Pictures of parents conjured up cherished memories today. Funny how they can just race right across time to find us, again and again…
…bringing things with them that haven’t been thought about in ten…fifteen…twenty years.
Kevin’s memory bridges back a few years further than mine. Mine, for the most part, only seems to stretch back as far as the farm.
My parents moved us there during a snowstorm, on April Fools Day, 1983. I was eight years old, and I learned real quick that the middle of nowhere + snow + wind = no joke.
I never imagined living there would leave such a lasting impression on me, or that twenty-nine years later I would only remember a handful of things that happened there in detail.
There’s something so quietly powerful about those kinds of memories though, don’t you think?
The peaceful ones from your childhood that are still crystal clear. The ones that make what you missed at the time, seem so…magical now.
*still need to add knobs and pulls to our salvaged kitchen cabs, but that side of the room is coming together, slowly but surely!
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