It’s funny – how you land in people’s lives, and they in yours. We share some space and some time then as quickly as it started, it’s over. We disappear from each other. But every once in a while - maybe for five minutes, fifteen years later - on a hot August afternoon you step back in and share that life again. I’ve always thought that time is a trickster – grabs memories willy-nilly from the vaults, puts them together with the experience I’m living in, and not afraid to reach into a future I might be imagining – swirls everything together – leaving me in all time and no time at all. For a few moments in Mike’s Milk me and Mrs. Morin dropped into that time – we made contact, we embraced, and then we went our ways – never to see each other again. And as the Trickster Time continues on in her work - it has taken me another thirty years to remember the experience – to be once more dropped into no and all time – to relive a memory as if it had just happened.
