found a $20 dollar bill in a park

[margclearlake]

Oh Len, your so kind, but everyone has stories. I have just heard all mine so many times that i get bored and have to tell them. being Irish doesnt hurt with the gift of gab also. I do feel that I am an experienced thread killer cause I make it all about me.

I could write a book but no one would probably believe any of them. I did a personal ad once and pulled it down right away because I sounded so full of myself and full of bull crap. My dad wrote a book of his life that I got published for him and it was so revisionary that he left entire families that he had sired out of it. (he was married 13 times).

On the details, I have a near photographic memory. I was really upset about that poor old guy with the fingers. I am surprised I still dont know his name. but that was a long time ago and I have wet brain. so the memory coupled with over the top empathy makes it hard sometimes. If I tried I could pull up every slight and misjustice done to me, but work hard just to push it all down and focus on the next few hours.

So Len, how bout a story from you? earliest memory. first bottle you fell in love with?

My first memory was standing by the window watching my father try to repair the neighbors fence where I had "driven" my dads 57 Ranchero through, then the bushes, came to rest against the house. Mummy had left me in a running car in neutral on a steep incline. I tried to get out and hit those crappy emergency brakes they had, went across a busy street backwards and hit the split rail fence. must have had some speed up because I remember that fence and it was sturdy. I was under 2 years old at the time.

 

[margclearlake]

I was sucking my thumb. I remember the Swiss modern blonde furniture. I turned back to her who was in the kitchen and said "Daddy?" to which she snarled, yeah, hes out there after working all day because of YOU. She had taken the Ranchero down and traded it in for a new truck before he got home. I remember the salesman crouching by me and telling me not to cry, that it wasnt my fault. All growing up, all I heard was how I wrecked the Ranchero. I heard that word so much it was really surprising that I drove a 63 for 10 years. Still with that crappy emergency brake. Had to chase that car all over town.

 

[Len]

Hi Margclearlake,

I think an Irish background is great. My MIL was Irish and one or two friends as well. Nothing too fancy and you always got what you saw. Went to Ireland once and it is perhaps, the best place in all of Europe. ...I think your Dad holds the record for most Non-Mormon marriages. I can't even begin to imagine what family gatherings were like. By seniority and rotation? Xmas in July? I'm sure a slightly more selective memory could sift out the painful side of things enough to find plenty of yukles for the book.
...Wow. An early memory for me (that could kill two birds "with one stone/story") happened when I was about 3+, c. mid-50s. My Dad had built us a small Cape Cod house with a sloping off back property line two years prior. To cap that line we picked up a few loads of Brownstone blocks from a nearby demolishment and hauled them in his converted '20s-'30s(?) Chevy flatbed truck. I couldn't really do any lifting so I was along for the ride. On the last load we stopped at a very small, local dairy and got two pints of milk that we drank as we finished the project. My Father snapped up the two empties and buried them in a small gap between two blocks. Dad passed in '78. I maintained the property until we sold the house in '05. On my last day there I went to the spot and managed to find one intact milker. (Its dairy had gone out by 1960.) To this day I remember that old truck with its classic sound of errrrrrrr while accelerating. Also clearly remembered are the sounds of the emergency brakes on my 60s Dodge Darts when you pulled them. Likewise, not very effective. My left foot still misses the high beam floor plunger switch from all the vehicles that I had prior to the early '80s. WHYYYYY did automakers stop using those?...You see. Many readers would love your stories because they evoke memories of their own. Yours have a lot more action in them too! "Whoo Nellie! Will Margeclearlake survive the runaway Ranchero?" Maybe put a Indiana Jones spin on it--"Hang on lady, we're going for a ride!" Surely you must have immortalized something with the name Ranchero? --"What? You were named after the (SUV?!")...

---Well Marg, I got to get moving. Please don't cast aside your possible legacy from a book. Folks would read it for generations. You would be up there with Dolly Madison, Teddy Roosevelt's wild child daughter Alice, Calamity Jane, Annie Oakley, Dania Kirkpatrick (sp-racer), and that '30s famous female flyer who went down in the Pacific, among others. One favor-- would you please autograph my copy? Thanks. --CT Len

 

[margclearlake]

thats a great story Len, you got your skills from your father then. I wonder did he put the milks in just to say the two of you had been there. that is such a sweet story.

No huge family reunions. All of his kids hated him and when he was done with a family he would go out for a pack of cigs and not come back. He was so hated that I have two brothers that I have found that refuse to meet with me just because of him, and hes long gone. I went to ones office once and he sprinted to his car to get away from me.

 

[Len]

Hi Marg!

Dad never really buried anything else--except Cod fish heads in the garden! Since he was a Pacific WWII vet he never really got the chance to pursue his interests other than a couple of the sports he already excelled at in h.s. I'd like to think that the milk bottle burying was the exclamation point to the wall project. Me, I would have craved our name on one of those stones with the date for posterity...

Okay, honestly, your story about your Dad just gets a little more interesting to the reader who is new to what most would consider a frustrating, somewhat sad story. I don't quite understand why your long lost brother would bolt like he did. You didn't deserve that but maybe it just wasn't in the cards that particular day. Your Dad reminds of that early '70s song--"Poppa Was A Rolling Stone"...I can't remember who sang it (Sly and The Family?) but it was big back in the day. Heck, just the story of you tracking down lost relatives almost could be a book in itself. Try one of those DNA companies(ex. Ancestry) for another approach that will yield a few family tree leaves that won't hold your Father's poor lifestyle choice against you...

Well, I wish you luck with all of this. If ever you get to CT shoot me a note. I somehow doubt you're going to stay there in suburbia too long before you get the itch to build a new nest elsewhere. Please keep digging wherever you end up (another book?) and let us know a little of what you found. Maybe one day I'll get back to that stonewall and try to locate the last lost milk bottle. Stay Well. God Bless. Good Hunting. --CT Len