My Uncle Charlie was our next door neighbour growing up; he was like a grandfather to me. He died rather suddenly a few years ago. His widow, my Aunt Myrtle, called this morning to say that she was reading through his daily journals and found an entry of interest.
According to his note for October 27, 1974, my parents and I went to their place for lunch. His impression of the visit? "Kenji is walking now."
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