Thursday, January 7, 2010

Stephen's Story about Thuxton Racetrack

My sister's husband Stephen was at one time a mechanic, working on Formula Ford 2000 race cars. This required his presence at tracks where the cars were being raced, and sometimes he and other mechanics would camp out in the center of the racetrack, which was used as a paddock for horses when there were no races scheduled. The presence of the horses in the field produced wonderful matter for the growth of fungi, and the morning of the race the field was filled with a delicious aroma of mushrooms frying on camp stoves. This is where the scent of frying mushrooms takes him today (Eat your hear out, Marcel Proust).

Eva, are these edible?

If anyone is up for it, leave me a short anecdote (three or four sentences) about memory in the comments. If there's one I think I can illustrate, I'll post the illustration with the story and a link to your blog. Let me make that easier - alternatively, let me know if you have a recent post relating to memory and I'll see if it's one I can illustrate.

11 comments:

Charles Gramlich said...

Love the picture. Lana used to put fairies out in the woods and photograph them.

mouse (aka kimy) said...

be safe stick with photographing them!

what a tale - who would think that horses were kept in the center of racetracks - seems way too ironic (or something)

Cláudia said...

Susan, I don't have a blog, but I paste here my story about one of the walls of my childhood (retrieved from your post "In the Neighbourhood", December 9, 2009)

"When I was a child I made a hole in my bedroom wall. I firmly believed there was a wonderful world waiting for me behind that particular wall.

Living in a rented apartment, my mother get very upset with my lack of control over my urges and made very clear to me that the only thing that was behind the wall was the bathroom..."

By the way, your text about your brother-in-law's memory is really a gem! Proust could never beat your power of synthesis, let alone your style: "The presence of the horses in the field produced wonderful matter for the growth of fungi..." - this is outstanding, my friend! So delicate and yet so down-to-earth!

bindu said...

That's interesting, and a nice story whenever mushrooms are being fried!

Totalfeckineejit said...

I've got memory foam slippers and they are very comfortable but I don't know whether their memories are happy or sad.

Poet in Residence said...

TFE's comical comment reminds me that I once wrote a memory poem about "Aberystwyth" (a slightly down-at-heel seaside town in mid-Wales) which contains, if my memory serves me well, (it's buried somewhere on my blog - the poem that is, not Aberystwyth) a tantalising tale about massage comfort airport polished shoes. After saying all that I can only pray that inputting "Aberystwyth" in the blog search box brings it up for you otherwise I'm in for a very long night...

Poet in Residence said...

Well there I go - just typed 'Aberystwyth' in my 'Search this Blog' searchbox. Three entries came up. It's the top one - titled simply "Aberystwyth" I was looking for. You may rip it to pieces like a Rottweiler with a baby. Do your artistic rainy seaside horror scenario memory scene thing. Wet shoes and bitter cold feet included in Wales.

Dominic Rivron said...

I wouldn't touch those toadstools with a bargepole!

I don't begin to understand these things, but I heard somewhere that the DNA of fungi was closer to animal than plant life.

(Sadly I can't think of any relevant anecdotes right now. I'll have a think).

jenny2write said...

I remember coming across a pile of horse **** on the verge of a very remote lane and it had grown a magnificent crop of bright new new horse chestnut seedlings. A tiny little forest. Perhaps that is why they are called horse chestnuts.

jenny2write said...

I remember visiting WOolpit in Suffolk where in the 12th century two strange green children talking a foreign language were found in the forest. While I was there I was invited into a small cottage. It was a warren of tiny rooms and corridors but there were antique mirrors of various types on all the walls and so they reflected each other and it was an infinity of space.

Rick said...

From the Dept. of Comments You Probably Wish You Didn't Have to Deal With:

As told to me by some old druggie:

"I remember the first time I did mushrooms. We picked them out of the patties in a cow pasture and then boiled them down into a vicious, disgusting-tasting tea. We had about two gallons of this stuff. Between the five of us we drank it all in about 30 minutes. I didn't feel any buzz at all, but I was sure I was going to throw up. I went outside, and as I dropped to my knees to hurl I noticed an airplane off in the distance. When I was finished I lifted my head and turned to my right. The wing of the airplane missed my head by about two feet."

Clearly this guy had read too much Castenadas or something...