Memories

Two old friends stopped by yesterday, those friends of your ancient days that hold your most antique history in trust.  It stirs something in us when young skippers steer old ships across your olden bow.  There are no friends like those of your youth, when all of life was 16 years and your heart and mind were as sharp as a stylus and could record memories like an 8-Track, wide tape with lots of room for detail for “the way we were.”