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I didn’t expect this.  The floodgates opened and the images rushed at me.  How many times did dad make us sit in the old-fashioned fire engine or on the milk truck in front of the Carnation cafe?  Years later, we put our daughters in those same places, recreating the images that I carried in my heart.  I watched families line Main Street, waiting for the next parade, and I could almost see mom with her fashionable white framed sunglasses holding a bag of popcorn in her lap.  All day, each step brought a memory.  I couldn’t stop them.  It was a lovely day, with new memories to add to the storehouse.   When I left the park, I knew that I would need to sit with the flood that had washed over me all day, sit, ponder, and eventually, write.

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