I remember standing under the blossoming crabapple tree and shaking the branches, making warm pink snow.
I remember putting on our flowiest dress-ups and twirling in the wind.
I remember playing in the river at the curbside in the summer rain.
I remember the bells of the ice cream truck.
I remember making a boat out of our jungle gym, sailing down a river, canoeing over to the maple tree.
I remember blackberries, jam and pie and ice cream.
I remember shattering rocks on the sidewalk to see their secret inner crystals.
I remember hearing my mother play the piano as I tried to fall asleep, Für Elise, one of my favorite in her repertoire.
I remember the taste of her spaghetti, and the Christmas gumdrop bread.
I remember standing in a field in the middle of the night with my father, looking through binoculars at Haley’s Comet.
I remember the feel of a jelly fish sting.
I remember the sting of Old Bay in my fingers after picking crabs.
I remember the warmth of my Love beside me in bed at night, the sound of his breathing.
I remember the smell of babies’ hair, the happy gurgles, and the warmth of them on my skin.
I remember seeing a big grizzly bear walk down the center aisle of an outdoor church service in Yosemite. I was so grateful to be on a big boulder.
I remember that icy water in the mountains, and seeing my first streakers – really just skinny-dipping hikers, but it was the seventies.
I remember tearful laughter with my brother over Saturday Night Live.
I remember watching my other brother dance, and later my own children, feeling their joy as their young bodies were learning to really speak.
I remember my front porch, the mimosas and the four o’clocks, the peeling wicker furniture and the squeak of the swing…