08 September 2014

The Book of Me (16)

Yes ... been a while, I know. I was about to throw in the mythological towel until I heard from someone who actually follows this. Therefore I felt encouraged to collect a few of my aimless wits and plug away in pathetically disorganized fashion doing little some justice to a constructive meme. But, you know, scatter care to the winds and all that.

You do understand it can be boring and embarrassing to bafflegab* about one's self.

My missing prompts for The Book of Me range from numbers 43 to 52. They call for a massive burst of energy and lightning-like speed to play the catchup game. Or unobtrusively integrate as I would prefer to say.

So.

I have indeed enjoyed childhood books, comic books, and hairstyles. Who could forget the archaic, beautifully illustrated Greek myths or Wonder Woman (in real life she morphed into Lynda Carter: so perfect) or "the Afro" (horrors, I may still have it, modified to about 1999). Yes, my ancestors did emigrate to this continent, as did all of ours, over whom I'm still labouring in several family histories. Luckily I've had more than my share of perfect days (and nights) out and a couple too many "first" homes. 
Award!

The occasional award came my way (runnerups don't count). Also I must report I cringe at the sound of my own voice on those old lecture tapes (remember cassettes?), not that I listen to any of them.
 



Yes, we actually had to wear those shorts for the sports curriculum.




That takes care of Prompts 43 to 49, and 51. ~~Doesn't it?~~ 

About the godparents (Prompt 50), I have an engraved christening mug so I must have 'em but can't truly report they ― whoever they be ― were monitoring the formative years of my education, religious or otherwise. Baptism certificate, where are you?

Plunging on to inherited items (Prompt 52), AH! - I could go to town here, pages of provenance for assorted treasures and mementos, but I already did that, ensuring my children will fall asleep reading a memo to my will and then argue over things like Dickensian street urchins. I will be dead and not have to listen.


But here is a favourite: a beloved chaise longue, pre- its fourth recovering, hauled and battered from one home to another, dog-chewed, cat-clawed, and all. It looks MUCH nicer now. Nature being what it is, the dog and cats have predeceased me.

My home town (Prompt 53) doesn't exist any more; gone, something like Brigadoon but not exactly. Merged into the ominous-sounding Thunder Bay. I guess we're used to it now, but damn, it's still The Lakehead.

The end. For a while.

* Credit where credit is due: I do believe the word was invented by Allan Fotheringham, one-time columnist for Maclean's and of other renown as a humourist.  

© 2014 Brenda Dougall Merriman. All rights reserved.

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