1950 2

Only once do we brush against the real past: the origin of the long friendship between our families. We've exhausted the news, and the talk has turned free-form. We're comparing our earliest memories. I mention that one of mine is this very house going up, which Bob says was in 1950. Then my sister Lynn says no one will believe hers -- the 36-inch snowfall at Thanksgiving that year, when she was just over a month old. Mom (or it could have been Mom-mom) is standing at the open front door of our house, holding Lynn in her arms. Everything is white, with more snow falling, and someone is struggling towards them with bags full of food. Bob says, "That was me!"

^^^ <---|---> <|>


	Only once do we brush against the real past: the origin of the long friendship between our families. We've exhausted the news, and the talk has turned free-form. We're comparing our earliest memories. I mention that one of mine is this very house going up, which Bob says was in 1950. Then my sister Lynn says no one will believe hers -- the 36-inch snowfall at Thanksgiving that year, when she was just over a month old. Mom (or it could have been Mom-mom) is standing at the open front door of our house, holding Lynn in her arms. Everything is white, with more snow falling, and someone is struggling towards them with bags full of food. Bob says, "That was me!"
^^^	<---\|--->	<\|>