I remember waltzing with my father, on my toes spinning round and round the living room.
I remember being afraid of carousel horses sure they would launch from their station and fly right through the spinning circus roof Mary Poppins style.
I remember my yellow Chevy Luv pickup, piling the cab full of girls, boys in the back, and driving to the beach.
I remember watching the sun melt into the ocean colors filling the sky like rainbow sherbet.
I remember seeing my husband for the first time sitting on a milk crate, a meter in his hand, his head buried in an electrical panel. I couldn’t get his attention.
I remember sitting with him through chemo sessions and launching Marvel the Monkey across the infusion suite hoping his super powers included curing cancer.
I remember not remembering the last time I’d had a vacation.
I remember having more money than time. I prefer more time than money.