Most are in a box at the lake house, but there are mornings these pictures become mixed with my dreams in a surreal kind of way. It was the early 50’s and I could hear my mother calling as my babysitter and I crawl out of the foxhole. When we get to the top, she brushes the dirt from my clothes, takes my hand and we turn toward my mother’s voice. Was this a memory from my first years of life on Tachikawa Airbase Japan, or a reminder from deep inside not too stay in the foxholes of gloom too long. It’s a choice we all have every day. Einstein said, you can live as though nothing is a miracle, or as though everything is a miracle. I can’t wait to see the next miracle happen today, how about you?
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