the winter outside, that I’d come to in the warmth of blankets and the smell of toast and coffee as my young parents moved about, still alive, on their ways to make a life for all three of us. The radio on, some male announcer, in the background, magically, in our ’50s first floor suite on Victor in Winnipeg.
In the end, much is forgotten that far back except for a sense of your immediate people and perhaps days when you didn’t have to do much, were looked after, having no place special to go, as the day began abruptly.
(Among my earliest memories…)