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  • You see, I am the sentimental son of a sentimental mother, with many memories. Actually, there are so many memories, I can hardly recount all of them. Sometimes I try. All of us from the family have different memories, I am sure. Just as we have had different dreams. All memories are colored by our feelings at the time - good or bad, sweet or sour, happy or sad. Our dreams are, too. They may be sweet dreams or nightmares, happy or sad. Sometimes the dreams seem more real than the memories. Sometimes they are difficult to differentiate.

    When we have lived a long time, the dreams and the memories just seem to blend in together. Looking back, much of life, itself, seems more like a dream than memory.

    It well may be that since dreams and the memories are both set in time, and that time is but an instant of eternity. Perhaps then, eternity is the only reality and all of time is but an illusion. Who can tell?

    One thing is sure, as I edit this piece in May of 1995, I do have the greatest dreams of my life. They are sweet and actually colorful. They are induced by the opium patch I wear for pain control. This little patch meters opium slowly and gradually into my system through the skin.

    (Photo is of a painting by my daughter, Juli Ricksecker)
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