Diary Entry 8/94

from my diary: April 1994 - April 1997

A tender memory never loses its flavor and smells sweeter every time it is inhaled.

So? Where do I begin? The beginning would be nice, but I'm not quite sure where that would be. So many little ingredients got thrown into this stew it's hard to say what went in first...and if there was even a moment when I decided - when someone decided what was going to be made.

I'd have to begin with my childhood because it's my favorite flavor. I could chew on moments of it all day long. And from time to time I wander through the kitchen and find myself rummaging through the cupboards looking for a moment to savor once again.

I never knew we were poor until my mother said that we were some years after we had struggled through hand-me-downs and patch 'em ups.

One particular Christmas Mom ad Dad were having a party. I could hear the music from my bedroom where I rested on my pillow wide awake. I could catch a glimpse of people dancing in their fancy holiday clothes. I imagined myself to be a beautiful princess who would walk into their midst and inspire them all with my graceful dancing. Daddy came in just then and kissed my forehead and asked if I was alright. I remember thinking that he left the party just to see if I was okay. He left the dancing for me.