind. I got to see almost every coastal city our country has during those years.

 

[Tomtommom]

This is starting to look like a pretty nice collection of short stories. For me, I don't have a specific memory, but whenever I smell the combination of mold, damp salty air, and paper, it brings back a sense of nostalgia from when we used to sail with our family in the summers. We had a small boat, which we now sold about five years ago, since my father no longer had the time or energy to take care of it. I remember many things, how a seagull stole a steak from our little camping grill at an island, how a bottle of grill lighting fluid exploded in my fathers hand one time. Or how we used to stop at burger places and ask for a plain burger to feed our dog while searching for a restaurant with a terrace, or one little restaurant with the loveliest yard, where the waiters used to bring our dog a waterbowl and feed him treats in secret. Beautiful islands out in the archipelago that only boaters got to experience, or old military artillery bases converted into harbors. I also remember us weathering through storms, with my father and me handling the boat while my sister and mother where inside complaining that they're sick and us saying that they should come outside. Or completely windless days, when we would only float onward at a speed of half a knot, and the sun burning our skin. There where also quaint little fishing villages out on islands, where you could buy freshly smoked fish and spend the night, and sometimes we used to go ashore at uninhabited islands where hardly no one ever went. So many lovely little memories, I really miss that boat. It wasn't much to look at, but it could maneuver some pretty stiff winds, and you could sail almost straight against the wind. I got to see almost every coastal city our country has during those years.

Sounds lovely.

Vacations always are the best thing. My parents took us to France one summer, beautiful area... I recall the awful food they bought

(Don't buy pizza in France..) and stopping by the side of the road to eat fresh cherries straight from the tree

Caves and waterfalls.. Ah. Beauty.

I have very vague memories of Germany too.

In later years my mom took us to Spain by bus, 24 hours in a bus... but man, so worth it. The Spanish coast is so incredibly beautiful.


I have some scents that remind me of home, but I can't really pinpoint them. A mix of foods, I'm sure.

 

[perchie.girl]

When i was five we moved to Roswell New Mexico. At the time dads job took him there.... He was part of a design team installing missile silos... this was 1960. Way before any notoriety about Alien crash sites... LOL.

During our time there Dad converted the little one car garage to a lab... He also had a Machine shop where he designed and built those big wheels that attach to irrigation pipes and walk the water through the fields. Every time I smell the odor of someone grinding on metal or welding.... I remember that Machine shop.

I remember him giving me a chair to sit on and fastening a piece of pipe in the vise and giving me hack saw.... My job was to cut that pipe in half... He showed me how too... and how the blades only cut in one direction. I must have worked on that pipe a good hour. While he filled in one of his worker bees on work instructions.

One time when it snowed dad made Yogi bear and Boo boo snow men. Then colored their faces with food coloring.... He took me horseback riding too... I spent the whole ride staring down in awe at my horse and dad laughing at me.... Dad grew up on horses. But his sisters were better. Here is a picture of his sisters at one of the homesteads they lived on in Texas. Helen Hanoise and Lucia, Gerry I believe was in a TB ward by that time. No hugging and kissing in that family.... Lots of laughter though.


deb

 

[vehve]

This thread is giving me a warm fuzzy feeling now... so many memories being shared.

TTM, haven't seen the Spanish coast, but the French western coast by the Biscay bay and the Italian riviera are beautiful.

Deb, you must have had a fascinating childhood, and that picture oozes of happiness. The horse might not agree though...