Learning to dance on my father’s toes.
The kitchen in my childhood home steamy with the scent of dinner cooking.
Playing scientist in the pantry with my sister.
The exhilarating feel of the cool water on my sun-warmed body as I dove into the pool.
The sound of the birch trees in our front yard swaying in the wind.
The tanned, lined, smoke-scented hands of my dad.
Wind Song hugs from my mom.
The soreness of my fingers as I learned to play guitar.
The way he says my name.
The musty smell of my high school. Is that what history smells like?
The tenderness of his hands as he cupped my face to kiss me for the first time.
My first buzz off wine coolers.
Riding the Giant Dipper and feeling my stomach catch in my throat.
Getting monumentally lost with my high school best friends on our first “adult” road trip to Chico, CA.
Catching a falling star in my gaze.
The grip of my sister’s hand as she pushed and pushed, giving birth to Finn.
Bonfire scented hair and red wine inspired sharing.
Making grasshopper pie at Thanksgiving.
Saturday Night Live, a pull out bed and our first time.
Shock and fear after being broadsided and spun around in a full circle in my VW Super Beetle by a woman running a red light.
The taste of a clove cigarette on my lips.
The smell of tuberoses in my Grandma’s hospice room.
Burning the palm of my hand.
Hearing his voice for the first time and feeling the quickening of my heart.
Falling off my yellow banana seat bike in the middle of the road.
The clapping and cheers of an audience for a job well done.
Hearing, I love you… for the first and the last time.
What’s a memory you hold dear?
“I want you here tonight/I want you here/’Cause I can’t believe what I found/I want you here tonight want you here/Nothing is taking me down, down, down…/Except you my love/Except you my love…/Come all ye lost/Dive into moss/And hope that my sanity covers the cost/To remove the stain of my love/In paper mache…” -I Remember, Damien Rice