tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post8562799289261436771..comments2023-10-24T05:05:24.143-07:00Comments on BULLET HOLES IN THE MAILBOX: MARBLE-EYEDBulletholeshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09331404499950190378noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-34115603586090876682009-01-10T20:04:00.000-08:002009-01-10T20:04:00.000-08:00I still have a marble collection somewhere.I still have a marble collection somewhere.dmarkshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07269773990064736457noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-18266527053261690162009-01-10T08:29:00.000-08:002009-01-10T08:29:00.000-08:00Did we prize our marbles, my three brothers and I....Did we prize our marbles, my three brothers and I. Can't say we had the same experience you had which you describe so hilariously, Es.<BR/>And I still prize my marbles. ;)petra michelle; Whose role is it anyway?https://www.blogger.com/profile/03474448747236205303noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-11549188184320366992009-01-09T07:32:00.000-08:002009-01-09T07:32:00.000-08:00You can sure tell a story.It's funny how we can't ...You can sure tell a story.<BR/>It's funny how we can't wait to grow up but then long for the past when we're old. Not that you're old Bullet at all. But when I start telling my grand kids which are 16 and 20 about stuff I did at their age I see their eyes glaze over. Just as mine did when my pappy told me stuff he did. Nothin changes.<BR/>But I like your stories. You and my brother are a lot alike in how you use words. I envy that.Rick O'Shayhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/15612316017389612434noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-33349667875953723812009-01-09T03:29:00.000-08:002009-01-09T03:29:00.000-08:00The biggest marbles in my country are called '...The biggest marbles in my country are called 'boink'... he he he. Strange, but I seem to be the only person I know who isn't much into nostalgia. I like nostalgia from other people but lack the quality myself. I was thinking and wondering about this quite a lot the last couple of weeks and I am surprised. Not that my youth was bad -- it was good in fact -- but there isn't anything of it that makes my heart jump. It is all past & gone. Every memory is a defeat to time and I realise it with every memory, both good and bad. Or maybe there is one thing... when we used to drive around Europe as kids in the seventies and eighties; it was a custom to honk the car horn to every other Dutch car you saw. That charming and frankly idiotic custom has all but seized to be. Dutchmen are everywhere. "The Devil shits Dutchmen", cried out one English general in the seventeenth century when we were at war with them and we invaded London. He was right. Hey ho Steve, have a nice weekend and hold on to your marbles.<BR/><BR/>MartijnAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-69199951937172988092009-01-08T14:48:00.000-08:002009-01-08T14:48:00.000-08:00What about "scully caps"? Do you remember those? ...What about "scully caps"? Do you remember those? That was when you took the cap of a soda bottle and melted different color Crayons inside to make cool designs. Then you would shoot them at your opponent's scully. The winner gets the spoils. Ah, to be young again.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-91683864020194131302009-01-08T13:27:00.000-08:002009-01-08T13:27:00.000-08:00I remember trading bits of broken jewellery - glas...I remember trading bits of broken jewellery - glass stones that fell out of your mum's brooch or earrings, the sparklier the better. We also made fluff balls by picking the bobbles off each other's jumpers and sticking them together until you had a huge multicoloured fuzz ball. We were poor but we were honest.Lilyhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/07674290059708540185noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-79386344807912852652009-01-08T12:26:00.000-08:002009-01-08T12:26:00.000-08:00Wish I had all my marbles! (WE also called them Al...Wish I had all my marbles! (WE also called them Alleys) We called the huge ones Boulders. My mom sewed a really neat drawstring bag for them.Mother of Inventionhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/03797365678860039018noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-27862123109660029772009-01-08T10:05:00.000-08:002009-01-08T10:05:00.000-08:00loved your friend's ryne duren story.loved your friend's ryne duren story.cornbread hellhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/04044619147561532271noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-18953801814085669072009-01-08T10:04:00.000-08:002009-01-08T10:04:00.000-08:00David should click on my link to "Ryne Duren"...fu...David should click on my link to "Ryne Duren"...funny stuff!bulletholeshttps://www.blogger.com/profile/13681107556161747976noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-35136026.post-34578751194245334522009-01-08T09:52:00.000-08:002009-01-08T09:52:00.000-08:00You and my David could have traded baseball trivia...You and my David could have traded baseball trivia until you were both blue in the face. He has never forgiven his mother for getting rid of his baseball cards.<BR/><BR/>I still have my marbles -- you know the ones from when I was a kid. I traded too, but only if I could trade up. I have a clear giant shooter that was my prize possession. Come for a visit and I'll show you my marbles. Promise!Barbarahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/18356998698106275372noreply@blogger.com