Memories of Remberance: A Tribute to Never Forgetting

{1st installment}

I want to tell you a story:

You can fly.



That’s not this story though.

This is a different story. More about me:

That summer I don’t think anyone could say what was in the air. But we all took it in like a cat from the late June snow and cradled it in specially marked packages of frosted mini-memories.

You see, I was raised on a caramel farm right outside of Muncy, Indiana. We lived on seven acres, where in late October we would harvest the nougat and caramel in hand-woven baskets.

The sun hung low in the autumn sky, kind of like a briefcase wouldn’t. We looked at each other, but we couldn’t hear, so our senses of smell led us to the feeling that this would be enough caramel pickin’ for the night.

Well, that summer the marzipan was in season and we would shuck and pick the sweet treat off the foreheads of the lifeless unicorns buried in the snow.

I would laugh.

Then we would all take turns farting on Grandma.

When we were tired, we turned in. But that night I woke up as if in a dream (echo: dream, dream, dream). I walked toward the window and out in the fields were piles on piles of glowing, wooden sea lion skulls.

I laughed. And then tried to fart on my brother, but he just rolled over.

So, I farted on my own butt. And laughed because it reminded me of ice cream—really smelly, hot, putrid ice cream.

I’ll never forget how I remembered that memory.

With my memory.

I’ll never forget that.