When the topic of the Super Bowl came up in conversation a week or so ago, someone asked me if I follow the NFL. I don’t. Not at all. But as your brain does, it threw up a football memory a few days later. I went to high school in Indianapolis, Indiana during the 60s.… Continue reading Super Bowl? Not me.
Category: Memory
A Time for Looking Back
I'm big on memories. Sometimes I wonder if that's a product of my age, but then at our family gatherings of three generations, sooner or later, the reminiscing begins. Memory is our personal history book, skewed of course, but still. I've spent some time looking back this week. Not too long ago, I mentioned that… Continue reading A Time for Looking Back
The Memory Keepers
My mother has dementia. It's increasing rapidly, now. At first, she suffered only the loss of recent events, which my father kept secret for a while. Not long before he died, he pulled me aside and told me, “Mom forgets a lot.” But it wasn't until after his death, that I realized how much of… Continue reading The Memory Keepers
Forty-six Years Ago
Forty-six years ago tomorrow, I began a new life. It was the Viet Nam era. I was not quite eighteen. And my fiancé was in the U.S. Army. So, like many young couples of that time, we got married. Three weeks later, my brand new husband left me—under military order. We were lucky; they sent… Continue reading Forty-six Years Ago
Childhood of a Fiction Writer
In my earliest memory, I am lying on my stomach in the kitchen looking through the square holes in a grate. I am eighteen months old. My parents and I live in the upstairs apartment of an old house converted into a duplex. Our kitchen lies above the kitchen of the downstairs apartment. Our only… Continue reading Childhood of a Fiction Writer
Linda Cassidy Lewis 