I remember lasooing the moon- In a special way. Like a story told so many times the details become ingrained in you like campfire smoke to hair. I feel the rough wood of the fence beneath my tenderly young fingers- grasping tight though your hand never left my back. The moon, and the man in it smiling down on us, glistened in the lake as we swung and swung our rope. And then he was ours- Pulling with all our collective might, Father and daughters united in triumph of what no one thought they could do, we tugged him in. I remember this like I do my name (Emily Elizabeth) and my birthday (May 6, 1991) and the way your hands always smelled coming in from the cold (like home). And it's this- This memory so a part of me- that started it all. With one hand on my back and the other pulling the rope with our tiny ones- We caught the Moon. I have always known that- With your hands as guidance- I can do anything because I did that.