During the last 3 weekswe spent at my parents' appartment, I spotted some souvenirs of my past. I remember all of them, old friends:
An 1907's interpretation of races. This used to be a cushion-cover. now it is used for seperating laundry.
This cover almost falls apart, my mother glued it together. The former green cucumber bleached in the sun.
Why didn't she just throw that cover away? My father treasures our memories, too. He started to digitize all the Kodak-Ektachromes of our past life when we were a young family.
Looking at this picture:
... I feel a certain certainty: Yes, I am not adapted and I never was. If only I could retrieve my former boldness. :) and dare sipping from pool-water!