michelle_nine was abroad with us in London and rescued my lonely self on many an occasion.
My earliest memory is very very early - I was probably about five months old. I was born in May, and in this memory, I'm wearing fleece pyjamas, but I wasn't yet able to sit up on my own, so I'm putting it somewhere around October, probably.
Maybe I should change your prize to "Earliest Memory"!
I remember waving up at it and batting my hand towards it, accidentally making contact with one of the pigs.
Excellent -- I'm right there with you in the perspective.
You've triggered a few memories of my own, too -- not from that early on, but of an afternoon nap or two in my old room, of playing with a plastic toy called Learning Keys or something where you fit pieces of different colors and shapes into a yellow cube.
The trouble for me in some of my childhood memories is my father videotaped quite a few events, and it's hard to separate what I remember myself from what we've watched on tape throughout the years; and, having seen the tapes, hard to recall what happened that wasn't recorded because the videos crowd everything else out.
Oh, THAT Michele! You know, if I have one regret about London it's that I was too zonked and stressed-out when we met in the queue outside Manson Place to fully appreciate and remember the coolness of you. We could have had such happy times ...
Instead, we sat around Boston during senior year and told each other about the things we'd done, which was fun and all, but not as cool as it could have been.
This only goes to show that you have to eventually move back here (and bring Nichole), and you and me and Catherine and Nichole will start up a Bohemian expat society and offer Sam a visa-marriage (to Catherine, as she's the only one with citizenship) to come and join us.
That wrenching sound you hear is Margaret tumbling back into reality.
I can only imagine what the three of us might have got up to that semester. I don't know if I was ready for the powah that is you at that time. But as it was, we did have a fine Easter dinner and a good trip to Leeds Castle/Canterbury. Mm, evensong.
Well, the only hitch with that is that Sam would have to live on his own in Ireland for, I believe, two years. The Irish government, despite its expansiveness when it comes to letting you claim citizenship by birthright, is tightening up its citizenship-by-marriage laws - they don't particularly like the idea of being just an open door into the rest of the EU, so they've slapped on a residency requirement.
We were, but then I got confused about why (or rather how) you would hypothetically be in Ireland waiting for citizenship. Perhaps I'm overthinking this.
My earliest memory is very very early - I was probably about five months old. I was born in May, and in this memory, I'm wearing fleece pyjamas, but I wasn't yet able to sit up on my own, so I'm putting it somewhere around October, probably.
Maybe I should change your prize to "Earliest Memory"!
I remember waving up at it and batting my hand towards it, accidentally making contact with one of the pigs.
Excellent -- I'm right there with you in the perspective.
You've triggered a few memories of my own, too -- not from that early on, but of an afternoon nap or two in my old room, of playing with a plastic toy called Learning Keys or something where you fit pieces of different colors and shapes into a yellow cube.
The trouble for me in some of my childhood memories is my father videotaped quite a few events, and it's hard to separate what I remember myself from what we've watched on tape throughout the years; and, having seen the tapes, hard to recall what happened that wasn't recorded because the videos crowd everything else out.
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Instead, we sat around Boston during senior year and told each other about the things we'd done, which was fun and all, but not as cool as it could have been.
This only goes to show that you have to eventually move back here (and bring Nichole), and you and me and Catherine and Nichole will start up a Bohemian expat society and offer Sam a visa-marriage (to Catherine, as she's the only one with citizenship) to come and join us.
That wrenching sound you hear is Margaret tumbling back into reality.
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*head hurts*
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Glad that's settled. :)
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