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[story]
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This is what complicates my relation to England – the fact that I lived there, too. Not only every summer, when my parents escaped the heat and stopped in London on our way to Germany and my mother’s childhood home. But for several sabbatical years, when I was two and four and seven and 13. My earliest memory is eating from a glass pot of yogurt and looking out from a second-floor window onto a rainy London street. Every part of that memory could only have happened in Europe – the glass pot, the second-floor dining room, the busy, rainy road just below us.
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 Author: Terry
Date: 8/2/2019 |
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