It’s an odd thing, how people remember where they were when. Me? No. JFK’s assassination? Too young. Man on the moon? I’ve seen it recreated in films, people gathered around televisions for flickery pictures, Neil Armstrong’s one small step speech. But ransacking my mind? Nope. Di? I remember watching the wedding on television, but where was I when the news came of the Paris car crash? Ummmm.
What do I remember? The scent of my grandmother’s hankies, and my mother’s baking, and tobacco on my father’s tweed jacket when we hugged him. My brother learning guitar. All the important things.
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