Tag: #Alzheimer’s

The Authenticity Experiment, the marmalade edition.  My mother loved orange marmalade on buttered toast. She started eating it sometime in her thirties, I’m going to guess during her pregnancy of my youngest sister, Jule.  Because I wasn’t in school yet, I remember what she craved when she carried Sue—toast with raspberry jam and butter.  I recall sitting at this little table in our carpeted breakfast room in the yellow, rented house just 100 yards from Lake Minnetonka, and eating toast with jam with her.  I can’t quite see her in the tiny chair next to me.  I imagine she stood…

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The Authenticity Experiment, the guitar edition. She said it off-handedly.  She didn’t mean it that way, but that’s how it hit my tender heart with its secret shame when I told my friend that I’d spent my teenage years in my room playing my guitar to every album popular during high school: Fleetwood Mac, Jackson Browne, Phoebe Snow, Janis Ian.  “Why would you do that?  Why wouldn’t you just write your own music?” she said.  Flat, the nasal vowels of her native Michigan coming through. Because you’re a lonely kid, I said, surprised that I’d spoken the naked truth, no spin. Because…

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