Sunday, January 22, 2006


It's hard to remember what life was like when I was four years old. Or earlier than that. I think I have just one memory - that of people moving the piano into the family room. I must have been three years old. Sunlight streamed into the doorway, silhouetting the people moving the piano. Maybe I'm not remembering this correctly, but I seem to recall them setting the piano down on the floor before it was carpeted, when it was still concrete. They set it down on a sheet of wood.
Actually there seems to be another memory, but I may be imagining it, from my third year. I peered into the doorway of our neighbour's townhouse and saw their stereo system against the far wall, housed in a brown wooden cabinet.
And that's it - I can find no other memories from years 0-4.


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