Do you have a memory that you can't place? By that, I mean is there anything that you can remember doing, yet you can't think of where and when you might have done that? I bought some water-activated packaging tape a while back to use on the boxes that I place in my outdoor compost pile, thinking it might compost faster than masking tape. I have a fairly clear memory of using tape like this in a tape dispenser. The tape would be wound through a couple of rollers in the dispenser and, as it was needed, I would pull on a handle that would advance the tape, and it would be wetted in the reservoir below. As in the gray dispenser, there was a setting for the length of tape desired. I think there was a serrated edge, similar to a Scotch tape dispenser, that could be used to cut the tape, although there might have been something that I would push to cut it. I can't remember that part. The dispenser was sort of a cross between these, which are still available. It looked more like the red one, as the tape wasn't covered while in the machine, although it was advanced by way of a handle as on the gray one. The handle was on the right side, though. It's not a big deal, I know, but this was a fairly large and heavy dispenser, which would be more of a commercial thing than something likely to be used at home, and I can't think of any paid or unpaid job that I have ever done that would have involved shipping tape. To my memory, I enjoyed doing this, which makes me think that I was probably a kid at the time since I am not so easily amused these days. Maybe I enjoyed it because I felt like I was being treated as an adult while I was doing it, but I still can't place it. I can't think of anything in elementary school that I would have done that would involve shipping tape and, although I did work in the school store one year in high school, that didn't involve shipping tape, either. At church, I cranked out the church bulletin on the church mimeograph machine for a few years, but that didn't include a shipping tape dispenser, either. I haven't had any jobs that I can remember that would have involved this. I did work as a material handler at a company named Vernco, but my job didn't involve packaging the products. I hauled stuff from one floor to another, mostly. Anyhow, I'm not looking for anyone to solve the mystery but, since I've been trying to remember it, I thought I'd ask if any of you have any memories that you can't account for?
Yes, strangely enough, I have a vivid memory of traveling to Russia with my late mother. The problem is......neither I nor my late mother have been to Russia, either solo or together. It must have been one hell of a dream, because it's been with me for years.
Not really a memory I can't place. But it seems that some of my memories don't align with others' memory of the same event.
I went to lunch with a couple I used to work for. He said an event went like THiS. She said the event went like THAT! I remember it clearly that it went nothing like either. And I am right!
No, I can place my memories fairly accurately even back to four years old. One of my friends of 40 years is always having flashes of memories and can describe details and ask me if I can remember where it happened because she can't. If I was there with her, then nine times out of 10 I can remember the place and approximate year. I remember at age 4, just like it was a photo, of staying in a small house near Baytown, Texas while my father was doing a brief assignment with the government. It was next to a dairy and being a ranch girl I wasn't afraid of cows or even bulls on the other side of a fence. I was doing the thumbs in ears and waving hands mocking thing when a bull became offended, snorted, pawed the ground, then charged the heavy rail fence, making it lean out enough it knocked me to the ground. I scrambled to my feet and ran to the house crying for my mama. I remember it like it was yesterday and my mother saying, "Faye, you must remember that when teasing bulls, you might get the horns." My father took me over to apologize the next morning and he offered to pay for the fence. Only the farmer's wife (in her 60s) was home and she apologized as the bull wasn't supposed to be in that pasture bordering the edge of town. Then she picked me up and plopped me in a chair, pushed me to the table, told my father to sit, and then served me their own label chocolate milk and fresh cookies right out of the oven. It is a miracle I didn't become a rodeo clown "bullfighter" after being rewarded for my careless foolishness.