The Boston Herald, January 30th, 2002
You wonder what makes an ordinary day stand out in memory. Who takes the mental snapshots that we see when we look back through time? There are no real snapshots recording the day, because there was nothing special about it. Nothing special at all. Janet Butler and I were 9 or 10. We had crossed Chestnut Street but instead of going to Gilroy's to buy candy or down Chestnut Circle to call on Ginny Coty, we stopped in a neighbors' yard to play on their swings. You could do that then. The swings were for everyone, bare wood and thick chains hung side by side. Spring was in the air that day. You...
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