Two years ago, Wes and I went to Thermopolis to soak in the hot springs. I got hungry and grouchy (for me, the former usually leads to the latter). Otherwise we had fun. I had just found out that my car had rod knock. (My mechanic made it seem like the doom was impending. However, two years later, Elmer is doing just fine. Ha.) I got bangs and quickly realized that wet spring snow and rain did not agree with my curl-prone hair. (Hey, that was a big step for me. Me and my huge forehead never tried bangs before. Or since.)
Three years ago, I had just returned from a hectic trip around India. It took me at least two weeks to recover from whatever weird stomach thing I picked up over there. The eve of my birthday was spent mostly in the bathroom. And I still went to work the next day. (Crazy, I know. I'm too old and smart to do that now.) And still, I would do it all over again. India was totally worth it.
Four years ago, I had just moved to Santa Fe. I was wandering around town and soaking up the nonstop sunshine, taking pictures of funky little architectural details. Wes gave me a fly rod, and soon thereafter we went to the park to practice casting. Thus began our tradition of his well-meant advice and my resultant frustration. Him: "Just cast right there" (pointing to a very precise spot in the river, right under a bramble and next to a rock). Me: "I'm trying! Stop telling me what to do" (as I cast and recast in vain toward the golden spot, efficiently scaring every fish within a ten-yard radius).
Five years ago, I didn't have anything particular planned. I went to work. I think that may have been the year that my co-workers all brought chocolatey and peanut buttery foods. I had dinner with my family. Then my new friend Wes, who I had recently taught to play disc golf, took me out for a glass of wine...or two glasses. He gave me a mug with Shakespearean insults on it. Nice inside joke, not too personal. It was all very friendly and not date-like. Little did we know what would happen to our "we're just friends" mantra.
Six years ago, I celebrated myself with silliness. As usual. My co-workers celebrated with circus-themed foods. I went to bed early. After all, I was just turning 21. No biggie. I was more excited about my retro bubble umbrella than getting drunk.
I'm not going all the way back. Whew, right? See, the way I remember things that happened way back when is to A) Look at photos taken around the time, B) Scan blog entries or C) Check my journals. But I've only had a digital camera since 2003. I also began bloggin in 2003. And my journals are not especially comprehensive, so there's a good chance I missed a few things...or a few years.
I will, however, end with a particularly good birthday memory. I'm not sure what year it was, but I think I was turning 7 or 8. I was wearing my favorite birthday dress, which I wore more than one year in a row. It was blue and sort of silky, with a crinkled skirt that did wonderful things when I spun around. We went to my grandparents' house and played wiffle ball in the yard. Granny even ran (or walked) around the bases. There was cake with candles. I remember most of this from a photo of me and Granny posing with the wiffle bat. But then, maybe photographs are memories.
Awww. You would have had to go back even further to get to when I was last living in the same place as you. :-(
Posted by: Katie | 2010.04.09 at 03:58 PM