Shall I tell you the story of the man who loved playing his cello and hated having to talk, so much ... [+]
Mamma always had a love for other people's possessions. One of my earliest memories is walking to the park, my hand firmly tucked into hers. I was an impulsive child, and likely would have darted into traffic after a passing butterfly if she hadn't kept a vice-like grip on me. I like to think she was trying desperately to protect me, but knowing what I know now, it's just as likely that she was holding my hand to keep herself grounded. Regardless of her intent, I can feel the connection still – two magnets drawn together, fingers intertwined. We were playing one of our imaginary games. Mamma