You Never Know What Others Remember

One of the strange and wonderful dimensions of the Internet is that it delivers some joyous surprises from time to time. Interestingly, I usually think that people enjoy my posts about show biz the most. But I've had real response to my post about being the rose girl. One hit me in the solar plexus.. It came from a boy who grew up on Rose Drive with me. His name is Phil Hibbs and here is what he had to say, "I remember that rose bush and I remember your grandmother getting killed...wow what memories. " I find it to be true that we sorta feel that our memories lie dormant in our heads belonging only to us and we bring them out from time to time and think about them. Suddenly with Phil remembering the rose bush outside my window and my grandmother's killing by a drunk gave them new, extra, powerful dimension. They are no longer faded memories, but sharp, vivid. I can inhale and smell the Seven Sisters and hear Big Mom's wonderful, wonderful laughter. Thanks, Phil, you Corvette driving devil--I'm Ruth Adkins Robinson here appreciating the memory of an old pal.