the great procession of history is often in a rush and when I was a child it was snail slow boredom that often tortured your dreams and wrung them out to dry. To escape was the eternal elusive plan to put into action which in turn instilled a deep personal endurance and a perseverance hidden from the world. You had to find your place, your spot, so you could dance and sing your small way in the great procession of life, make all your dreams come true, not take them with you tucked away in your heart, to the grave.