It’s strange. How the mind files ( so to speak ) some experiences but not

others. I clearly remember meeting my Stepmother. The approximate

time in the evening. The setting of our place. Tables, chairs. The only

door with four wings. In wood, painted green. It was one of three or

four houses at the bottom of that street built in wood.

Remember what I had for dinner. The aroma of the food.

The next day being taken to Elementary School for Third Grade.

The standing at a large patio surrounded by palm trees and tall, tall

green, green bushes. It had rain the night before. Remember the smell.

The young Principal. A man of…32…years of age. Slender and

handsome. Addressing us from a balcony after a March piece by the

American author Sousa. I can still remember that beautiful piece.

It made a deep dent in my memory. Similar to the first song I heard by

the Beatles. Unforgettable. In both instances, it felt as thunderstorm

breaking stars in smaller pieces in my young mind. Magical.

Remember walking back home without getting lost.

And…other memories I keep in my head I go and remove from those

flies ( so to speak ) if I want. I don’t really go back to mental mementos .

I have tons of beautiful moments lived in Mazatlán when I was a kid.

Remember a sad event. The 1958 hurricane. Clearly. The devastation in

the city, the ocean dock…remember…4th, 5th grade ( I’ll never forget

that execrable teacher ), a mean, embittered old woman. My 6th grade

teacher…sweet, kind and gentle. Never ever raised her voice.

We all kids loved her.

And then, there are some memories way way back in my head…

I can not easily bring to the front of my head. I’d like too think they

aren’t painful. Since I didn’t experience any trauma. Physically or

mentally. And which of course I wouldn’t bring to public scrutiny.

God knows how the mind works. Have no idea. Well, I know four plus

four equal 8. And that’s enough for me.

EO