The Big Move: A Reminiscence
Where to begin? Looking, packing, getting distracted, whatever happened to that purple ironing board we used to have, or that hardcover first edition of ’Salem’s Lot Steve signed for me at Maine back in the spring of ‘77, or all those comic books collected along the way a kid learning to read and tell tales? Oblivion, piled high, one great soaring heap of stuff to ponder till once and for all it too gives way, the mind—no wonder—wanders like everything else—away! away!—gets lost in the big move.
