Memories

I gathered the eggs the other day and instinctively put them in my hat. My father walked into the kitchen and laid his hat full of eggs on the counter.
I sang Barbara Allan recently, and Great-Grandma Phillips dipped some snuff in her lip and sang along.
I slipped my feet into new slipper shoes, and Ted, my childhood neighbor, grinned from his armchair where Mrs. Johnson laid his grey slippers.
My arms clasped behind me, Papaw walks down the lane to his house for dinner.
Memories of a life blessed. Simple everyday acts sewn together into a patchwork connecting past and present with threads that cannot be broken.

What memories make you who you are?