"There was a star danced, and under that was I born."
Happy Birthday to Me (one day early)
I am the first child of six. My parents laugh about my Grandfather saying, "Have the girls first, make all the mistakes". There was barely time to make mistakes as two of my three brothers were born within two years two months of my beginning.
I barely had enough time to be the only child. Forever I shall be the eldest as this fact lies in constant remarks from my mother, "You are the oldest.....(fill in the blank)..."
I was born in a town in New York. My parents moved to a small village called Jefferson Valley where I have my first memories. Memories of cold long winters with lots of snow. Hunters hanging a deer above my sand box. My "can do no wrong" brother knocking over a yard jockey and I getting the blame, falling down stairs, the sunlight spilling through the window into my bassinet.
If I try hard, I am certain I can squeeze out several more, but these memories are burned into my memory as real events. There are dozens of other memories, mainly stories that have been repeated so often that they are almost memories but I can't be certain. Each once deserving of its own entry complete with embellishments from the years following.
When I was four or five we moved to Kentucky due to my father's employment with IBM. I am certain this is the beginning of my love affair with traveling to places unknown just for the thrill of traveling.
My mother bordered the train with my two younger brothers for the trip.
I was given the honor of traveling with my father in the car!! I was wearing a hat. It blew out the window.
That is all I remember about the trip.
Perhaps it is family legend about the hat and not really a memory. I wonder if I had my head sticking out the window. Or if I innocently rolled the window down and the naughty hat caught flight and began a journey of its own.
I wonder if I innocently (or not) allowed the hat to fly out and escape.
That was the beginning of my love affair with getting from here to there. The anticipation of packing, of arriving at the airport, or leaving the outskirts of town.
It all began way back when, when I was born a second time, as a Southerner.