Sometimes I'm glad that I don't have a photographic memory. Everything from my past is organized, neatly, into little treasure chests that make up who I am.
Now, when I say "neatly" I don't mean categorized in any fashion that would make any sense to anyone else. Dogs and cats and guinea pigs are mixed right in there with Grandma and President Kennedy and Howdy Doody.
Somehow, over time, in my mind, everybody was nice to me.
Miss Gamon, my first grade teacher, came to visit my hospital room when I had my tonsils out. She sat by my bedside and held my hand while I ate sherbet. She told me that I was the smartest person in the class and that everybody missed me. My mom believed it of course. I was just thrilled to have sherbet and attention.
Elvis was nice to me. No matter how long I dwell on it, I can't find anything that he had to gain from it.
This world is in turmoil today like nothing I have seen in this lifetime. I'm filing away all the good memories that I can find. It may be a good time to make some of your own.
I love you.
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