the purple chai
now :: then :: me :: them

a fifty-something under-tall half-deaf school librarian in the jersey suburbs with two grown kids and time on her hands

Libraries will get you through times of no money better than money will get you through times of no libraries.


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I Was a Freakish Child 400

03.31.2004

7:14 pm

400 entries. Who'd 'a thunk it?


I needed a new picture for the old template here, since I generally change it at the beginning of the month, and I'm starting to run out of cute pictures of me as a little kid. I remembered a great one, but it wasn't a snapshot, it was in the home movies. Then I remembered: I have the technology. The program I use to copy videos onto the hard drive has a screen capture thingy. It's a great shot, and here it is:

We had just butted heads and he said

The thing is, watching the old home movies, the ones that go back to 1946 (pre-me) and that I had transferred to video when video first came out, reminded me of the little freak that I was. I should have been on ritalin, or mood changers, or whatever it was that didn't exist then. I should have been in a cage. Not that I wasn't the cutest little thing -- I've got the pictures to prove it -- but in every movie, I was a manic little perpetual motion machine. I. Did. Not. Stop. They were movies. Baby, I moved.

Let this typical sequence prove my point. The setting, by the way, is weird, too. When I was seven, my mother, sister and I went to California for a month, where my mother's brother lived with his family. (I just copied the whole California video, twenty minutes long, to the hard drive, so expect to see more pictures in months to come.) This is also how I reached the pinnacle of my child life and met Mickey Mouse -- the real one -- at Disneyland in 1960. Anyway, the first thing we did, according to the sequence of the video anyway, was go to the racetrack. Why? Who knows. My uncle wasn't a gambler; he was way too cheap and timid for that. I guess this was one of the sights to see in the L.A. area. Santa Anita? Maybe.

Anyway, my mother turned the camera on me and I did exactly what I always did when it was pointed in my direction:






I was similarly antic at every scenic stop in southern California. I was continuously dancing, mugging, making faces, annoying everybody. Here I am at Knott's Berry Farm:



Isn't it amazing that I have so much trouble sleeping? I should still be worn out from my childhood.

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I'm watching Friends
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