This is what I wrote today and I don’t know if i can stand it.

I cant find it.

Here’s something: some notes for NOW WE ARE TWELVE:

My first genuine memory attacked me when I wondered why I poured out the water from a glass I had just filled, before refilling and drinking from it.

I remember pouring the water out of an enamel dipper I had just filled from a rain barrel on the back deck of our summer cottage in Gimli. There was a bug in the water in the dipper. I poured out the water with the bug I it and refilled the dipper with water, fresh from the barrel, clean from the sky, without bugs. (Not without other THING

It was a summer habit that carried over to my life at home in the city. We didn’t have a rain barrel there but, I didn’t question my summer behaviour for several years, often some time after I had turned twelve.

I learned, slowly, to look for the provenance of my habits. They had to start somewhere. As time went on and I had more memories to ponder, I discovered more reasons, not always welcome or pleasant.

I wondered how to handle them—my family. I still do wonder, though most of the people are gone. I hesitate to pass judgement, which I have no right to do. Jusr report. This is going to be a difficult memoir to write.

Did I tell you this already?

I just wrote a new one, and I’ve lost it.

Oh,dear.