cloud memory

“You are from South Africa and your father is a chemistry teacher!” said the lady at Tesco`s check out. “I`m pretty sure you`re confusing me with someone” I replied.

I talked to that lady once before while she scanned my shopping items, two or so month ago, and maybe would not have been too surprised had she reproduced a detail about that chatter. Throwing in a bit of random small talk here and there helps keep the monotony bearable, I guess. Moreover, I am easily entertained when someone dives into the past to come up with treasure to tell.

Last year I spent two nights in Rome. Back home I shared photos and stories with family – the Pantheon, the Vatican, the heat and the pace of the city and the odd anecdote about the days abroad.

Half a year later, already in the new year, the capital of Italy was mentioned in conversation. “Papa! That is where you had bird-poop on your head.”, exclaimed a happy wee T. and rightly so.  The incident, which had involved a clear blue sky on a hot afternoon and what felt like a big drop of water on my head, but instead was a pigeon defecating whilst above myself, was not among my first memories of the days abroad. All the more I am grateful for the reminder and have since re-indexed the information to higher priority, just in case.


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