Yesterday, while brushing his teeth, Boston asked me where the "stone glass" was that we had used to drink from in my bathroom in Tucson. It took me about 12 hours to remember what he was talking about.
Keep in mind that the last time he used that glass was over two years ago. Twenty-six months, to be precise. One-third to one-quarter of his life ago. He was five. How can he remember that glass?
After scouring my brain, and looking into the kitchen cabinet that holds all the glasses, I noticed a hand-blown glass that I had picked up at Philobaum in Tucson about nine years ago. I had a pair of these glasses, and one had gone through the dishwasher several times so that its colors were muted and it looked rather like stone. It broke shortly before I left Tucson.
The remaining glass is still brilliantly colored in purples and mauves and blues. I will silently move it to the bathroom and see if he notices it the next time he's here. (Of course he'll notice it! He's got that kind of brain.)
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