Leave no trace.

I’m a terrible one for prematurely tidying  away things.  Sadly ‘tidying away’ can often mean throwing out.  There have been times when I’ve been practically head-first in the recycle bin retrieving something I just realised was actually important.   The worst one by far was my ill-judged decision to wipe out the entire written record of my year in France by consigning it to the bin.  At the time, I just didn’t want to relive that year, or have to contend with all the non-airbrushed memories.  Now, of course, I want it back.

I think that the last visit to my granny clinched it.  Watching her eyes fill with tears as she struggled to remember her first meeting with my papa, and all the who’s and what’s that went with that made me want to do everything I can to hold onto my past, and the moments that have made me who I am.

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