Pia de Jong

My kids are grown now — and gone. One by one, they said goodbye and disappeared into their own future. Leaving me with the memories. And stacks of drawings.

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It’s a time warp, to see my daughter glowing in the rainbow-colored poncho I crocheted myself on a rainy afternoon when I was exactly her age.

My past is back. At last retrieved from the mothballs.

Summertime: Just say that one rather common word a bit more languidly than usual, drawn out with the slightest hint of melody, followed by a small pause, and people smile and light up.

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