I am not even going to begin to pretend I understand MEMORY. That awesome, fickle power that likes to ditch me as I step into another room (or as Billy Collins says in his poem Forgetfulness, retires “to a little fishing village where there are no phones”). I don’t know why some things stick, like the thirty plus year old memories of being a kid trying to fry an egg on the summer sidewalk or dig a hole to China, as… Read more »