Rummaging through boxes of pictures when we moved my mother into a nursing home, I found a trove of old photographs and magazines. My whole childhood leapt out of the dusty boxes, as urgent and remote, as comforting and troubling as a voice on a forgotten tape, or the faint scent of perfume in a fur coat.
My childhood, in strange and happy snapshots
Hanging out with Jack Lemmon, watching my father work on film sets -- looking through photos, my boyhood zooms back
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