Selective Memory

The title of my last entry, I have just learned, may need to be revised. This is something that I thought I remembered my mother saying when we’d come home from our family adventures. (Like driving to Florida, or New England, or Yellowstone…3 times.) I’m sure it had to come from a riddle or rhyme or song, but I couldn’t quite place it. I spouted it off to Tim once early in our relationship, expecting that everyone said that as they pull in the drive. He looked at me like I had three eyeballs. What? You don’t say that? Huh. At that moment, I shrugged it off. Perhaps it was just one of the quirky things that the Hulsens did. Like singing songs from The Muppet Show.

I vowed to ask my mother later, which I plum forgot for a good long while. Finally, I remembered not that long ago (after so many years of saying this to Tim that it now sounds completely logical to both of us.) My mom had no idea what on earth I was talking about. Huh. Oh well. Fast forward to last week. As I was searching for the title to my last blog, I thought, what would be more perfect? I did, however, send a quick text to my big brother who remembers everything. “Um..Thomas, where the heck did I get this?” To which I had this reply. (I may take some liberties here with what he was implying in tone.)

Dear Little Sister,
You are a moron and confused…again. Think you’re thinking of this nursery rhyme.

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jig.
To market, to market, to buy a fat hog,
Home again, home again, jiggety-jog.
To market, to market, to buy a plum bun,
Home again, home again, market is done.

Huh. I sit corrected. And then he lovingly noted, “'Clickety-clack' would only work if it was Thomas the Tank Engine’s trip to the market." Huh again. My world was kinda rocked. Home again, home again, jiggety-jig? Really? Why would one need both a pig and a hog? And what, pray tell, is a plum bun? Is that what happens when sledding goes horribly wrong?

In all honestly, this is not the first time that I’ve “remembered” things from my childhood that I find out later to be completely off. For example, I may have thought that my Grandfather was part Indian (and have proceeded to tell people I was part Cherokee) because he had redish skin and collected Native American artifacts. Not so much. Or figuring out a few years ago that Bon Jovi’s “Living on a Prayer” was ‘prayer’ not ‘prairie.’ (Totally had this image of Jon and Richie in cowboy hats riding horses over the plains.) Anyhoo—thought I’d set the record straight. However embarrassing it might be.