Today would have been Connemoira’s birthday and she would have celebrated at that lake high in the mountains she loved so much if she hadn’t hated life just a little bit more.
Oh wait … she tells me … not life. Just the machine. The clogs.
I’m not sure what she means but let’s on, shall we?
Why … has been a puzzle for a long, long time…
The machine Jan. The machine!
I continue: She was born to loving parents, the eldest of five siblings, a rollicking group prone to taking off in pirate ships (aka rubber rafts) and looting the peaceful villages along the river looking for gold.
This much is true, she says with a smile. We were best when we were wild.