Today I am thankful for my cousins Rosie and Jenny.
We three take after the Nyberg side of the family: tall, big-boned, big brown eyes, long feet (you see the theme emerging here). While growing up, we were inseparable, our friendship a force to be reckoned with. Even now, when we see each other only two to three times a year, we easily slip back into our camaraderie. I have no stories to relate from our long friendship; there are too many, and what significance do they have for my readers, who were not there with us? Suffice to say that our bond runs deep.
My memories of our times together are tinged with woodsmoke, the sharp slice of prairie grass, whispered conversations at midnight, a ribbon of creekwater, stacks of books, bare feet on grass, afternoons lazy with sunlight, snow crunching underfoot, uncontrollable laughter, coffee cups scattered on tables, cats slinking round the door, the tickle of long hair as we hug each other farewell.
These memories are part of my talismans against forgetfulness. When you move from the place of your upbringing, it is all too easy to forget where you came from. Home inevitably fades once you are no longer able to see or touch it. Memories keep the amnesia at bay. These memories, with their tangible associations, are particularly powerful talismans against the fog of forgetfulness.