Oh my!  It’s time again to reveal all the “real truths” of the past and present -- as I know them?

I’ve been doing that for you here all along by looking back in my memory to the “Days of my Life,” as they were…or as I remember them being.

It’s not getting harder to do, just harder to keep finding things that haven’t already been revealed.

Why am I worried? Because when I recently organized my copy file of past columns, I recognized a repetition of subject matter developing.

Is that the way it is for everyone in their memory statuses or is it just that I’m getting too old?

I know there are a lot of incidents being overlooked, but I’ve often thought of them as so small in time allotment or significance that they are not worthy of inclusion.

How do I work them in? By making an itemized list that chills my loosely-guarded thought process?

I could start at the beginning of my memory timeline, which is about the age of two-and-a-half. But that’s as far back as I can go.

And those memories only come as short snippets of things, like my sitting at a lamp-lit table and choking on a prune seed -- Daddy hollering at Mommy, Mommy hollering at Daddy, and me not wanting any more prunes, my throat hurting. Was it breakfast time? It was dark outside, I knew that. I had been told prunes were considered a good choice for “keeping me regular”. Whatever that was … So, prunes it was.

The well-known Ex-Lax product developed for that use had only been available a few years then (from about 1906) and wouldn’t be available in child-acceptable chocolate form until about 1935. I would be 4 years old by that time and still eating prunes, but with cream added now.

Also, life was still busily handing out other distortions to me.  One day Mommy was yelling at Daddy (again) and Daddy was just yelling. And suddenly I was being shuttled to the yard bundled in Mommy’s good fox-fur-collar coat and plopped soundly on a hump-lidded trunk. As I hugged my dollies tightly in my arms, I heard someone warn me not to move.

Later I learned the kitchen stove and chimney pipes were on fire, but Daddy had quickly squelched the blaze using all of Mommy’s highly prized containers of cottage cheese milk sitting at the back of the stove for curing.

Shortly later, after Mommy stopped yelling at him, Daddy said I could go back in, happy to find my favorite stuffed toy kitty Kee-Kee was okay, even though it had been forgotten earlier.

As I think back now about that incident, it seems I remember my mother was crying more over the spilled milk than over concern for not getting all my toys out with me.