I remember
My dad teaching us how to properly fold and subsequently “turn the pages” of toilet paper in order to get the maximum use out of every sheet — exasperated by our monthly TP budget. “I promise you won’t even get shit on your hands.”
Sitting around Aunt Leila’s table, decorating Christmas cookies with Libby, Meghann and Luke and eating a.lot.of.cookie.dough. Finding the mouse who had crawled into my boot on the porch for refuge, but instead died, frozen and alone.
Dr. Hauslein, of the ear/nose/throat profession, looking up an 8-year-old Libby’s nose with a scope. Her saying, “Do I have a lot of boogers up there?” “We’d better get a dump truck.”
I want to remember
A spontaneous wintry walk with Marcia and Daphne. Them saying how different ailments (including eye twitch and racing heart) had been alleviated by our stroll, while I was thinking, “I’m freezing. I don’t know how I’ll make it back,” and wrapped my scarf around my head. Walking this same path with Daphne during the spring when we were writing and editing and working together.
A slow Friday morning Hilary and I both had off. I curled up on the foot of her bed as we talked. Then she made us eggs, toast and coffee.
Two employers who encouraged me and believed in me when I had forgotten how to believe in myself.
Do I want to do this? Or is it expected of me?
Progressive dinner with Suzanne, Jeff and Jordan. Cutie course. Bread course. Carrot course. Applesauce course. Chicken and rice course.
Playing frisbee the afternoon after a snow day. The sun shining. Much diving and giggling.