June 2016 . . . .
First memory was of being out in the sun, in the tall grass, and being able to see it even though for months my eyes had been blacked out like windows during an air-raid drill, covered with soft mole-skin pads and not-so soft gauze bandage, wrapped round and round my head, my hair flattened, my ears flattened. How could I have this memory, contradictory and vague? I have a picture in my mind of the lawn which always grew too long before Dad would go out and mow it on some Saturday, so that the neighbors never said anything because what could you say, that he didnt mow it frequently enough for you? Instead, Dad napped during the heat of a weekend afternoon, lying on the couch in the living room on his stomach, or on his side with one of Moms throw-pillows under his head.