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“There was a crooked man, And he walked a crooked mile…”

Why should anyone care about someone else’s memories of their life, one may ask. A good question, but one which, after having shared countless stories with friends during lunchtime and family at holiday gatherings, I think I can now answer.

As each of us follows our path through life, the journey is rarely a straight line. There are all manner of unexpected zigs and zags which are the source of some of our most memorable experiences. Many of these may seem of no great import, but they are what makes us unique as well as what binds us together. Hearing the stories of others connects us in the recognition that we all have traveled our own crooked miles.

Here are the stories of some of mine.

–Donald Daborn

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3 comments

  1. Mr.Daborn,
    Love the name of your blog…I played the accordian as a child!!
    Cathy


  2. As, unfortunately, did I (did you read The Accordion Door?).


  3. Hey !!! My brother, Joseph, also played the accordion… You are in good company, Muskie !!!!!!



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