Memory

There’s this game I used to play when I was a little girl – maybe 10 or 12. My grandmother lived about 15 minutes from us by car through narrow, cobblestone streets, neighborhoods of small, square houses with messy gardens and metal gates. We visited her almost every Sunday. My brother and I sat in…

The stuff of childhood

Finally, all of my parents’ boxes have arrived. They are stacked neatly in their basement, smaller boxes on top of taller ones, with cryptic signage on the outside, like L/R for living room and “mixed” for well… Mixed stuff. There are also a bunch of boxes that belong to me. Or rather, they belong to…