JG asked me to make a delivery and pick-up today, up in north Katoomba, near what’s called Minnehaha Falls, which makes me feel eleven again and wondering whatever happened to that Minnesotan maiden I met and mindmarried two weeks before her twelfth birthday, way back when.

I had to drop off an unwanted computer printer (pristine box, bubble wrap and all) and pick up, from the lady in the lovely old miner’s cottage, amongst other things: a large jar of black olives, a jar of homemade rocket pesto, a sealed envelope, a candelabra, a box of old postcards, a hand carved wooden coat rack, a pair of unworn running shoes, and a framed black and white photograph of a trumpet. I asked if a sewing machine and umbrella were also to be included but she said only: Not that I know of, no.

A Minnesotan girl on the cusp then met a maternal cousin on the banks of a mangled memory: