A work in progress

Every so often I have a flashback of a place we've been. Tonight, I remembered Reno, with its fluorescent glow and neon lights and monster buffets.

No particular reason for me to remember Reno. It just popped into my head.

Another time I will remember a wee French village: I won't know the name or even the region. I'll remember buying a perfect croissant just moments before the bakery was supposed to close.

Or I will remember a California fruit stand, or a peaceful Texas morning walking beside a lazy, ancient, and very friendly pit bull.

There's no telling what the memory might be, or what the significance may hold. It's just there, and I see myself, I see my family, and I know that this, too, has made us.

Made us. Made us what? A work in progress.