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Then There Was Me

I Can’t Remember When. . .

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I can remember the smell of my Aunt’s house on a chilly autumn day.   Her house smelled like baked apples and fabric softener (the good kind).

 

I can remember sledding as a child.  The limitless laughter; the kind that hurts.  The striking cold air rushing past my squinted eyes.

I can remember reading chapter books like “A Wrinkle In Time” in sun spots.  Unhindered warmth enveloping your body.  Goose bumps.  A warm hug.

I can’t remember how it feels not to have Parkinson’s. . .

I can remember the impending anxiety of awaiting my turn to play the piano during recitals.  Furrowed brow, cold sweat, physical anticipation.

I can remember how a cold Pepsi tasted on a scorching hot day at the local outdoor pool.  Add a box of Lemonheads and you have BLISS.

I can’t remember how it feels to be rested. . .

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