She began whimpering like a like a child as my nails continued their teasing assault, gliding up and down her flexing soles, first one and then the ot...er. Rivers of sweat flowed from her open pores. Her struggles became violent. She was obviously deathly ticklish here, and part of me feared that she might hurt herself physically unless I stopped, but the other half, the tickler in me, wanted to see more. So I gave her captive feet the full treatment, then I attacked her armpits again and. Mom, she always sensed when melancholy was wrapping around me. She shook me, dragging me back from the dungeon I tended to fall into. Thoughts of Terry, June, Dad and the ‘Might Have Beens’ faded.I smiled at her and just said, “Sorry. It hurts sometimes.”She put her hand on the latch for the multi-windowed edge to our sanctuary and opened it enough for her to push me outside. “Walk a little. Smell the roses and pick a few for me,” she said. “I’ve got to shower and then I’ll make breakfast for. More

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