A Collection of Memories

This latest entry is a little different then most, it is a collection of papers I have written for an English class. My instructor seemed to have fun reading them, so I felt that it would only be fair to share them. The first story is a camping trip with some unexpected guests. The second story is just something my friends and I used to do to pass those long, boring summer days. The final story is a memory of one of those times when the expectation of something is almost better than finally getting it.

Walking Blood Bank
My family, friends and I came under attack while camping, at Lake Wenatchee one summer. We reserved the largest campsite because we had such a large group, about twenty people. The nearest occupied camp site was far enough away that we couldn’t see or hear them. At the time we thought we were lucky. We were surrounded by tall pine trees, which gave us plenty of shade but also blocked much of the wind. Unfortunately we happened to pick the year that the campground and surrounding area decided not to spay for mosquitoes. This helped explain all the vacant campsites. The area was so infested with them that you could not breathe without sucking a few of them up for a much deserved death. With so few campers, our site became a smorgasbord for the mosquitoes. In the center of the camp there was a large fire pit. The smoke from our roaring fire only seemed to encourage them to an even greater frenzy. Walking was like a bizarre dance. While sidestepping the larger swarms we had to franticly wave our hands in front of us to keep them from getting in our eyes. Clothing gave us a false sense of security. They seemed to find joy in piercing our flesh even through the thickest jeans. The tent was one of the few places that we could find refuge from these little vampires. If you managed to get in and zip the door closed fast enough. Also the beach offered some protection, but only as long as the wind was blowing. I had many interesting camping experiences, but none of them compare to the joy of being a walking blood bank.

Stick Fighting
When I was younger my friends and I loved to try and bash each others brains out with sticks, well more like small trees. We would spend hours hiking through the woods to find the perfectly balanced weapon. Our favorite stick was about 3-4in in diameter and 5ft long. Usually we came back with a dozen or more of these instruments of pain. We always held the battles at my house because I had a large flat backyard. We never had more the three people fighting at once. After we gathered enough supplies and selected our first weapon we would begin the fight. While facing each other we would bow. After that all sibilance of order went away. We would charge at each other with our sticks poised to attack. A spectator would have a glimpse of ancient warriors locked in epic battle. Thrust, strike, and dodge were the only things that our world consisted of. That is until ether a stick broke or someone got their knuckles hit hard enough to drop their stick. We would stop long enough for fresh weapons and the occasion rag to rap a bleeding hand. We would stay engaged in combat until our entire arsenal was depleted. Over time we became very skilled fighters, employing feints, lunges and parry. I am surprised that we walked away from that experience with just bloody knuckles. Now I am teaching my daughter to do the same thing, but this time we don’t us sticks.

A Big Surprise
I woke up one December morning to find a humongous present under the Christmas tree. I was ten years old at the time, so the box was larger then I was. To my delight it was address to me. My eye got as big as saucers when I read the attached note. It gave a hint as to what this exquisite present contained. It stated that I could use it when I watch my favorite show. Not only that but it happened to be from Bart Simpson. My mind began to reel with the possibilities. My first guess was a television but that hope was quickly dashed when I realized the box did not weight enough. Over the next few weeks my every thought was on that present. My first thought when I woke up to my last as I fell asleep was on that gift. I thought of every conceivable product ever made and some that do not exist. My ideas continued to roll for over a week. Finally the big day came and I tore in to the present. As rapping paper flies all over the room, I uncover a large unadorned cardboard box. This causes me to pause for a moment as I wonder what could be in a box without any writing on it. I then rip open the box. To my surprise I see one of my toys followed by my robe and then some rocks to add weight to the box. As I start to wonder if there really is a present for me I find it, a big black beanbag. I was so excited I could not wait to stat using it. I my haste I almost forgot that I still had more presents. While laying on my beanbag I opened my other presents. I have never had more anticipation and excitement before or since that present. I can still remember hiding under the beanbag while playing hide and seek. I kept that beanbag for over ten years. Finally time and wear required that I get rid of it.