There is a picture. I have been scanning photos that my Father had saved and after he died, my brother sent a box filled with memories. Some of them were not mine, but they were memories all the same. (Is that a line from Gilbert & Sullivan?) There is this one photo that is very blurry, and there is a figure running in something with red stripes and there is a wig. I remember that moment pretty vividly. The striped nightshirt and that nasty old wig. But, you know memories, they are sometimes tricky, and what you remember has been cleaned up somehow. Or maybe your part in the day was less important than you remember.

I was directing a play. That time honored story of the young girl with a red cape and hood, her Grandmother, and a wolf. You may not be surprised that I was playing the Grandmother as well as directing. You may also not be surprised that I don’t remember who played the other characters. I was six or seven. It was in the backyard of our old house across the street from where we were I grew up.

I think this is all brought on by wandering around an almost empty house. Still have some important things to do before we leave. I am up late tonight because the drive down with David, Maggie, and all the stuff we need to carry is making my mind race. How will I fit it all in the car! I thought writing might help. Let’s see. Good-night.