I had my dad snap this photo of the four of us because, well it is just the done thing in my family, and I wanted this memory preserved. All of us were the oldest child in our families (Mom had some half brothers but she was her mother’s only child). We are sitting on a box that my grandfather built in which to store the trash cans between pick ups. If you look closely, you can see my grandmother’s clothes line with the prop and the clothes pins.
The building you see in the background was where the caretakers of the Jewish cemetery back there where I spent many peaceful hours riding my bicycle. With permission. And never on Sunday – that was when the families came to visit the family graves. I loved looking at the Hebrew words engraved in the headstones. The caretakers were friends with my little granny and once in a time of need they took care of me for a couple of days and I slept in their home. I’m sure Stephen King could have made something out of that overnight! It wasn’t a problem for me, though, until my school friends found out. Yes, I told them, but it had never occurred to me that it was something out of the ordinary.