I remember walking to the side of the pool and seeing a long dark hallway between the garage and the tall fence that surrounded the pool.

I remember moving out of the first house that we lived in. I stood at the bottom of a small ladder that my mom was standing on.

I remember the back door was open one day, and I rushed toward it. Standing at the doorsill, I looked down at the small stair I would have to step down to get out of the house. I decided I could do it.

I remember my old house in Oregon. There were two boys that came over sometimes to be babysat by my mom. They were wild.

I remember being in a crib and looking up at a window which was unusually high up on the wall. While looking out of the window I could see a tire of a car and the trunk of a very large tree.

My mom and I had been gardening at the side of the house we lived in in South Pasadena, CA. As we walked around the back of the house to go in, she stopped, bent down so we were eye to eye, and told me I was going to have a new little baby brother.

It was my 1st or 2nd full summer. I was born in July of '42, so this was '43 or '44. I was in a playpen on our front stoop. It was sunny. I was looking out between the vertical slats at a spikey plant with green leaves with yellow edges (I believe it now to be an Aloe).

One of my earliest memories is from when I was too little to stand up by myself and couldn't talk. What I remember is sleeping in my crib and how, first thing in the morning, I would feel a warm beam of sunshine on me, and I would "talk" with a baby deer.

I think I was under 6 months old. I remember having strep throat and being in the hospital where they wouldn't let my mother in the room. Nobody could come near me.

My first memory is of the brightness of light—light all around. I was sitting among pillows on a quilt on the ground—very large white pillows. The quilt was a cotton patchwork of two different kinds of material. I was probably eight or nine months old.

One of my first memories was having my diaper changed by my mom on the changing table. She had taken my diaper off and (I'm assuming) needed to leave the room for a second to get another diaper.

I was standing in my crib leaning way over the end so I could see the color tv screen. Thinking back on it, I hadn't a hope of ever seeing it, since it was positioned to face away from the room where I was, but I was trying hard anyway, and I fell out.

I remember looking over a wall and seeing water gushing under a door. People were trying to push blankets and pillows into the crack to stop the water.

To my great joy, I am able to bring from my 12th, or at furthest my 14th month, one pale, little remembrance, like the earliest and frailest of snowdrops, from the fresh soil of childhood.

I can recall a little group of young faces—schoolgirls, I fancy—smiling down on me in admiration!—the feminine kind that never fails an infant.

My first recollections are of some infantine impressions which were in abeyance for a long course of years, and then revived in an inexplicable way,—as by a flash of lightning over a far horizon in the night.

Since I have clear, well-documented memories from less than a year old (used to scare and bother some people bigtime), I choose to just simply describe my first, clear memory as a baby girl of about 10 months.

I was in a big baby carriage with a hood on it. The carriage was parked in a vestibule of my home when an alarm went off.

Sometimes I'd be kept in the crib too long, and I would rock it. This was at a time when I'm pretty sure I couldn't talk. I'd just grab the end of the crib and rock it and rock it and rock it and rock it.

I'm not sure the order these come in, but there are five memories that I have from before I was one, after I was born and before I was one. That's for certain.